Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Finally, Waylon lunges to his feet with a snarl, though Caleb doesn’t so much as flinch. He merely watches my husband storm out of the office with a wry smirk, running a slow hand down the length of his tie as the door is slammed shut.
I’m not going to bed with you.
Those are going to be the first words out of my mouth in the wake of Waylon’s departure. Just to set the tone. But he speaks first and surprises me once again.
“Name something you want, Ashley. It can be anything.”
“A typewriter,” I breathe. “And some paper.”
He doesn’t roll his eyes. Or complain that I didn’t answer that I want sex.
Caleb only nods, examining my answer, as if he appreciates this clue about who I am. “That can be arranged.”
CHAPTER 5
Caleb
As luck would have it, I took over this office from a lawyer who started practicing law in the sixties. It doesn’t take me long to locate an old typewriter in the storage shed out back. While still outside, I blow the dust off the machine, entering the office through the rear door and setting the typewriter up in front of a window on the far side of the room, stacking a sheaf of paper alongside. Then I gesture for Ashley to sit in front of it.
“I hope you won’t mind if I get some work done while you write,” I say, raising an eyebrow, trying not to inhale too deeply of the orange grove scent she’s introduced into my office, like a ray of sunshine. I don’t have many tasks to complete. My clients are few and far between at this early stage in my practice and I blew through my to-do list over the last two sleepless nights. But I want her to relax, I want her to feel safe being alone with me, and that means time to adjust. To exist in the same space without any expectations or pressure. “I’ll just be at my desk.”
Her gaze is wary, but it strays to my mouth, cutting away quickly. “That’s fine.”
“Good.” I notice the slight flush on her neck and wish I had the freedom to suck that flavor into my mouth. “Would you like me to take your coat now?”
“No,” she says quickly.
I nod. “Very well.”
“Actually.” She swallows, fingering the buttons. “I’m a little hot. But…I didn’t plan to take it off for the session. I’m not dressed like I usually dress. Especially around…”
“Men?”
She exhales sharply. “Yes.”
When she doesn’t seem inclined to elaborate—or remove the coat—I search for a way to calm her obvious nerves. “Ashley, you could be wearing nothing under that coat and unless you ask for my hands on you, I’ll be keeping them to myself.”
An instant later, it becomes painfully obvious that I have placed a lot more confidence in my willpower than I should have. Because Ashley finishes unbuttoning the pea coat and shrugs off the wool outerwear to reveal a body that could launch World War III. She’s watching my reaction closely, holding her breath, so I try to remain stoic—and I’ve never faced such a challenge.
For one, she’s wearing these shorts made of sweatpants material and they’re rolled at the waist, leaving them damningly short. So tight against her pussy, it’s like they’ve been twisted in a fist. She’s nipped at the waist and flared at the hip. Lithe, luscious thighs. A white tank top does nothing to conceal the plump mounds of her tits. High, pouty things that have my cock vibrating like the sidewalk when a train passes beneath.
Perhaps, just for a moment, I understand Waylon a little better. A man could be driven insane by proximity to this woman. A man would be driven to fuck her by any means necessary. I’m hard in my briefs just imagining the incredible shape of her beneath me, my dick buried between her two sweet thighs, angled for optimal pleasure.
All of these inexcusable thoughts and observations pass in a matter of seconds, however, and I’m tamping down my instinct to have her, take her…and drawing out the chair, instead. Indicating with a dip of my chin that she should sit. My restraint is worthwhile when her shoulders relax and she exhales in relief, taking her spot in front of the typewriter.
With her seated, I go to my desk and sit, adjusting my erection out of view, though there is no comfort to be had for the next couple of hours. I go through patient files and make unnecessary notations while the pace of her typing picks up slightly. Every time she leans forward to read what she’s written, the gap between her shorts and tank top widens at the small of her back. That smooth expanse of skin thickens my pulse, the very beginning swell of her ass forcing me to reposition my stiff dick over and over, but nothing helps. There’s no antidote for this lust.