Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“I think you like me taking control sometimes,” he says with a certain look in his eyes.
“Is that so?”
“Yep.”
I think it over. “Maybe. Sometimes.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’m not ashamed. Just never thought of it that way.”
“It’s kind of a trust issue, right?” he asks, twirling my panties on a finger. Like a pervert. “I mean, either you trust me not to do anything you wouldn’t be okay with or not. Both in bed when we’re messing around and at work when I’m tattooing.”
I shrug. Trust isn’t really a topic I’m keen on discussing for various reasons. “As for work, you’re in the back room generally for these types of jobs. I can’t keep an eye on you. Nor do I want to. I’m not your mother. I’m not even your girlfriend.”
“Eh,” he says.
I’m leaving that one alone. We’ve only been sleeping together for a short while, for heaven’s sake. There’s no rush. Not with everything that we’ve both been through. Maybe he’ll decide he doesn’t really want to be with me. That it’s too complicated or something. So we’ll retire to our separate bedrooms and go back to being just friends. It could happen. Lacking a crystal ball and any psychic powers, I have no idea of what the future holds. Except the thought of us taking a step back from the intimacy we have now hurts my heart. And my loins. Let’s be honest here. When a man has the power to talk you out of your clothes on the thinnest of pretexts, something is definitely going on. Sitting bare-ass on the sofa, I can admit this much.
“Anyway, this is all very mature and understanding of you, Anna.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ve had varied reactions from women I’ve dated. But none that were actually right there and had to see it happening,” he says. “Sort of. I mean, you were in the next room and all.”
“I get it.”
“Have to remember that you might be a bit younger than me, but you’re way ahead of me in relationship experience.”
“Long-term relationship experience, maybe.”
“Yeah, that.”
I cross my legs and receive the heaviest of frowns.
“No,” he says. “Spread ’em.”
“I’m not spreading my legs.”
He continues to sway his hips in time to the music. “Please?”
“No.”
“Pretty please?”
“Still no.” I laze back against the couch, bracing my head with one hand. “Reciprocity, buddy. Show me some skin.”
“That’s not the way this game goes,” he says, voice fake outraged.
“You want me to go get my robe?”
He rolls his eyes and tucks my panties in his back pocket. No idea if I’ll be getting those back later. Then he finally at long last thank God tugs off his T-shirt. Oh yeah, baby. This is what I’m talking about. The right to now ogle him guilt free is a beautiful thing. I can stare and stare to my heart’s delight. Maybe I’ll even snap a picture or two with his permission. The strong lines of his arms and upper chest are enchanting. The dips and planes of his six-pack. For certain, all of the running with his brother and midnight exercise sessions have paid off and then some. The man is a visual delight. Without being asked, he toes off his boots and tugs off his socks. This necessitates a pause in the dancing lest he fall on his gorgeous ass. Which would be sad.
I never got to play before. Not like this. I like playing with Leif very much.
And the growing hard-on tenting the front of his jeans is a joy to see. In all honesty, he makes my mouth water and my thighs clench. There’d definitely be a party in my pants if I were in fact wearing any. Because my want to tackle him and take him to the ground is intense. To have my wicked way with the man. To suck on his neck and mark him as mine like some feral teenager in the backseat of a car. Then all of the Courtneys in the world would know exactly who he belongs to. Good God. He’s making me primal. A wild thing.
“Do you trust me?” He pauses and cocks his head. “That’s got to be a big thing for you, right?”
I blink. Changing my thought process from dick-struck to decision-making takes a moment. A long, hard one. Ha-ha.
“After everything that soggy ball-sack did to you, you’ve got to have some real issues around trust,” he says.
Ugh. And there’s that word again. “Do we have to talk about this right now?”
“I think we should.” The damn tease toys with the top button on his jeans. “Don’t you? It’s only fair. You got to ask an us question and now it’s my turn.”
“Fine. Whatever.”
“Spread your legs, by the way.”
“No,” I say. “If we’re talking about my issues then my legs are staying closed for now. Allow me some defensive maneuvers.”