Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 167759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Remy straightens, pulling me up with him until I’m on my feet. ‘Meat? Feeding? I believe there’s a joke in there somewhere.’
‘But you’re too much of a gentleman to say.’
‘Ma Rose, if you think that, then you don’t really know me at all.’ His hands skim up my arms, breaking my hold, and before I have a chance to comment or complain, he spins me around, putting my back flush with his chest. ‘If you want my opinion, that book belongs in the trash.’ My heart stills. Have I outed my fears somehow? But as his silky words follow the path of his touch from my thighs to my hips, my thoughts turn to other things.
‘Beauty curves. In life. In art.’ His touch feathers my ribs and the sides of my breasts as, in the darkened window, I watch him trace the bow of my lip. ‘There is a mystery in this curve. A magic even. And here . . .’ His hands slip between our bodies, pressing the cheeks of my butt. ‘Venus, thy eternal sway. All race of men obey.’
Something tightens in the pit of my belly as he presses his palm to the centre of my back, his gaze nothing but serious.
My hands fall to the kitchen counter, my expression one of surprise reflected back at me. Surprise, excitement, anticipation, our darkened likenesses coloured by the watermelon sky beyond.
I allow him to fold me over until the pale marble is cool at my cheek and stifle a tremulous moan as his hands climb the sides of my thighs, gathering the fabric of my dress without another word. His thumbs hook into the sides of my panties before he peels them down my legs. The oven hums, the central air quietly ticking over, sounds I barely notice over the deafening noise of his zipper opening.
His smooth crown bumps between my legs, but he doesn’t check if I’m ready for him.
Does he know I’m already soaking?
A dark pulse begins to throb between my legs, his grunt disturbing the soft hair on my neck.
Did he feel that?
Does he know I throb for him?
My breath hitches and holds as he slides into me, my fingers curling against the countertop as though I could hold onto the sensation. Of being taken. Of being filled. Of being worshiped and used and every sensation in between.
‘Je t'aime,’ he whispers. I love you. ‘J’adore te baiser.’ I love fucking you.
His words are their own filthy kind of reverence, the slide of him between my legs an absolution I can get nowhere else. My head empties of all thoughts of French women, cake, and bitches who play games as he fucks the fears right out of my head.
40
Rose
‘Hey, do you know why my full salary went into my bank this month?’
From the doorway to the bathroom, fresh from the shower and wrapped in a towel, the downy fabric secured low on his hips, Remy barely pauses in the action of rubbing his head with a smaller one. ‘Most likely paid leave on compassionate grounds.’
‘I don’t remember seeing that in my contract.’ I straighten the perfectly white bed linens over my legs as I force myself to concentrate on his face rather than the bronzed perfectness of him, yet somehow my mouth still races ahead. ‘Are you still going to sunbathe naked here?’
‘What?’ His one-word answer brims with laughter.
‘Naked sunbathing. You know that I know you don’t have any tan lines. And that tan,’ I say, circling my finger in the air to indicate the deliciousness that is him, ‘didn’t come from a can. Or a tanning bed.’
‘No man is that vain.’ His expression twists in a perfect expression of derision.
‘Shows what you know,’ I reply, picking up my iPad to log out of my banking app. I’ve known some very vain douches in my time, but least said on the topic, the better.
‘So, I was wondering how you’re going to top up that tan without the benefit of a secluded balcony.’
He drops his hair drying towel to the bottom of the bed, his forefinger held aloft. ‘I heard, where and when will you be getting naked.’
‘Sure, you did, but the question stands.’
‘I’ll consider it,’ he replies with a smirk.
‘Be sure to report back. In the meantime, I’ll buy some binoculars.’
With a taunting glance, he pulls the towel loose from his waist, dropping it like a statement.
‘You have no shame,’ I announce, sounding more encouraging than prim.
‘No shame, but ample cock. No need for binoculars.’
‘I wasn’t maligning your excellent . . .’ No finger waving now to indicate said area. Nope, this time, I use a hand. ‘Equipage.’ Cockage? ‘I was thinking more about watching the watchers watching you.’ Or something. And now the conversation is totally off course. ‘And I know my compassionate leave officially amounts to five days. I received way more than that. And about the email I detailing my pay increase? Well, I just don’t want it.’ I can’t quite believe I’m saying this. A few months ago, I would’ve walked across broken glass for a raise, yet here I am, turning one down.