Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“All the time.” He sips his drink and sets it down. “I wish I could have taken care of them in their retirement like you’ve done for your mother. That’s a true gift.”
“For her and me, both,” I say. I don’t take for granted that I’m able to provide a modest but comfortable life for Mom.
“But I love taking care of my employees,” Rafe says with passion that shows he gets it. “They’re family in a way.”
“I can tell,” I say, smiling gently.
“I want to do right by them.” Something in his voice seems to implore me to understand why he focuses so much on work. What helps his business helps his people.
“Rafe, trust me. I get it.” I can support his choice even if it sucks. “My teammates are like family too. And my family is family. I understand putting them first, even though it’s hard.”
He reaches across the counter to squeeze my hand. “It’s so fucking hard,” he says, eyes dark and sad.
But then he clears his expression, like we silently agree not to linger in the inevitable place where this obsession with each other has led—to the morning, when we end.
By the time we finish our meal, I’m full and exhausted. I stretch my arms overhead, then a yawn overcomes me.
Rafe grins, looking smug.
“What?” I ask, a little defensively. “Did you want to wear me out?”
With a sly grin, he says, “Of course.”
“I don’t want to be tired,” I whine. “I want to go all night.”
“That might be a little difficult.”
“I can go again,” I insist, mostly on bravado.
Rafe seems doubtful. “Are you sore?”
I shift uncomfortably on the metal stool. “Yes, but guess what? I’m sore after every baseball game.”
He chuckles. “Hopefully not in your ass.”
“Oh, I’ve been hit on the ass with a baseball.”
“On the ass, not in the ass,” he says, like he wants to remind me where his cock was an hour ago. As if I could forget.
I laugh. “Fine. Prepositions are important,” I say as we clean up the dishes then crush the cardboard from the restaurant and set it in the recycling bin.
“But I’ll still try to convince you.” I pinch his butt, and whoa. He has a nice, firm ass.
“Gunnar,” Rafe chides.
“Is that tone because of the ass pinching or the suggestion we could go again?”
“It was about sex.” He turns to me in the galley of the kitchen, looking serious. He’s cute when he’s being intense. “We’re not fucking again. I’d be a terrible top if I did that. That’s not what a top does.”
I know that, but I got to give him a hard time. “Shame on you, Rafe. Don’t you know sex can be more than just anal?”
“Oh,” he says, chastened.
I slide up to him, chest to chest. “Did you know there are so many different things we can do?”
He rolls his eyes then yanks me close for a kiss. “I do know, but I thought you meant you wanted me to pound you into the bed again.” He says it in a deep, sexy rumble, like if he won’t fuck me with his cock, he’ll fuck me with his voice.
“Bet you’d like that,” I say, taunting him. “Bet you’d like to fuck me another night, then another, then another.”
He groans and drops his forehead to mine, holding me tight. “I want that so badly, but we can’t.”
I don’t want to stay in a funk, so I slip out of his embrace and walk to the floor-to-ceiling windows. I drink in the midnight view of the ballpark, savoring the lights of the city. It’s a king’s view and so fitting for Rafe.
But my eyes return to the ballpark. Only days ago, I went to a coffee shop near there with Owen, and he warned me to be careful when I’m with a lover in public.
I chew on that advice for a bit, and then part my lips to speak. “Rafe, my PR guy met with me right before I left for New York. He told me to be careful. That somebody might take a picture of me.”
His brow lifts. “With me?”
“Not you, per se. But if I’m doing risqué things. Things I like to do with you.”
“Ah. Smart man. It’s good to be cautious.”
“I don’t think I’ve been very careful with you,” I admit. This feels important to share. “But I hardly want to.”
He tilts his head. “What do you mean?”
I drop my voice to a bedroom whisper. “I was so turned on when you got me off at The West House under the table. I was on fire when you told me I was an exhibitionist. Everything clicked. Everything made sense. That’s what I want. Those kinds of dangerous affairs.”
It’s a freely given confession as I share my desires with him—my deepest, truest ones.
“And sometimes, I do want to be private. Like tonight. But I also get wildly aroused when I’m doing something with you where I could be caught and seen.”