Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 87058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
She’s fucking perfect.
They’re bigger than I’d have expected from her frame, sitting high and proud and just right for a decent handful. My mouth waters, my cock fucking throbs in my pants, and I’m on the edge of fucking losing it. A breath away from shunting her against the kitchen sink and tearing the rest of her clothes off her.
But I can’t. I can’t because of Michael.
“Well?” she says, but I can’t say a fucking word.
I watch her bravado slip away in a glorious heartbeat. Brash, sharp-mouthed Carrie disappears before my eyes, her shoulders dropping as she registers how exposed she is in the middle of my kitchen, in front of a man who wants to break and show her how fucking beautiful those tits are, but can’t.
“You said I should show you…” she says, and her voice is unsteady. I’ve never heard her as unsteady as she is right now.
“I said it was a dangerous game you were playing,” I tell her.
“I like dangerous games.”
And so do I. But not now.
Not without knowing how serious Michael is about not acting on whatever desire he’s harbouring for this divine little creature we’re both enamoured by.
“You’ll get cold,” I tell her, even though it’s the most copout fucking excuse for a reaction I’ve ever given.
She looks like I’ve slapped her, and I feel sorry for Michael with added empathy, because I can’t imagine he experienced any less of a fucking guilt rush than I’m feeling right now.
Carrie pulls up her top like I’ve just shit on her cereal, her cheeks flushed pink and her eyes wide, even though she’s trying to force an air of confidence that’s really not coming.
“They’re very pretty,” I tell her once they’re safely out of temptation’s way. “And if I were ten years younger.”
She shakes her head. Sneers at me like I’m a fucking idiot.
“So you’re blowing me out too? What’s wrong with me? Why can’t a girl find a real fucking man around this fucking shithole?”
I hold up a hand. “There’s nothing fucking wrong with you, Carrie. But I can’t.”
“Can’t, or don’t want to?”
I make sure my eyes are right on hers when I answer. “Can’t.”
Her mouth drops open. “But why not?”
Because of fucking Michael. Because he fucking wants you, too.
“Because it wouldn’t be right,” I say. “Because you’re barely eighteen and I don’t do relationships.”
“Why don’t you?”
Because I’ve never met anyone who excites me. Not until you. Not until right fucking now in this kitchen.
“Because I like my own company. I’m not a man who likes to settle.”
It was a stupid choice of words. She nods at me, smiling as though I didn’t just see a flash of pain in her eyes.
“Well, luckily for you, I think Michael’s nearly done with my housing application. I’ll be out of your hair before you know it, and you can get back to your own brilliant fucking company.”
I sigh. “That isn’t what I meant…”
But she isn’t listening. She picks up her jacket and downs her tea. She barks out she’s taking a shower when she’s halfway down the hall, and the door slams at the top of the stairs.
I’m a cock.
A cock with a hard fucking cock, and a mind to sprint upstairs after her and pound that tight little pussy until she screams for me.
And I will.
Just as soon as I’ve cleared my own fucking conscience first.
I grab my car keys.
Michael
I barely even know this temp. It’s like we’re having a bastard leaving party for everyone these days, even if they’ve only been there five minutes. Drury’s is busy with Friday night drinkers, and I’m huddled in a corner, wedged between Pam and Julie as they recount office stories from ten years ago.
They were boring the last three times I heard them, and my nerves are on edge as the clock ticks, counting down my window of opportunity in which I can legitimately turn up at Jack’s to see Carrie.
She can’t freeze me out forever, even if she’s doing a mighty fine job of it this week.
I’m not usually jealous, that isn’t my style, and I definitely shouldn’t be jealous of Jack, given that he’s been my best friend for almost a lifetime, through thick and thin and everything in between, but I am.
I’m jealous of the way she doesn’t snipe at every word he utters. I’m jealous of the way he goes to sleep in the room next door to her every evening.
I’m jealous of the closeness they’re developing right before my eyes.
And I’m jealous of the Friday night they’re undoubtedly spending together in my absence.
We’ve been in Drury’s over two hours and the party shows no sign of slowing down. I keep eying my watch in an attempt to rustle up an excuse, but every time I do, Pam pats my wrist and tells me to lighten up.