Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85950 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85950 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
My cock is already thickening when I use my key to open the door and enter the house.
I can’t even say that I didn’t have expectations walking inside for the first time, knowing how the evening was going to end. In my head, there were candles and soft music playing. I pictured Adalynn naked on the bed waiting for me—different fantasies have her either touching herself or gripping the sheets in order to resist doing so—or even better, on her knees with her head bowed.
None of that is what I’m greeted with. Adalynn is in her kitchen, closing the oven door, when I step into view. Instead of candles and soft music, every light is on and the television is blaring with an excessive number of beeps to censor cuss words as an angry chef makes other chefs feel like shit by telling them their food is awful.
“Ads?” I say when she keeps her back to me as she walks toward the sink.
“Oh, hey,” she says over her shoulder as she begins washing her hands. “How was work?”
How was work?
I feel like I’ve crossed over into some other realm, some different plane of reality.
“It’s fine. Chandler is covering my lunch,” I remind her.
What’s the chance she forgot what we were supposed to be doing tonight?
Is something I’ve been obsessing over just another day to her?
Then I see the tremble in her hands that she’s trying to hide as she reaches for a dish towel.
“You’re baking?”
She looks from me to the oven.
“Robin cleaned out her freezer and found a pre-made lasagna. We have an hour and a half before it’s done. Have you eaten?”
I lick my lips, but don’t say what I’m thinking.
“I only have an hour for lunch,” I remind her.
“Yes. That’s right. Okay, then. Well,” she says, and I sort of like her nervousness. “Let’s get started then. Shall we?”
Shall we?
Maybe I have stepped through some sort of time portal.
I follow her from the room, my eyes locked right where they normally are when she’s walking away. Her ass looks phenomenal.
“You can put your gun belt and stuff over on the dresser. I laid down a towel, so it doesn’t scratch the surface.” She points in the general direction of the dresser. “I’m going to go get ready.”
I don’t tug at my belt until she closes herself into the bathroom. I have no idea what getting ready entails, but I swear I’ll nut if she walks out of the bathroom naked.
My heart is pounding, my need for her thickening my cock to a full erection. I don’t know what her expectations are, but I strip to my skin, resisting the burn in my gut that tells me I need to stroke a hand down my length to calm myself. I avoid touching my dick at all. There will be no taking the edge off tonight. Every breath will be an exercise in self-control.
I shift my weight from one leg to the other until I start to feel awkward.
She takes forever in the bathroom. So long, in fact, that I have to wonder if I need to call Chandler and let him know I’m going to need longer than an hour for my break.
I step closer to the door and listen, but I hear nothing. The water isn’t running, and she doesn’t seem to be walking around in the room.
“Ads?” I say, my voice catching in my throat. “Everything okay in there?”
“You can do this,” she says, but her voice is a whisper and not meant for me.
It feels intrusive, like I’ve violated her privacy, but it’s also a slap in the face.
Does this woman actually have to psych herself up to have sex with me?
Before I can get lost trying to figure out the answer to that question, the doorknob turns and she steps into the room.
Five seconds ago, I was ready to call this whole thing off with a promise to myself that I could get over being offended by what I overheard, but the second she steps into the bedroom, every thought is derailed.
I’ve seen this woman in a bikini I don’t know how many times, but the sight of her standing in front of me in a soft-looking robe, the hem of it flirting with her upper thighs, leaves me forgetting how to breathe.
My eyes trail up her silky-smooth legs to her waist where the tie is cinched. An image of her pregnant flashes in my mind, conjuring up what she might look like wearing this same thing then. It would gap at her throat, the swells of her breasts exposed. In my fantasy, the roundness of her belly would make it impossible to keep the thing closed at the bottom.
“Are you ready?” she asks, but she can’t seem to look my way.
I’d be offended if her face wasn’t bright red. I’m comfortable enough in my skin that I somehow managed to forget that I’m standing in the middle of her bedroom butt ass naked.