Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Christian stared. “Give me your phone. I’ll put my number in.”
No cool passcodes, apparently. I got my phone from the end table, unlocked it, and handed it to him. He tapped into my contacts and typed quickly, then handed me the phone. I texted my phone so I’ll have yours, too.”
“We could still text the code phrases,” I suggested.
“That won’t be necessary. Just text ‘now’ and I’ll find you as soon as I can.”
I raised an eyebrow. “So if I get a text from you that says ‘now’ I’m just supposed to drop what I’m doing and come find you for sex?”
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
“Oh, no. Of course not. I do this kind of thing all the time.”
He grinned, finally looking at me with some heat again. He came closer wordlessly, knelt, and kissed me softly on the lips, meeting my eyes as he pulled away.
I had to remember to breathe. I sucked in a shaky breath, smiling. “You should probably avoid doing that if you want this to stay casual.”
“If you start having feelings for me, let me know. I’ll ramp up the asshole behavior at work and cure you of it. And then I’ll fuck you so good you’ll think of me every time you sit down.”
I nodded. For once, I didn’t even feel like I had a snarky comeback to that. All I could do was watch him button up his cuffs, straighten his tie, and lift two fingers in farewell before he left my apartment.
I sank back into the couch with a sigh. I wasn’t sure if it was a satisfied sigh, a confused sigh, or maybe even a terrified sigh. Then I saw Termite still rolling around happily with Christian’s sock and realized he’d been too kind to take it away from her. The man was only wearing one sock for the sake of my dog he pretended not to care about.
I clutched my hands over my heart, smiling at the door. Somewhere behind the giant, gaping asshole that was Mr. Stone, a man named Christian was hiding. A sweet, considerate man who took care of sick women and donated his fancy socks to their dogs. I guessed the question was which one of them was the real one? Which was the mask and which was reality?
26
LOLA
Call me stupid, but I’d expected to be able to go back to work like normal, even after last night. The first side effect of Mr. Stone’s magical cock was one of the most vivid, enjoyably erotic dreams I’d ever had the pleasure of experiencing. Of course, it was just as ridiculous as it was fun. It was like some porny spin-off of that movie where Jason Statham had to keep his heart rate above a certain point or he’d die. In my dream, Mr. Stone had to keep an erection or he’d die, which meant my job was to constantly keep him aroused every hour of the day.
As it turned out, I was very good at my job and a very enthusiastic employee.
Reality, on the other hand, was a little less perfect.
I made my way into Stone Tower, greeting the front desk girls who, by now, had started seeing me as some sort of rare unicorn. Surviving as Mr. Stone’s executive assistant as long as I had made the already swirling rumors grow to a fever-pitch. If you asked anyone in the office while I wasn’t around, they’d tell you he and I were definitely sleeping together. People were nice enough not to say as much to my face, but I knew what was going around.
I heard them whispering with awed tones as I headed for the elevator. Well, I guess now the rumors had become true, hadn’t they?
I could hardly believe my own memories as I took the elevator up to the penthouse for my tutoring session with Max. Even though I probably should’ve felt guilty or conflicted or any number of other emotions, I honestly just felt good. I felt like I’d done something the old me would’ve never done, and the Earth hadn’t opened up beneath my feet to swallow me whole. I was still standing, still living my increasingly awesome new life, and still smiling. Except now I was enjoying all the benefits without the side effects of crippling sexual frustration.
Max saw me come in and quickly wiped at her eyes, sniffing and then giving me her usual look of practiced disinterest.
I frowned, coming into the room and sitting across from her at the polished black kitchen table. Her nose was red and her eyes were puffy. It didn’t take a detective to see she’d been crying.
“Hey,” I said. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?” Max snapped.
I looked down, thinking through my options. What would I have wanted at her age if I was upset about something? Probably not for a lame old grownup to pester me for details. I’d just want something to take my mind off whatever it was.