Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 275(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 275(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
“Harder,” he said.
I pinched my nipples again, gasping with pleasure, both from the feeling of my own hands on my breasts and from watching Ford stroke himself. It was a heady feeling, bringing him to his knees without even touching him.
“Slide one hand down to your pussy,” he commanded.
He was pumping faster now, breathing harder as I moved my hand down, sliding two fingers inside myself.
“Jesus, Elle,” he said, his expression turning strained.
Within a few seconds, he came with a ragged exhale, his eyes roving up and down my body.
He grinned sheepishly and went into the bathroom inside my bedroom to clean up. I smiled to myself as I went into the closet and dressed in sweats and a T-shirt. In less than twenty-four hours, Ford had made me feel more confident in my body than I’d ever felt before.
I reveled in my happiness as Ford dressed and we went out to the kitchen for coffee. Luke wasn’t there, and when I went to check his bedroom, I found the door open and the bed made.
“You think he came back last night and left again?” Ford asked.
I shook my head, a sinking feeling filling my stomach. “I don’t think he ever came back.”
“Don’t assume he’s gotten himself in trouble again.”
I shook my head, trying not to worry. It was hard, though, after so many years of watching him make the worst possible decisions.
“Hey,” Ford said, hugging me. “You okay?”
I hugged him back, closing my eyes and soaking in the last few seconds of complete bliss.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Going to work will be a good distraction.
He leaned back, cupped my face in his hands, and kissed me.
“Thanks for last night,” he said softly, his breath warm on my lips.
“I feel like I should be the one thanking you.”
He smirked. “I loved every second of it.”
I didn’t want to say what I was thinking, because I didn’t want to be the Type-A, controlling, always-in need-of-answers woman I’d been in the past. We couldn’t have a conventional relationship because of our jobs, so I just had to take what I could get and not stress about the rest.
“I’ve got a team dinner tonight, but can I see you tomorrow night?” he asked.
I considered my schedule. “I have a thing until eight, but I’m free after that.”
He nodded and kissed me again. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, then.”
“You’re extra happy today,” Carly said when I walked into the morning budget meeting at work.
I shrugged, feeling guilty that I’d denied being involved with Ford in this very room just a few days ago.
The chairs at the conference table were full, so I took a seat along the wall, holding in a cringe over how sore my hips and thighs were from last night. I wasn’t required to be at the budget meetings, where the editors went over the plans for the next day’s edition, but I often got a head start on columns by attending because of the information that was discussed.
“Where’s Clark?” Brett demanded from the head of the table. “I told him to be here in case we have questions for the arena story.”
My ears perked up at the mention of the arena. Brett had to be talking about the proposed new arena for the Coyotes.
Footsteps pounded in the hallway and Clark came running into the room, breathing hard as he slid into an open chair.
“Sorry,” he said. “Lost track of time.”
“Let’s get started,” Brett said. “The top story for tomorrow is Lisa’s reporting on the package the mayor and the Coyotes ownership are proposing to the city council next Tuesday.”
“What are they asking for?” Clark asked.
The city hall reporter, Lisa Dennis, looked down at a notebook. “Full funding of construction through the sale of bonds and tax increment financing for infrastructure.”
Mark Shipman, the city editor, scoffed. “Are they going to ask the council members to lace up some skates and play hockey, too?”
“You know how it works,” Carly said. “They’re probably aiming high as a basis for opening negotiations.”
“What about the insurance?” Brett asked. “Shouldn’t the insurance settlement cover part of the construction cost.”
“The settlement is still pending because the investigation hasn’t been closed,” Lisa said.
“Make sure you ask what happens when the insurance money comes in,” Brett said. “Does it go toward construction debt owed by the city or does it go in Mila Pavlova’s pocket?”
I leaned back, the back of my head touching the conference room wall. This was what I’d been waiting for. The formal proposal of a deal for a new arena. Now I needed to write a column blasting the Coyotes, and the mayor, for asking taxpayers to fund it.
My position since the arena explosion had been consistent—a sport that caused brain trauma shouldn’t be considered entertainment. I’d seen firsthand what many years of hockey could do to a person.