Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“But you need one.” He laughs into my neck, the jerk.
“I’m serious, Rome. I have to hold my head up at work tomorrow. I’ll die if anyone notices.”
“You work for yourself; no one is going to rat you out.”
“I will kill you.” I pull back, glaring at him. “No. Hickeys.”
He pulls a face. “You’re no fun.”
“Do you want me to give you one, instead?”
“Fuck, no.”
“Then leave my neck alone.”
When he does remove his mouth, I groan—it felt so damn good having his lips there—I’m rewarded when it slides up my jawline, the tip of his nose bumping my ear. Breathing warm breath into the shell, my eyes slide closed.
“Mmm.”
I feel his mouth smiling at the same time his hands slide down my arms. Up again, thumbs hooking the cotton of my dress. Pushing it down my arms like I’d done with his dress shirt. And, just like his dress shirt, it slides off my body into a pool of red, liquid fabric, down to the floor.
Red bra. Red panties.
Nothing more.
He kisses me as I nimbly fumble with the buckle of his belt, then unbutton his jeans. Whirr the zipper down its track.
His cock strains against the thick fabric. I can feel it beneath my fingers as I pull the zipper along. Greedy fingers that want to feel it; greedy eyes that want to see it.
I’m glad he turned the lights on. I want to see all of him, every inch. My eyes cast downward—they simply cannot help themselves. I’ve only ever seen this man in a suit, jeans or shorts, and a T-shirt. Never even close to naked.
He’s so laced up and stuffy.
Now he’s bare and practically naked to my prying gaze.
Broad chest. Tan skin.
A stomach that dips into that glorious V into the waistband of his black boxers.
“Everything in this room matches,” I can’t help pointing out. What can I say? I’m a stickler for details. “The floor. Your bed. Your shirt. Your boxers. Do you do this on purpose?”
“Maybe,” he teases back.
“Mmm . . .” is all I can muster, because I’m helping him shuck his pants and get them off his body.
Then, it’s just the two of us.
Skin and lace and cotton briefs.
Hands and lips and tongue and a little teeth.
I want to be on the bed, so I take a few steps backward until the backs of my knees hit the mattress. Wait for him to guide me down, laying me flat on my back. I crab-crawl to the center; I’m not brave enough to pull down his underwear and give him a blow job—not yet anyway.
But he seems content to watch me recline on his stacked pillows—red panties against stark white—my dark hair fanned out, arms spread wide, inviting him to join me.
“God, you’re sexy.”
I crook a finger.
He comes.
Rome dives into my body, arms braced at my sides, tongue licking between the valley of my breasts. Playful. Sweet. My breath quickens when he lowers himself, settling between my legs, the hard length of him pressed into my core. It pulses.
Now, I shouldn’t say this is the part where we dry fuck for a good ten minutes, but . . . this is the part where we dry fuck for a good ten minutes. Like teenagers. Rome moving over me, mimicking sex.
Digging the tip of his erection into the valley of my thighs, hitting the wet, hot center. My head tips back and I moan, biting my lip. All he’s doing is rubbing himself against me, for God’s sake.
We’re still wearing underwear . . . and I love it.
God, it feels so good, and we’re not even screwing.
“More,” I whine. “Get these off.”
Together we shove at his boxers. I’ve never seen Rome Blackburn so . . . desperate. Excitement shines in his eyes; he wants me bad.
And, dear God, his dick is ridiculous.
Big.
Thick.
Big and thick? Stop repeating yourself, Peyton. You’re about to bang your boss. You’re about to bang the man of your dreams.
Stop saying bang. It’s not classy.
I try and focus on the task, and get out of my own headspace, but it’s hard—I haven’t had sex in two years, and his incredible penis is clouding my judgment.
Rome spreads my legs.
Inches down my body, peppering kisses on my stomach—it’s not perfect, hardly flat—but he doesn’t seem to mind. He seems to love it, licking my belly button and running his nose along my pelvis.
“So fucking sexy,” he tells me for the umpteenth time tonight, and I stretch out beneath him, kind of like a cat lounging in the sun. “I’ve been wanting to get my mouth on this pussy for weeks.”
“You have?” I squeak out in the unsexiest way, tipping my neck so I can see him better. I then watch as his mouth descends on my panties, sucking through the sheer, red nylon. His tongue flicks up and down the slit of my crotch, wetting the space between my legs.