Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“Nice?” I ask.
“Hell yeah. I usually neck the bottle like it’s a spurting dick, but since it’s De Chante, I’ll take it more steady.”
I chuckle. “You’re deflecting,” I say. “Why did you accept the proposal?”
It’s a standoff, her eyes on mine. Mine don’t waver and neither do hers. She’s reading me as I’m reading her, both of us unconsciously probing. I feel the sparks. The static of electric attraction that defies all reason.
“Because I wanted to,” she says, “just like I want to do this.”
She downs her drink in one.
Cheeky little minx.
“Cheers,” I say and clink her empty glass, and then I pour her a fresh one.
“Why did you send me the proposal?” she asks me, her big and so beautiful green eyes reeling me in.
“Because I wanted to,” I say, and then I down my De Chante as well.
A sudden loud rumble has Tiffany clasping a hand to her mouth.
“Shit, sorry,” she says, “fizz on an empty stomach. I should have known better.”
I love that she has me chuckling again. I love that her cheeks are burning up.
And I love that my cock is rock hard at the sight of her…
“We best get you fed, then.” I hand her a menu.
“What is it?” I ask when she sighs.
“This starter,” she says, “Listen to this…” she reads from the menu, “Creamy garlic portobello mushrooms in olive oil and thyme with crispy bacon bits and a slice of garlic sourdough. Garlic mushrooms is my absolute favourite and that sounds delicious.”
“But?”
She sighs again. “A girl should never eat garlic before or during a proposal. It can be a turnoff should any… kissing occur.”
I lean in a little, keeping my voice low. “Let me tell you, Tiffany, anything you enjoy devouring would be a turn on for me.”
I like that she’s speechless at first.
I like the grin that follows.
So does my cock.
“You for real?” she asks. “You wouldn’t give a toss about garlic breath?”
“Yes, I’m being truthful. Enjoy your starter. You’ll taste divine regardless.”
She sits back and fans her face with the menu.
“Posh garlic mushrooms it is, then. Just hope you don’t regret it later. At least I know you’re not a vampire.”
She goes for the posh garlic mushrooms, while I go for mussels. She goes for lasagne and chips, while I go for fillet steak. She goes for a triple chocolate sundae, while I go for a cheese board. And we laugh and chat all the while.
We talk about everything from reality TV to the intricacies of cosmology. From tarot cards, to the logistics of running ten shopping arcades, to how long she’s had her favourite boots – it all flows seamlessly. Effortlessly. I get sucked in by her flirty giggle as her walls begin to come down, fixated on her big, beautiful tits when she declares how warm she is and pulls her hoodie off over her head to reveal a cami top. I can see the straps of her red lace bra. Layers. So many layers. And I want to see them all. I want to know them all.
And I want to get to the bottom of the well. To the naked Tiffany, in soul as well as body.
I’ve seen glimpses, even though she was hooded through every experience. I’ve heard the vulnerability in her naked cries, without needing her face as a reference. I’ve felt her blissful release, often in the most extreme of circumstances. The glorious creature that’s now wiping a finger around the inside of her sundae bowl was at the top of my click list when it came to my booking choice at our founders’ gatherings. Every. Single. Time.
She sucks her chocolatey finger into her mouth and I’m transfixed. Two bottles of champagne down, and the glow is alive – palpable.
“Where next?” she asks.
I sit back in my seat. “That depends on you. Bridal suite or the kitchen trash dump, or anywhere in between.”
She tips her head from side to side.
“Hmm, tough choice. Bridal suite first.”
“First?”
“Yeah. We’ll save the trash dump for another time.”
I dab my mouth with a napkin, then call over the waiter, instructing him to add the tab to my room. Tiffany grabs her hoodie from the back of her chair, and I take her hand, leading her proudly through the anonymity of nowhere. Choosing Evesham was a blessing, far away from London’s prying eyes.
“Bridal suite, eh?” she says as we climb the stairs together. “I’m a spoilt girl.”
“See if you’re still saying that if we do end up in the trash dump.”
“If or when?”
She tugs my hand back, stopping me in my tracks as she leans against the wall. I don’t need her to pull me in, I’m already on her, my face above hers as I pull her arms up above her head.
“Why are you really here, Reuben?” she asks me. “This is fucking crazy.”