Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Oh, I am so fucked. That made me want to squee!
“And, pray tell, how did you come to that conclusion?”
“You enjoy antagonizing your sister,” he murmurs, tracing a finger along my jawline. “Though, maybe not quite as much as you enjoy antagonizing me.”
“That’s just a normal Sunday,” I answer, ignoring the second part of his assessment.
“Lavender.” His huskily addressed threat feels like that brush of velvet-covered steel again.
Ohh, more. I like it.
“Yes, my darling husban—” I squeak as his fingers clamp around my thigh.
“Lovely Lavender. You are going to pay for this.”
God, I like the sound of that, too.
“You don’t understand,” I begin, my words a little wobbly, “if I’m not tickling Prim’s hackles, the whole family will know something is up.”
He sort of growls as his grip tightens under the table.
“Is something… up?” I ask as my eyes flick down.
“Behave.” He leans in, his threat a whisper in my ear.
“You must be kinky like that.” I begin to squirm as his hand slides higher. “Stop!” I whisper. Or maybe giggle. But then Primrose appears at the end of the dining table, her huff signaling her distaste for our canoodling.
War games, Prim. If only you knew.
Without a word, she drops a basket of bread before stomping back to the kitchen.
“Knock that off,” I hiss as he resumes his torment, pulling my thigh a little wider as he leans in to bite the soft lobe of my ear. “No touchy-touchy.” I begin to wave my hands as though Raif is a fly that’s bothering me.
“That’s not what you said last night.”
“Last night was last night, and today is today,” I say primly, “so keep your hands to yourself. Thank you very much.”
“My hands,” he says, pressing his thumb over the seam of my jeans. “I could’ve used my hands last night, if you’d asked nicely. Instead of pretending to be asleep.”
“I was asleep.” Oh, right there. I close my eyes as he begins to rub.
“If you were asleep, how do you know what I’m talking about?”
“Educated guess.”
“You were so hot for it, princess. We could’ve had our consummation.”
“Stop that,” I say as a pinprick of something hot pokes at my chest. Embarrassment, I think. Arousal too, and not just because of the way he’s touching me. “It’s not my fault you’re too nice to take advantage.” I wrap my fingers around his wrist to slide it away. But I don’t. Not yet.
“Yes, that’s me. Nice.” His growl sends a deliciously subtle frisson through me.
Oh my God. I am not going to get off on the seam.
“S-some people call that a compliment.”
“But not people like you and me, princess.”
“Pax.” I angle my attention his way.
His brow flickers minutely. As though he doesn’t trust me.
“I’ll start behaving if you will,” I add.
“That would be a first.”
“It would also have my family asking if you’d Svengali’d me.”
“Svengali is a noun, not a verb.”
And the correct usage of grammar is not a turn-on. So maybe it’s his tone? Those silkily-mouthed words. I catch sight of myself in the mirror above the credenza. My eyes are so dark, my lids half mast, and my face a soft pink. Is this what I look like when I’m…
“Raif, please.” How it pains me to ask when what I really want to do is—
I gasp as his fingernail scrapes and, oh, the vibrations. Who knew the seam in a pair of jeans could be so useful?
“Need me to what, princess? Need me to make you come?”
Yes. “No. I’m not a deviant.” Why do my jeans feel like they’ve shrunk five sizes?
“You’re sure about that?”
“Okay, have it your way,” I whisper a little desperately. “I’ll try to smile. I’ll be nice.”
“I’m not sure I believe you.”
“Don’t you get it?” I whine. “Misbehaving would be telling my family that you fart horrendously in your sleep or that you have a thing for feet.”
Maybe I should shove my own foot in my mouth.
“Lavender.” God, why do I love the way he makes a warning of my name? But at least his hand stills as Primrose appears again.
“I don’t know why I have to play housemaid while you just sit here like you’ve forgotten what your hands are for.”
“I haven’t forgotten what my hands are for,” Raif says in that tone again. “Have I, princess?”
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak. Not until I’ve taken a deep breath. “I’ll help,” I sort of squeak.
I make to move when his hand slips to my thigh with a squeeze.
“No, let me.” Raif begins to stand, his hand sliding away. I don’t know whether this makes me happy or sad. Maybe I’ll make sense of it when my body stops throbbing.
“No.” Primrose gives a resigned sigh. “You stay where you are. Can’t have the guests of honor serving.”
“My, aren’t I special.” Though my heart rate has begun to slow, annoying her doesn’t require a lot of attention. It’s second nature.