Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“I said… nine out of ten. That was concise, direct, and sincere. I have no notes.” I put my hand on his arm and leaned in to whisper confidingly, “I’m a sucker for sincerity.”
Oscar placed one hand on the bar beside me and the other on the back of my stool, effectively caging me in. He leaned in closer, and his scent—spicy, woodsy, and expensive—washed over me.
“Sincerity, huh?” My eyes fluttered shut as his mouth neared the spot where my jaw met my throat. “How about this, then: I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you all night.” His lips brushed over the sensitive skin, sending goose bumps blazing across my body. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.” His teeth nipped the shell of my ear. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what I’d like to do with you.”
“Oh.” I could barely breathe, and my head spun. “Yes. Good.”
He smiled, nuzzling my neck. “Spend the night with me.” He pulled back to meet my gaze head-on, waiting.
I’d adopted a blanket “no casual fucks when working a wedding” rule a long time ago. Not only did hooking up with guests seem vaguely unprofessional, but the hookups were ultimately unfulfilling too. Oscar wasn’t wrong when he’d called me a romantic.
In that moment though, I found I didn’t care about my rule. It was a heady thing being the center of Oscar’s attention, the object of his entire focus. I wanted more of it. I wanted him naked. I wanted him undone. And for once, I wasn’t imagining a happy future because every synapse in my brain was very busy processing the absolutely mind-blowing here and now.
I knew Oscar was offering me tonight and nothing more, but my options were to go home to an empty apartment and my hand for company or go upstairs with Oscar. When I looked at it that way, the answer was blazingly obvious.
“Okay,” I told him.
Surprise flashed in his eyes, like he’d expected me to turn him down. When he realized I wasn’t, that flash turned wolfish. A shiver of desire raced down my spine, confirmation that I wasn’t going to regret this decision.
He tugged me from my stool and toward the bank of elevators, where he smoothly slipped his key card into the penthouse slot as the doors slid shut.
The interior of the elevator was all mirrored walls, and we were suddenly faced with a thousand reflections of ourselves. For a moment, there was nothing but silence stretching between us.
Our eyes met in the mirror, and Oscar’s mouth started a slow slide into a grin. Then, the elevator jolted, gaining speed as it accelerated upward. My stomach dropped, and I might have stumbled if Oscar hadn’t shot out a hand to steady me.
I glanced down at where his fingers wrapped around my hip, and as I watched, he flexed them against me and tugged.
We could have taken it slow. Teased the moment out longer. I could have let him seduce me with a hundred more terrible pickup lines and pretended I wasn’t slowly melting inside just from the solid weight of him against me. Instead, I let our momentum take over, pushing him back against the wall and crowding in close, gripping his shirt front in my hand and pulling his lips to mine.
Oscar made a noise—a shocked little inhalation—at my boldness that might have made me laugh if my mouth hadn’t been otherwise occupied. It figured that Oscar was used to being in charge in the bedroom since he was in charge everywhere else.
But so was I.
I teased him with a flick of my tongue, and when he leaned in for more, I kept my hands on his shoulders, holding him in place. He let out a growl of frustration, and I grinned. I leaned toward him again, this time skimming my mouth along his jaw, down his throat.
Oscar tipped his head back, groaning.
I pushed my leg between his thighs, aligning our hips so that I could grind our cocks together. He was already fully, gratifyingly hard, practically vibrating with the same need that set my insides on fire.
The elevator swooped to a stop, and I pulled back, my eyes meeting his. His lids were heavy, his pupils blown. He angled his head toward mine for a kiss, but once again, I retreated, denying him what he wanted.
He quirked an eyebrow in a look I remembered from the reception earlier—the one he probably thought made him look scathing and imperious but actually made him appear pouty and adorable.
I grinned.
That was apparently enough to send him over the edge. Before I knew what was happening, the elevator doors swished open, and Oscar’s hands were in my hair. He crowded against me, pushing me back through the open door and into the foyer of the penthouse suite.