Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
He rolls his eyes. “Ugh, I knew you were going to pick that one. You’re boring. Why would you want to dance when you have the opportunity to suck my dick?”
I laugh, loud and free. The conversations I have with this man kill me.
“What?” He smirks.
I stare at his beautiful face for a moment. “Tristan Miles, I have never met anyone quite like you.”
“Ditto.” He holds his glass up. “A toast.”
I take a big gulp of my champagne and touch my glass with his.
“To swallowing semen,” he says.
What the hell? I snort and spit my drink out, and it spurts all over the table as I laugh out loud. “You’re head obsessed today.”
He sits back in his chair; his eyes are alight with mischief. “That’s because I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“Tristan.” I lean forward in my chair.
He leans forward, too, mimicking me. “Yes, Claire.”
“Be a good boy, and you might get what you want.”
He smiles darkly. “Or be a bad boy, and take it anyway.”
The air crackles between us; our eyes are locked, and nerves flutter deep in my stomach.
I think those two lines just summed up the entirety of Tristan Miles.
I can kid myself all I want about being in charge.
We both know I’m not.
Tristan
We’re in a busy and bustling restaurant. It’s late, after one o’clock in the morning, and we are sitting side by side at the bar.
The mood of the place is loud and jovial, and music is piped throughout the space.
We’ve had dinner, and I haven’t laughed this much since I don’t know when.
Claire Anderson is fucking hilarious.
She’s tipsy and relaxing more and more by the minute. I like her like this. I mean, I like her anyway, but she is at her best when her defenses are down.
She’s wearing a fitted black dress with spaghetti straps and stilettoes. Her thick shoulder-length dark hair is down, and she’s wearing minimal makeup.
She has no idea how fucking sexy she is.
It’s the weirdest thing—she’s everything that I’ve never found attractive before.
And I don’t even know what it is about her, but I find myself hanging on her every word.
“Tell me.” She smiles as she takes my hand in hers. “How are you still single?”
I smile and pick up our hands and bring them to my mouth. I kiss hers and then shrug.
“How old are you?” She frowns.
“How old do you want me to be?”
“You only say that if you’re a prostitute.”
I widen my eyes. “How do you know I’m not? How do you know that Marley hasn’t paid me to seduce you?”
Her lips twist as she fights a smile. “How much is she paying you?”
“There isn’t enough money in the world.” I smirk into my glass as I take a sip. “Keeping you satisfied is a dirty job. I bit off more than I can chew. I’m demanding a pay raise.”
The woman at the bar beside us looks at me and then turns to the bar, as if revolted.
My eyes widen. She heard me. Claire tips her head back and laughs out loud.
I tap the woman on the arm. “She’s not paying me,” I whisper. “I’m seducing her for free.” I cross my fingers on my chest. “And I’m not chewing. It’s all licking.”
Claire really loses it and laughs hard, and I find myself laughing too.
I fall serious and watch her laugh for a moment, because what I told the woman is not even true.
Claire Anderson is seducing me.
“Answer my question,” she says.
“I’m thirty-four.”
“And you’re still single?” She frowns as she contemplates my age. “How is that possible?”
I sip my drink. “I don’t know.” I shrug. “I’ve had four serious relationships over the course of time.”
“And they didn’t work out?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“You’re very nosy, Anderson.”
She giggles. “I know. You ask me a question next.”
I smile and clink my glass with hers. “I’ll start thinking of one now.” I narrow my eyes, as if concentrating.
“Well?” she prompts me. “Answer my question first.”
How do I say this . . . I’m fucked up, and something is wrong with me?
That I’ve been searching for something for years, but I have no idea what it actually is?
Just tell her the easy version.
“I don’t know, to be honest. The girls I went out with were all beautiful—perfect, actually.” She watches me intently. “But when push came to shove, I didn’t want to fight for it.”
“Meaning what?”
“Well, as history repeats, I seem to have a time limit for relationships.” I smile at her fascination. “Like a use-by date.”
“A use-by date,” she scoffs. “What does that mean? How many times you have sex with them?”
I laugh at the double meaning. “No, not that . . . for God’s sake.”
She puts her hand on my thigh.
“I seem to meet someone, and then we fall into a routine and . . .” I pause.
“What?”
“She falls in love with me and wants to move in and have marriage and babies, and I, for some reason, find something wrong with her and begin to back off.”