Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Since it’s somewhere just past midnight, the building is quiet, and the elevator is empty, which is how I like it. Back in my apartment, I crank the shower faucet on, strip my clothes off, and toss them in the hamper. Stepping under the hot water equally heats my skin and soothes my muscles.
Planting my hand on the tile above my head, I close my eyes and let the water pummel the back of my neck. I know what I need . . . a release
Blue eyes.
Full hips.
“You’re too kind, Mr. Westcott,” she purred.
She’s been driving me crazy, but desire wins the war I’ve been waging with guilt. I didn’t help her to get laid. Fuck, I’m such a bastard. Right now, I don’t even fucking care. I give in to my carnal side, taking hold of my erection and sliding my fist down and slowly back up, easing into pleasure.
I see how she looks at me when she thinks I don’t notice. And the brazen exchange of stares we challenge each other with has me holding on tighter and pumping faster. When Tuesday licks those lips, I’m convinced she’ll be my undoing if I ever get the chance to have them wrapped around me.
I imagine her kneeling before me, her body soaked from the shower, her pussy wet for me, and the image has me close to the edge of a release. Picturing that sexy mouth of hers sucking me off instead of my hand pumping hits just right, my release hitting harder. “Oh fuck,” I groan just as I finish coming.
I stay like that until I catch my breath, only to open my eyes and find I’m alone. Fuck. I shake my head and swallow. She was so good, too. At least in my dreams.
Grinning as I wash up, I have no doubt the real thing will be even better.
I crash into bed just shy of one, finally ready to fall asleep.
Buzz . . .
Buzz . . .
Buzz . . .
Wait . . . what?
I open my eyes just enough to realize the buzzing isn’t part of a dream but real. “Oh shit!” I reach over to turn off the alarm on my phone before lunging out of bed. 7:10. “Fuck.”
Charcoal-gray suit anchored on a hook.
White shirt—crisp and clean pulled from a row of others.
Black tie will complete the look.
I told Tuesday seven forty-five, but here I am, the one running late. I never run behind, but I’ve been late to just about everything this week. Still shaking my head in disbelief, I rush into the bathroom to get ready.
Ten minutes later, I grab my keys and head for the elevators. I already know I’ll be stuck in traffic, but I still don’t want to add to it.
When the doors open, 16B stands straighter and smiles. The brunette is attractive, but the last thing I intend to do is put a neighbor into the rotation. That would get messy and fast. I don’t want to be forced to avoid my building or, worse, have to move because she’s catching feelings I have no intention of returning.
I don’t have time to think these days, much less get involved in a relationship. Though my stupid grin might reflect otherwise. But thinking about brown being Tuesday’s favorite color is so different. She’s different.
I shouldn’t be giving any more of my time away. I have clients who pay me a lot of money for every minute of my day.
Call me a sap for this woman, but she made it impossible to say no last night. Impossible by existing? Yeah, pretty much.
She’s been through hell and still going through it. I’m not going to pile on more problems. If she wants me there to make her day a little easier, I’ll be there.
The doors open, and I pivot my gaze to a man in a light-gray suit. I believe he lives on the twelfth floor. We exchange a gentlemanly nod, and then I stare blankly at the doors, keeping my eyes forward and on anything other than the pair of eyes burning a hole into my back.
16B is relentless in her efforts to get my attention, but ironically, we’ve never spoken beyond a basic greeting. Not a word.
Thankfully, the elevator makes no more stops, and as soon as we land on the first floor, the doors open. I rush across the lobby and push through the door but then come to a standstill on the sidewalk.
My car is usually at the curb. What the—I look left and then right. Brady’s nowhere to be found. What the—shit! I sent him to get Tuesday, which means I have ten minutes and six blocks to cover. Better get to running.
My thoughts race as fast as I am, and I hope I don’t break out in a sweat. It’s too late to worry about that. I’ll have to shower and change at the office. But I’m glad I didn’t drink much last night, or this run would be going differently.