Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Their chain is as high-end as Blue Bottle or Philz, which is why they stand out. Really, it's smart business, but hey, now I'm thinking again. And I don't want to keep thinking.
"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks.
"A little disoriented. You're a good kisser."
He blushes. With his skin tone, it's obvious. And it's sexy too.
I've never found a guy's blush sexy before, but Patrick—
Maybe we should stop talking and have sex now. "Do you want to go upstairs?"
"Already?"
"Or wherever the bed is."
"You don't want to try the chai?"
"I'm being rude, aren't I?" I ask.
"I forgive you." He turns off the stove. "Chai? Or upstairs?"
"One sip."
"Good. It's not worth the wait." He scoops a sip into a mug and hands it to me. "You'll still have to teach me."
My fingers brush his as I take the mug. Even though I've felt his fingers inside me, this feels alarmingly intimate. "Thanks."
"Don't thank me until you try it."
I blow the hot molecules from the top. When the tea is cool enough to drink, I take a sip. "Oh."
"Yeah."
"It's…"
"Terrible?"
"Over-steeped." I take another sip. The tea is way too astringent, but the spices come through. The unique licorice flavor of star anise, the spice of cinnamon, the Earthy richness of cardamom. "But not bad for your first try."
"This is try…" He looks to the mugs in the sink. "Four. Make that five."
"I don't drink it this late."
"You might need your energy." He shoots me a wicked smile.
My stomach flutters. My sex pangs. Yes. No more talking. No more thinking. Only this. "I can show you after."
"After…"
"If you're still awake." I slip my hands under his t-shirt.
He feels good against my hand. Warm and hard and real. Concrete.
I don't usually think about sex in these terms, but right now, the feeling is overwhelming.
I'm not all mind. I'm physical too. I use my body for more than getting around and winning races.
"Did you wear anything under this?" he asks.
"Maybe. Where's the bed?"
"You don't like the couch?"
"I like the couch." But I don't wait for the couch. I dig my fingers into his waist and I pull him into a slow, deep kiss.
He hooks his fingers around the strap of my dress. "I've thought about this all week."
"It's been two days."
"Three." He peels the strap down my shoulder. "I've wanted to do this every minute."
He does the same with the other strap, arranging the fabric so it's barely covering my breasts.
"Do you like it this way?" He tugs the fabric a little lower. "Me, stripping you out of your clothes?"
I do. It's a fixture in my fantasies. Not that I've ever admitted it to myself. "Yes."
A little lower. "Or halfway out of your clothes?"
Lower.
Lower.
Low enough to expose my breasts.
There is something about the urgency, the partial exposure. It's really fucking hot. "Yes."
"Are you wearing underwear?"
"Maybe."
He wraps his fingers around my thigh. Slowly, he drags them up my skin. Higher and higher, closer and closer, until his hand brushes my cotton panties. "Too bad." He rubs me over my panties. "This would be a lot more fun with these gone."
I don't respond with words. I bring my lips to his. I kiss him hard.
No patience, no tease, nothing but pure, raw need pouring from me to him.
I'm here, in my body, and I want to soak up every moment of it.
As much as I can, anyway.
It's too overwhelming.
He rubs me again and again, testing different speeds and different pressures, until he finds exactly the one I need.
I tug at his t-shirt.
He works me with the same perfect strokes. Again and again, pushing me closer and closer.
Then he brings his hand to my chest, and I nearly come from the friction—
I like being halfway out of my clothes.
I like him toying with me.
I really, really like the feel of his thumb against my nipple.
He pushes me against the dining room table.
I pull back with a sigh. "Fuck." I dig my nails into his skin.
He works me exactly how I need him, pushing me closer with every brush of his fingers.
Closer.
Closer.
There—
The tension in my sex unwinds. Pleasure spills through my body, waking up every molecule, erasing the stresses of the day.
Right now, none of that matters.
Right now, this is the only thing that matters.
He works me through my orgasm, then he pushes my panties off my hips. "Bed. Now."
I don't want to wait for the bed. I want to do this here, now. I need him inside me. I need it in a way I've never needed anything.
But the table—
That's strange and overwhelming too.
I nod.
He leads me up the stairs and lowers me onto the bed on my back.
I shake my head. "Like the table."
He nods, turns me over. "On your hands and knees."
I get into position.
"Have you tried it this way?"
"No." Zack and I didn't really experiment. For all his talk about creativity, he was relatively consistent in his sexual preferences. And I didn't have the sex drive—or the trust—to ask for more.