Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 48632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
“One more day this week,” I tell myself. Though, that’s not totally accurate. I’ll work my usual Monday through Friday for Ophelia and then work at Twisted Oak Saturday and Sunday. Except I picked up a couple of extra shifts this week, which means tomorrow, I’ll go from one job to the next. Once I get the griddle hot and throw the now-cut potatoes in to sauté. I put on a pot of boiling water for the next side. In a few minutes, I’ll start working on the green beans since those only take a quick blanching, a bit of steaming, and then they're done.
“I wannee kiss ye.” The hero’s thick Scottish brogue almost makes me shiver. I’m sure it will lead to a lot more than something soft and sweet. I smile to myself and lift my leg, placing my foot on the inside of my thigh, standing in a sort of flamingo pose.
“Something smells amazing.” His voice, steady and commanding, carries a natural weight that has an edge of authority. It projects confidence, discipline, and an expectation to be taken seriously. It hits me so deep, I nearly send the spatula flying through the air. I’ve been so zoned in on dinner and my audiobook that I didn’t hear the dinging of the elevator announcing someone was entering the penthouse. I’m trying to slam the pause button on my phone and not make a complete ass out of myself before words like wet, cock, or pussy booms through the penthouse apartment.
“Finally.” I breathe a sigh of relief when the male narrator is silenced.
“Is everything okay?” Matthew asks, appearing in front of me. The open floor plan has always appealed to me until this very moment. He has a broad, athletic frame and well-defined muscles, mostly in his arms and chest. The suit he’s wearing does nothing to hide it, even if he has discarded the jacket and is working the tie off from around his neck. Deft fingers pop open a few buttons at his collar, showcasing his throat where a smattering of chest hair peeks out. Fair skin with a natural tone. His posture leans in a way as if he doesn’t have a care in the world, except I know that couldn’t be further from the truth.
The interactions we’ve had since I’ve been working for him have more than shown me Matthew Carlisle is protective, a trait which is emphasized anytime the conversation gets a little too personal for my liking.
Dark chocolate-colored hair, soft green eyes, a five-o’clock shadow covering his cheeks, jaw, and upper lip, which only makes me lock in on the way they move when he’s smiling or talking.
“Yes, sorry. Dinner’s almost done, and then I’ll be out of your way.” Matthew is hardly ever home this early, making me wonder why he is today. Except it’s not my place to ask. The less we talk, the better for both of us.
“No rush. I’m going to grab a quick shower. Feel free to stay and eat dinner with me.” He’s offered this many times. I’ve always declined, and today will be no different.
“Sorry, I can’t. I’ll leave your plate in the warming rack and the leftover dish to be put away when it cools down.” Staying professional where Matthew is concerned is becoming impossible, especially when it’s him I bring up in my mind when I’m in the throes of an orgasm. One time, he walked in without a shirt on, chest glistening with sweat, shorts hanging low on his hips. The sight caused me to clear my throat to conceal the whimper that tried to escape.
“One day, Letty, you’ll take me up on my offer. I’m sure you’ll be gone by the time I come out, see you next time.” Matthew doesn’t give me a chance to respond. Instead, he raps his knuckles on the Carrera marble and heads in the direction of his bedroom. Later, in the comfort of my bedroom, I’ll dissect this entire conversation, including thinking about him in the shower. Right now, I need to run as far and as fast as I can. After all, it’s what I’ve been the best at.
2
MATTHEW
Ismirk, giving Letty my back. The lure was there. The slight inhale of breath, the way her face softened. All that, plus the way her flesh pebbled, told me all I needed to know. One day soon, her wide, innocent eyes will be mine when I have her beneath my touch. I kick off my shoes and peel the layers of clothes off my body one by one, discarding them in a pile outside the bathroom attached to the master. The natural lighting in both rooms is bright enough that I don’t have to bother with turning on overhead fixtures.
The lingering scent of Letty invades my senses—citrus with an undercurrent of floral. I’ve yet to figure out if it’s perfume, body wash, or maybe her shampoo. Whatever it is, it makes me want to surround myself with her any way I can, a hard task to complete when she’s like a baby fawn, doe-eyed and scared of her own shadow. It’s a thought that’s been sitting in the back of my mind ever since the day Ophelia called me to say she had a new girl who looked down on her luck, and she was pretty sure the girl was running from something, but what that something was, she didn’t know. And nearly a year later, still neither of us does.