Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
His hard gaze fixes on me. “I grew up with one drawer, then I lived out of a fucking rucksack. I don’t even have enough shit for 15% of that closet.”
My eyes widen. “Stop decreasing your percentage.”
His lips almost lift. “Jane—”
“The fact that you’ve lived out of a single drawer, then a bag for most of your life is precisely why you deserve the whole closet. At least let me give you 50%.”
Thatcher is about to shake his head.
“It’s imperative,” I add.
He brushes a hand across his unshaven jaw. Carpenter swats at a hanging tassel near my hips, cutting into our talk. Thatcher picks him up under his furry belly and places him on the nearby vanity.
I notice how Thatcher eyes the zebra-print notebook on my pink bedspread. He’s been far more interested in that notebook than unpacking.
Protecting me is still a priority of his, even if he’s not allowed to be my bodyguard.
From a few feet away, my gaze traces the beautiful gold horns of his cornic’, the necklace resting against his shirtless chest. Natural hair tracks down his muscles and draws my eyes lower.
To his sculpted abs and V-line, even lower—to his gray drawstring pants and the outline of his…large cock. I linger on his bulge, and an awkward amount of silence passes.
“Um…” I look up, his attention already on me, but he’s relatively stoic.
My cheeks blaze. Thatcher catching me staring shouldn’t cause any sort of red-hot flush (he’s already been inside of me) but I’m set to broil.
I smooth my lips together and then clarify, “It’s distracting.” Why am I clarifying at all? Hands full, I nod to his package. “Your dick.” End this quickly, Jane. “You’re big, which you know—we both know.” Oh my God.
He goes to speak, and I cut him off, “It’s just that you’re not wearing boxer-briefs.” He’s my boyfriend; I shouldn’t be this flustered around him anymore.
Thatcher nods, looking me over from head-to-toe. “I almost never wear them with drawstring pants.”
“And the fabric is thin,” I add for some reason.
I swear a smile is in his eyes. But then he leaves my side and goes to his duffel.
I study him more curiously. “What are you doing?”
He crouches down and glances back at me. “Getting dressed.”
“You don’t have to.” I adjust the clothes in my arms, a hanger poking my small boob. “I like this quite a lot.” My heartbeat flutters a mile a minute. “Seeing you in pajamas just reminds me that you’re here in the early morning and not for security reasons or secrecy.”
He’s here because he’s truly with me, and the world and the security team and our families know we’re really romantically together. Some learned more recently than others.
Not all are thrilled, to say the least.
Still squatting, Thatcher rests a forearm on his knee. “You can’t even know how much I want to be here with you.” He skims my features from afar, as though tomorrow I could disappear and he needs me in his mind for a second more. “But I’m not gonna be a distraction for either of us.” His South Philly lilt fights through, and he digs for clothes in his duffel.
A smile tugs my cheeks. “I distracted you?” His seriousness draws me closer to the bed.
Thatcher grabs a pair of boxer-briefs and slacks, then he rises to a commanding stance. “The longer you stare at my cock, the more I want to push inside of you.”
My hip knocks into my bedpost. I ache for him to lift me in his arms, to fill me. I’m tempted to drop my clothes and step into his towering build. “Why don’t you then?”
“Because you’re not a normal girl.” He pulls off his drawstring pants, no hesitation or pause. His naked, muscular body resembles epic warriors in fantasy novels, and somehow he’s my protector—and so much more. I expect him to come forward and hoist me up, but he steps into his boxer-briefs.
I draw forward. “What does that mean exactly?”
“It means you have a recent unknown threat who broke into your townhouse, a new bodyguard who acts like he’s a descendant of Hercules but is more like a fucking Potato Head, and you’re supposed to be giving him your preference notes this morning. Which you haven’t finished yet.” He lifts the elastic band to his waist, then picks up his slacks. “You need someone to have your six right now. Putting my cock in your pussy pretty much hinders that.”
I love him.
The sudden abrupt feeling wells up inside of me like a balloon filling with helium. Followed closely by bubbling fear. My pulse skips.
I readjust my grip on my clothes again. “You realize I’m more used to the sexual aspect of a relationship—seeing as how I’ve only had friends-with-benefits.” My voice drops to a whisper. “Anything else is entirely new to me.”