Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
“I’ll get it all sorted tomorrow.” Though, really, I don’t know what I’ll do.
None of my stuff belongs here, but I sure as hell can’t go back to my apartment. Catness strolls around the room like he already owns it, circling his new litter box in the corner with his tail flicking.
“Junie.” Dexter takes my shoulders and looks down at me seriously. “Quit worrying.”
“But your carpet—I know the plants dropped some dirt when we dragged them in.”
“A little,” he says with a shrug. “Hardly the end of the world.”
“…but Catness could cough up a hairball at any time. It’s pretty much his superpower.”
“And I can get my floor steam cleaned if it comes to it. I already have a cleaning service that drops by a few times a month.” He half smiles, daring me to continue, although he’s still wearing that partially see-through shirt and it’s driving me insane. “The floors don’t matter. Not like making sure you’ve got somewhere to put your feet up.”
“I appreciate it,” I say again, gratitude breaking my voice. “You didn’t have to do this. It’s way outside the bounds of our little agreement…”
“No. I wanted to,” he whispers as he leads me away from the room.
Holy hell.
I follow helplessly, my feet sinking into the plush carpets I’m sure he’ll have to get cleaned no matter what.
He brings me into the nearest bathroom, all gleaming high-end tilework, warm wood drawers, and glass everywhere. The huge soaking tub looks like it’s designed to suck you down the throat of a balmy dream you’ll never want to leave.
The biggest shower I’ve ever seen in my life dominates one corner. It’s big enough to host a freaking cocktail party with a bench and multiple powerful-looking rainfall heads above.
But my mind isn’t on the shock and awe money aspect.
What Dexter could do to me in that shower.
What I want him to do to me.
“I’ll get your room set up while you clean up,” he says, like the thought of pinning me against the wall of the shower and fucking me senseless hasn’t even occurred to him.
“Dexter, I can’t.”
When he looks at me now, there’s defiance in his face. “You can and you will. I don’t care about the damn carpets, but I’m not letting you go to sleep grimy and worn out. Clean up, Sweet Stuff. I promise you’ll feel a million times better.”
Rude.
But he’s probably right.
“I mean, I should go somewhere else.” I fold my arms at the way his eyes narrow. “You’ve been too kind, but I can’t impose on you like—”
“Junie,” he says my name a little too quietly. “What makes you think you’re imposing?”
“This is your house. I can’t just move in.”
“Did I ask you to move in? All I’m saying is it’s late, I’ve got plenty of empty rooms, and you’re filthy.”
“We’re both filthy,” I point out.
The glint in his eye makes me think he’s also having fantasies about what we could do in the shower that’s infinitely filthier.
I don’t know how it got to this point, but all I want to do is peel that shirt off him and let him throw me around.
On the floor.
Against the wall.
Whatever it takes to release this roiling sexual energy currently stealing my soul.
I glance down, almost compulsively, but his body is angled away and I can’t tell if there’s a bulge in his pants.
Oh my God, Junie. Stop.
“I’ll give you an easy choice,” he says, this dangerous note thrumming in his voice—and God, why does that make me want him more? “Either you move your sweet ass, or I’ll drag you into that bath myself.”
I stop breathing.
Images of him dragging me into the bath, stripping me and having his way with me play across my mind in vivid detail.
I’m almost tempted to refuse one more time just to force him to make good on that threat.
Will he be able to stop himself?
I desperately want to find out.
I moisten my lips and he clenches his jaw.
“Make up your mind, sweetheart. Clock’s ticking,” he says, his voice too rough.
I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want Dex right now.
Every glorious inch of him.
I want to know exactly what it feels like when he holds me down and pushes into me like he can’t decide if I’m an impudent brat or an angel. Just as long as I’m the only thing in his world.
But forcing his hand is the single worst thing I could do right now.
This is pretend.
It’s supposed to be fake, even if this crackling tension doesn’t feel like an act at all.
“I’ll stay,” I whisper.
I want him to tell me he’ll stay, too, and we can finally give in to whatever the hell this is, but with a tight-lipped glance at the fluffy towel and robe on the rack, he steps back.
“You should have everything you need,” he says. “Let me know if there’s anything missing.”