Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
She’s quiet for a long moment, her wide eyes searching my face. The charged silence stretches between us, underscored by the murmur of other diners, the gentle clink of silverware against fine china, and the pounding of my heart as I wait for her to decide if she’s open to accepting my affection.
Fuck, I hate this.
It’s so much easier to remain cold and closed off, with my heart locked away, protected by the ruthless asshole part I play so well. And sometimes I am a ruthless asshole, but I don’t want to be that person with her.
I never did…
I’m not sure who I want to be anymore. All I know is that I’ve never felt the way I feel about Elaina Murphy. And the thought of telling her “goodbye” for good makes me feel like I’m drowning.
“You’re full of surprises, Mr. M,” she finally murmurs.
“Good ones, I hope.”
“Very good ones,” she says, before tucking into her meal in earnest.
The rest of dinner passes pleasantly, things seemingly back to normal between us. I tell her about my meeting with the team I hired to overhaul the shipping company, now that the deal is done, and she tells me about her research on communal bathhouses.
“They’re apparently enjoying a huge resurgence,” she says. “People like getting naked together more than I would have thought.”
I grunt. “Have you ever been to one? I had a client who wanted to meet at the Russian baths downtown a few years ago. If I never see another pair of saggy old man balls sweating in a sauna, it will be too soon.”
She laughs. “Ew. Yeah, that sounds disgusting. I’m looking into female-only bathhouses. There’s one in Denver that’s doing such incredible business they’ve had to open a second location on the other side of the city.” She shrugs. “I mean, I’m not totally sold on the idea as the idea, but I like the thought of giving women a place to relax and be pampered on a budget. And a safe space to build community that brings all ages together. That’s something really special that’s missing from our modern world.”
I nod, seeing her point. “You should do some more research, then. It’s definitely a service space with room to grow. I don’t know of any female-only bathhouses in Manhattan. The one I went to was all male, and it closed down last year.”
The conversation is good and dessert—a raspberry coulis—is even better. But beneath it all, there’s a current of…something. Not tension, but an enhanced awareness of where we stand.
Awareness of how quickly we’re becoming so much more than fuck buddies.
Awareness of how much we both care.
And awareness that caring isn’t enough to bridge the distance between us, not even close.
Later that night, as I roll on a condom—hating the sensation of anything between us, even thin latex—I can’t help noticing how different everything feels.
Not just physically, but emotionally.
As I glide inside her, a strange mix of relief and disappointment churns in my chest. Relief, because this change of plans will give us more time. Disappointment, because deep down, I know we’re only delaying the inevitable.
But then Elaina’s hands are on my face, and she’s kissing me like she skipped dinner, and I’m the only thing that could possibly ease her hunger, and I stop thinking about anything except how good we are together.
How right she feels in my arms, how easy it is to give her pleasure, how much I need her, like I’ve never needed anyone before.
Afterward, as she drifts off to sleep, her back tucked to my front, I lie awake wondering how I got here.
How I went from being perfectly content with my solo life plan, to hating the thought of a future without her in it.
I kiss her hair, memorizing the smell of her shampoo, the feel of her curvy ass cradling my cock, the way she mutters beneath her breath as she starts to dream…
And wonder if there’s a path forward to a dream we can dream together.
sixteen
ELAINA
Eleven days later…
I bounce along down the shaded path in Central Park beside Hunter, so excited I feel like I swallowed a bottle of jumping beans.
“So, yeah, long story long, I think this project has legs and people interested in funding it!” I squeal. “We’re meeting to go over my complete business plan and numbers next week, but so far, they’re excited, I’m excited, and I might be opening my very own New York City business sooner than I ever would have imagined!”
“That’s amazing. Go, killer.” Hunter holds a curled hand up for a fist bump, which I deliver with enthusiasm.
He’s come so far. From fist bump virgin to an instigator in his own right.
Be still my heart…
“I’m proud of you,” he adds. “It isn’t easy getting venture capital investors interested these days.” He arches a brow. “Especially as a woman. Only three percent of venture capital money goes to female-owned businesses, and having even one woman on a company’s board decreases the odds of a project getting funded by fifty percent. Discrimination is a serious fucking problem in that industry.”