Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 82747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
She shifts her weight in her seat as I pull out of the parking lot.
"It smells like you in here," she says conversationally, as if we're heading to the grocery store or if I'm giving her a ride to the bank or something rather than where we're really heading and the plans we have.
"It usually smells like gym socks and sweat," I mutter. "But I had a client meeting earlier today."
"My client threw soup in my face today," she says, her tone not changing.
I snap my head in her direction so fast the truck lurches. I barely straightened it up before hitting a row of mailboxes.
"Excuse me?"
"I signed an NDA. Can't really talk about it."
"A sex contract?"
"What?" Her head snaps in my direction.
"Aren't those for sex?"
"Lots of people use NDAs. It wasn't about sex. It was a catering contract."
"So soup in the face isn't a kink you have?"
Her laughter fills the cab of the truck, and it works to take a little of the edge off, but she doesn't go further to explain exactly what happened. I commend her for not being one of the ones quick to gossip when she has signed a contract promising she wouldn't.
"I haven't been out this way in a really long time," she says when I take a left out of town. "I forgot how pretty the houses are out here."
"My dad built a lot of them," I explain.
"I know," she says, her voice a little lower than before.
Should it feel weird that we're sharing small talk with the plans we have for later tonight?
We're chatting like old friends, and in less than half an hour, I'll have her naked and laid out on my bed.
Unlike other girls I take home, who would be crawling all over me and trying to reach for my crotch and ignoring their seatbelts, Riley is looking at the houses as we pass by.
Her hands twist and turn in her lap when we pull up my driveway, and although she may be nervous, I also know she's a grown woman. From how she quickly spoke up in the bar, I have no doubt she'd do it again in a second if she changed her mind.
"Ready?" I ask, waiting for her to dip her head before climbing out.
She waits for me to open her door, and I have to smile about it. She was raised in Lindell just like I was, and there's just something about her expectations of me that makes this seem better somehow.
She places her hand in mine when I offer it, but the second her feet hit the ground, she pulls it free.
"Riley," I say when she starts to walk toward my front porch.
She raises an eyebrow when she turns back to look at me, and I hate the swallow that works its way down her throat as if she's expecting something bad from me.
Instead of words, I reach out and pull her hand, pressing her against the side of my truck. When she tries to look away, I'm forced to curl a finger under her chin until her pretty blue eyes are looking up at me.
When her tongue sneaks out to wet her lips, I don't waste another breath. I lower my lips to hers, instantly requesting entry to her mouth with the slide of my tongue on her lower lip.
She grants it with a whimper, and I swallow that sound and the several she makes after, tasting the whiskey on her tongue.
I want to pull away and ask her why she wasn't crawling in my lap, but this actually feels better. I like the sounds she’s making. I grow hard, thickening in my jeans, when her fingers tangle and pull at my shirt as if we're not close enough to each other.
My fingers tangle in her long, blonde hair as I situate her mouth, angling exactly how I want it. Despite the fire in her words back at the bar, she doesn't fight me. She lets it happen and lets me control her positioning. I'm seconds away from taking her right here, and if I don't get this woman inside, then I know it'll be a very real possibility.
Chapter 5
Riley
Is it possible to inhale soup, and somehow, that makes you lose your ever-loving mind?
I think that's what happened because there's no way I'm pressed against Mac Hammer's truck while he kisses me and grinds his erection into my stomach.
I thought that kiss in high school was the best kiss of my life, not that it mattered that it was the first kiss of my life. I’ve compared every single kiss since to it, and nothing has even come close.
But this kiss?
This kiss is somehow more confident, light years better.
Unlike our seven minutes spent in heaven all those years ago, his hands bracket my face, fingers tangling in my hair rather than roaming along my body. It's somehow sexier, and that's saying something, considering how on fire my body was back then.