Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 85228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
I feel even more embarrassed about being there now that I'm fully clothed than I did when his eyes were on me while I was stark naked.
"I think—"
He pauses when the click of toenails drifts into the kitchen.
We both watch the far corner of the entryway, waiting for Kiva to appear.
It seems I'm not the only one struggling for conversation this morning.
Kiva's eyes search the room until they land on me, but I don't maintain her attention for very long before those eyes shift to Jersey.
She lifts her head, sniffing the air before moving her body into a long stretch. She shakes as she stands back to her full height, her tail wagging when she notices the food in her bowl. As if she's in her own little world, she proceeds to ignore us in favor of her breakfast.
"What are your plans for the day?" I ask, trying to make it sound like I'm simply carrying on a casual conversation, but it doesn't feel casual.
There's so much left unspoken that I can't help but feel like I'm under a microscope, as if he needs to examine me in order to figure out what I might not be saying.
"What do you mean?" he asks, his voice turning a little growly as his eyes once again drift down my body.
I fight the urge to cross my legs and squeeze my thighs together because doing so would draw way too much attention to how this man makes me feel. The last thing I need is for him to read me like an open book and have some sort of opinion about it.
Remaining still doesn't prevent his eyes from roaming the length of my body once again.
"Will you stay here while I'm gone?"
"Do you want me to be here when you return?" he challenges, or at least it feels like a challenge.
"I just need to know what your plans are," I say, clearing my throat when the last couple of words come out weak.
"Because my plans affect your plans?"
I tilt my head, frustration growing inside of me at the realization he thinks my life is somehow a game.
"I need to know if you're going to be in my space when I get back from the cabin," I say, standing from my leaning position as if my full height would somehow make me taller despite our near-foot height difference.
I feel like he's toying with me, and there's nothing I hate more than someone who plays games and doesn't say what they mean.
"What?" he asks. I watch him shake his head as if he's trying to clear his thoughts, but it takes a second longer before he's capable of pulling his eyes from the front of my robe.
It's the same one I was wearing that night I pulled open the door and found him on my front porch.
Despite having pajamas under it this time, it doesn't keep my nipples from tightening with his attention.
His lips part slightly as if he's imagining that he can still see the outlines of my nipples against the fabric.
I chance a look down, realizing that despite the conversation we're struggling through, there's something about me that affects him as well, if the sight of his erection in his jeans is any indication.
I know the best thing right now is for both of us to ignore the attraction we have for the other until it ebbs and disappears, but his eyes on me make me feel things I've never felt before.
Having his attention makes me wonder what it would be like for his fingers to run over my skin, for him to take a meaty handful of my ass as he fucks into me.
I clear my throat, pulling his gaze back up to mine, and I instantly miss their attention on the rest of my body.
"Why do you go to the club?"
His eyes lift to mine as if I've broken some unspoken rule.
"Work," he answers quickly as he sets his coffee cup on the counter before crossing the room to get closer to me. "Why do you go?"
I watch his hand as it raises, the sight of it sending a frisson of electricity down my spine so strong I can't tell if it's because I'm afraid he'll touch me or in anticipation of him actually doing so.
"It's a form of immersion therapy," I say without considering the confession. "I can't stand for people to touch me."
His hand immediately freezes, and without thinking, I reach out for it, clasping his fingers in my grip.
"But for some reason, I ache for your touch."
Instead of moving to run his hand over my skin, he remains frozen, his eyes searching mine. I can only imagine my confession feels too heavy to him for what this actually is.
Maybe he thinks touching me now is too much of a commitment, but I don't see it that way at all.