Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
“It’s brilliant. You’re brilliant. I’m lucky to have your help.” I lower my voice. “I want to feel you next to me, Cat. Come here.”
“I—Don’t look at me like that, or say my name like that either, until I finish my work.” She tries to turn back to her computer, but I don’t let her.
I snag her arm and pull her down next to me, aligning our bodies, my hand sliding under her sweater to rest on soft, warm skin. “I need to work,” she says. “I think this will be good for you.”
“You’re good for me,” I say. “Must be why I keep feeling like I need you.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Yes. I do. Maybe one day you’ll believe me.”
“You just met me.”
“You keep saying that, too. Soon it won’t be true.” I nuzzle her neck. “You always smell like fresh flowers in a city of smog and crime.” I brush hair from her face. “I haven’t smelled anything but that smog in a long time, Cat. And I didn’t realize until I met you how much I needed something else.”
Her hand settles on my shoulder. “You do know that I’m the one who called you an asshole, right?”
“Called? Or Call?”
She laughs, and it’s that sexy, sweet sound I feel like a rush of adrenaline. It makes me hot and hard, and my mouth slants over hers, tongue pressing past her lips, and the heady taste of her, all sweet honey, coffee, and temptation, fills my senses. I deepen the kiss, drinking her in like a drug I cannot get enough of. I can’t get enough of her.
She moans and slides her hand under my shirt. That sound, the touch of her hand on my skin, pushes me to the edge. A raw, low growl escapes my throat. I want her naked. I want to be inside her. For twelve fucking hours, I’ve wanted to be inside her, but not here and like this. She tangles her fingers into my hair and when her hand presses to my zipper, I catch it. “As much as I want your hand on my body, not here. Not yet.” I stand up and pull her with me. “Upstairs.” I scoop her up and start to carry her across the room.
“You don’t have to carry me.”
“And you don’t have to run,” I say starting up the stairs.
She doesn’t come back with one of her witty replies. She doesn’t say anything at all, which tells me I’ve hit about ten nails on the head. I walk us into my bedroom, but I don’t turn on the light. My bed is on the wall immediately to the right, but I continue on to the foot of the bed and set her down, not facing it, but rather the view: A room that is all glass, the night sky alight with stars, and beneath us the city that never sleeps, aglow in a rainbow of colors.
She turns to me. “I’m not running.”
“Prove it.”
She studies me for several beats and then takes a step backward, just enough to allow her to start undressing, and I let her. I watch her as she does. I drink in every moment. Every slash of skin. The first pucker of her pink nipples. The curve of her breasts. Her hips. The V of neatly trimmed hair between her legs. And when she’s done, she closes the space between us and stands in front of me. “Do I look like I’m running?”
I don’t immediately touch her. I know now what she’s doing. I see it now. “I effectively manipulate people for a living.” I pull my shirt off and toss it and then pull her to me, molding her close. “And I know when I’m being manipulated.”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. Sex is your wall, isn’t it, Cat? I can fuck you, but I can’t have you.”
Her hand rests on my chest, her gaze on her hand before it lifts to me. “Yes. I set limits for myself.”
“And for those with you.”
“Yes.”
I tangle my fingers in her hair. “How’s that working for you with me?”
“It’s not. Because you’re an asshole that won’t let me finish my work.”
I laugh, but it fades into something darker, far more possessive than I’ve ever known myself to feel with a woman. “You’re in my bedroom, Cat,” I say. “That is about more than fucking, but right now, fucking is exactly what we’re going to do.”
I rotate her and press her against the tall post of my heavy wooden bed. “Don’t move,” I order, stepping back from her to undress. She doesn’t resist the command. She relaxes into the post, her hands at either side of it, her breasts thrust high, nipples higher. She’s comfortable naked. She feels in control, like she can grab a man by the balls and twist, and they will be just fine as long as they get off. Not me. That’s not how this plays out. She just doesn’t know it yet.