Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 94579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
They add at least four inches to her petite frame.
Scarlett airily skims delicate hands down her narrow waist, sauntering toward me, hips gently swaying. I doubt it’s intentional, but still, it’s mesmerizing to see her this way.
Dressed up and sexy, in an entirely new light. Another layer to this girl I’ve already started falling for, feet first.
“I’m changing out of this dress. Want to pour some wine? Then we can play that stupid game you’ve become obsessed with?”
She runs a hand down her hair, smoothing down her long, silky tresses. It’s a rich brown, streaked near her face with lighter tones, highlighting her warm complexion. Pink cheeks.
“And can you see what the thermostat’s set at? It feels warm in here, don’t you think?”
I stare at her while I still have the chance to see her this way.
Her dress is lace. Delicate and snug and sexy with a gold zipper running the entire length of her spine. It’s short, skimming mid-thigh, showing off her toned legs.
The skirt brushes against me when she passes, swishing on the way to her bedroom, the lingering smell of her perfume wafting around me after she disappears through the only door off the living room.
Scarlett tosses me a casual glance over her slender shoulder. “Be right back.”
My eyes automatically watch her legs departing, calves shapely and what the hell am I doing still standing here. Part of me wants to pour the wine, part of me wants to follow her.
Five minutes later I’m pouting in the kitchen, two glasses of inexpensive, chilled white wine on the table when Scarlett’s lilty voice rings out from down the hallway.
Tentative.
“Rowdy?”
My head shoots up. “Yeah?”
“Can you come here for a second? I need help.”
Immediately setting down the wine bottle, I toss its metal twist top into the garbage, expecting we’ll finish this entire bottle. Shit, I could easily chug the whole thing myself.
I head in the direction of her voice, sticking my head inside her bedroom when I find it, hungrily eying up the space.
She’s facing the wall, one hand holding the hair off her nape, presenting me with a clear shot of her slim neck and shoulders. She turns, offering me her profile.
The pillar of her throat.
“I can’t quite reach the zipper and that little hook at the top. Can you get it started for me?”
Her shoes are gone, legs bare, and in a few more seconds, her back and body will be, too.
“Uh…sure.”
I step into the room, focused on that gold zipper running along the column of her spine. On her long, smooth neck. The dark pieces of delicate hair flirting with the flesh that until tonight, I’ve only ever seen pulled back.
Buns, ponytails, and under her knit winter cap.
Never down, like this. Curled and glossy.
“Just a few inches will do the trick,” she adds.
Just a few inches.
I snicker. “Yup, got it.”
Her head tilts. “What’s so funny?”
I shrug, catching her reflection in the mirror. “You said inches.”
She’s biting back a smile. “Guys are such idiots.”
“I can’t help it.”
“You’re so immature.”
I narrow my eyes at her lace-covered skin, studying the tiny hook securing the dress’s clasp. “How am I immature?”
“I asked you to unzip my dress and your mind goes to dick jokes.”
“Well yeah, because: inches.”
She wiggles her hips. “Quit stalling and unzip me. I want to get out of this thing while I’m still young.”
“This might take a minute, I feel like I have eighty fingers.”
Not wanting to tear her dress, I concentrate on that tiny clasp, leaning in, my callused fingers working it like a fragile instrument. Once I loop it through, I free the zipper, unhurriedly pulling the metal hardware.
The sound of it whirring down its track mingles with the sound of our breathing.
Scarlett’s bare skin and back become visible, the shiny gold zipper a direct lifeline down her spine. I bet if I ran my finger down her back, she’d shiver. I bet if I ran my finger down her spine, I wouldn’t stop…
Slowly, that gleaming zipper slides farther…farther than necessary, my gaze tracking the journey along with it.
I wonder…
I wonder if I could make her moan by leaning forward and resting my lips below her ear. If I gently blew on her skin. Licked. Nipped.
I could skim my mouth down the back of her neck, across her bare shoulder, and—
“Rowdy, what’s happening back there?” she asks in a whisper.
“Sorry, it’s stuck.”
But the zipper isn’t stuck.
I am.
One inch. Two.
Three.
Five inches.
It hums down its track, all the way down the curve of her waist. Her ass.
No bra.
No underwear.
No bra, no underwear, no bra, no underwear, my horny brain echoes on an infinite loop.
What. The. Fuck?
Seriously. Why is she naked under her motherfucking dress?
God is testing my willpower—he must be. I haven’t prayed to him in months, and this is my penance.
I remain rooted to the carpet, fingers clasping the cold metal of her dress, intently watching her reflection in the mirror. Watching as she stands with her arms holding her hair off her shoulders, presenting me with every opportunity.