Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109769 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109769 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
As the spokesperson for my heart, I’m hoping you’re not going to stomp on it in a second.
Arya leans against the reception desk, splaying her hands on it. “Have Cromwell and Traurig calmed down yet?”
“Not even remotely.” I make my way toward her, pushing my hands into my front pockets. “They’re still dragging my name through the mud all over town.”
“Good.” Arya smiles brightly. “I do love you a bit dirty.”
I chuckle, motioning to my corner office. “Come on. I want to show you the best part of the office.”
I take her hand in mine and lead her to the room that has taken the most time to design. To the interior designer’s credit, all she had to work with was a few frames from a movie. No more. I push the wooden door open, and Arya gasps.
“It’s not contemporary.” I lower my head to her neck from behind, feathering a kiss over it while my hands find her waist. She shivers into me, inspecting the vast room, a replica of the library from the book and the movie she loves so much.
The mahogany shelves. The ladder. The books. The Persian carpet. The books. The vintage lamp. The books.
The books.
The books.
“Christian . . .” Christian. That’s what she calls me now. Embracing the identity I’ve chosen for myself. Nicky isn’t dead. But I’m no longer the helpless boy she knew. Now, I can protect her. And myself. I intend to do both. “This is . . . breathtaking.”
“It’s yours.”
She turns around, looking at me curiously. “What do you mean?”
And this time, I show her.
I press her against the nearest bookshelf, and two decades later, at thirty-three, I do what fourteen-year-old Nicky couldn’t. I kiss her long and hard, starting from the base of her throat, working my way up, lacing my fingers through hers. She writhes against me, mumbling my name. I can feel her unknotting against me, one thread after another. We both know no one can walk in on us. No one can stop us.
“Are we . . . are we . . . ?” Arya’s pants come in short breaths as my tongue fills her mouth possessively. “Are we reenacting . . . ?”
“No.” I withdraw, pressing a finger over her lips. “We’re creating something new, sweetheart. Something that’s ours.”
With that, I tug her skirt off, then her panties, leaving her in her blouse and high heels. I drop to my knees and start by kissing the insides of her ankles, then make my way up with my lips and teeth. I stop to swirl my tongue over the side of her knee, a sensitive spot for her, and drag my teeth up her inner thigh. When I get to the insides of her thighs, I kiss them slowly, reverently, taking my time, ignoring the main event. Her fingers tug at my hair hard. She is getting desperate. That’s how I want her.
“Christian.” Her soft whimper hits my ears differently now. “Nicky.”
I pause, looking up. She hasn’t called me that in a hot minute. But I can see why the situation would confuse her. Last time we were like this . . .
“Yes?” I arch an eyebrow, looking up at her.
“Please,” she squeaks. “Do it.”
“Do what?”
She looks around us, to ensure we’re alone. I inwardly smile.
“Kiss me there.”
I press a soft, chaste kiss to her center, grinning.
She groans, pushing my head harder to her sex. “You’re impossible.”
But then my tongue invades her, pries her open, and she clenches around it. I hold her waist tightly, pleasuring her, and she is close, so close that when she comes apart, I can feel every muscle in her body yielding to the sensation.
I stand up, unbuckle myself, and press home.
Arya holds me tight, moaning. “Christian.” My name is whispered breathlessly, kisses landing on my cheeks, my throat, my lips. “Christian. I love you so much.”
The next thing I do very carefully. I lace my fingers through hers again, like in the movie. But unlike the movie, I add my own touch. A French-set halo engagement ring with a two-carat diamond on it. I slip it on her finger as I start to move inside her, and in her daze of passion, Arya doesn’t notice. I make love to her, and she falls apart again. This time, I do too. I come deep inside her. When we both raise our heads and catch our breaths, she finally notices.
Her face changes, her expression morphing from drunk with pleasure to alert.
“Oh . . .” She straightens her fingers, stretching her arm and moving her hand here and there, letting the diamond catch the light streaming from the floor-to-ceiling window. “Is this . . . ?”
“It is,” I confirm.
“We’ve only been together for six months.” She turns to grin at me, and I have to say, for a woman who is naked from the waist down, she sure knows how to be a smarty-pants.