Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 34335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 172(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 172(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
The knockout blonde comes out and already my cock, which has for all practical purposes been on sabbatical for years, starts to stretch and come to life.
Her dark eyes catch on mine for just one eternal moment, before she looks down.
She’s wearing an off-white pleated skirt that settles just above her knees, with matching off-white tights and black patent leather low pumps. Her fuzzy white sweater dips into a low V on her chest and the hint of her cleavage I see has my mouth watering, and all I can think is, she looks like a snowflake.
One of a kind.
Perfect.
I want her to melt on my tongue.
Damn, this girl could walk a runway anywhere in the world.
But I’d rather she walk a private runway in my bedroom.
“Okay.” Mauricio claps his hands together and looks at me, then nods at the exotic, blonde beauty that has me wishing I had worn compression underwear. “Let’s start with his inseam, shall we?”
Dead.
Chapter 2
Bria
“Now, remember, you need to ask him the question...” I hear Mauricio’s voice from behind as I lower myself to my knees in front of the client and try to take an even breath.
I look up to see my boss nod in encouragement, the tips of my ears on fire as I try to find my voice—usually not a problem. In fact, this morning both my best friend and my father within the span of an hour told me if I could turn talking into cash, a lot of our problems would be solved.
My friend was joking. My father was not.
“Do you dress right or left?” I grit out the words as I look up his pantleg. The answer is already clear, because it’s filling the top of his jeans in front of my face. And I swear, I see it throbbing.
Something like a growl comes from above, but I feel the world is spinning around me. Blood rushes in my ears as I push my hair back and feel my nipples tingle. When Mauricio told me a long-time, valued client was coming in, I expected someone that looked like a Republican senator.
What I got was a man standing there like a bearded, sturdy Oak tree.
“Left.” The lumberhunk grunts out his answer, sending a zing through my body. “Way left.”
This isn’t my first measurement session with a man. I know what way left means. It’s never effected me before. But right now I feel like I’m about to burst into flames.
What is happening?
When I walked out from the backroom, there he was. Not just big, enormous. Thick, hard, chiseled. But that wasn’t what hit me first.
It was his eyes. As blue as the spring sky breaking out beneath dark brows pulled tight as if to warn anyone close by to keep their distance and mind their tongue.
There’s a warmth between my legs and a flutter in my belly as I clench my inner muscles, trying to quell the growing tension threatening to burst free and have me flopping on the floor like a fish.
Get it together, Bria. You need this job.
I tug at the hem of my skirt as I take my place on the floor beside the stranger with the mountain-man beard and the Big Foot sized everything.
He’s looking down at me like a bear planning his next meal. I’ve only worked here a week, but in this part of town at least, he’s an anomaly. He’s flannel and jeans and chest hair, with no semblance of order to his beard.
It’s wild.
Like he’s driving me.
He’s wearing a white t-shirt under his unbuttoned red checked shirt, and his torso is so large I don’t think I could wrap my arms all the way around. He’s older, but the perfect sort of older. Like he knows things about life that I don’t. Like his years give him a wisdom that would keep me safe, cherished, like a little girl feels from her father.
Well, like she should feel from her father.
But it’s not just his upper body that is large. My eyes fix on the front of his jeans again and that little flutter in my belly leaps up my throat and comes out of my mouth in a little squeak.
“Now.” Mauricio does his little signature clap when he’s pleased. “I’ll leave you to finish his measurements while I go and choose a few suits for Mr. Martel to try.”
God, please, don’t leave me alone with him.
“Fine.” Bearded-sex-man answers toward Mauricio, but even that single word spreads a chill over my skin. “Black or gray. No pinstripes. Simple.”
I know my face must be Santa-suit red as I pick up my measuring tape and try to keep my hands from shaking uncontrollably.
“If you could just spread your feet a little more…” I say, looking at his worn leather boots then up at him with a tense half-smile. “Please?”