Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
I breathe out hard.
He slides one finger inside.
“Oh yes,” I moan, unbidden.
His mouth finds mine and he whispers a warning against it, “I’ll stop if you make a sound.”
Pleasure roars through me, settling in my core. I’m so close. I want to tell him. But I don’t want him to stop. I rock against his fingers, hoping he can read me. Closing my eyes, I let the wild sensations wash over me. He holds my face as he fucks me with his fingers till I can’t bear it a second more.
“I’m—”
I can’t even get out the word coming. His lips land on mine, swallowing the rest of the sentence. He kisses me roughly, coaxing me through the climax quietly.
But there’s nothing silent inside my body. I’m a cacophony of bliss. My cells dance. My molecules sing. And it’s definitely the most wonderful time of the year.
When the chorus inside me subsides, I try to get my bearings. I look around, taking in what we just did. But taking in…him.
“Can I?” I look down at his lap.
He shakes his head. “Not tonight, snow angel.”
I pout. “Why?”
“Because I can’t be quiet.”
I laugh, then I moan when he sucks his fingers once more. When he’s done, he gently zips up my jeans, buttons them, and checks the time. “We’ve got thirty minutes. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
He rushes off.
Where the hell did he go?
30
PINK SLIP
ROWAN
Two minutes and thirty-nine seconds later, I’m trotting back down the cobbled alley, boots clomping, then I’m turning into Rudy’s back patio as Isla buttons her coat with a crisp finality.
Her forehead is pinched. Her eyes, wary.
But I’ve got a solution for that. I thrust out two cups of hot cocoa as I weave through the tables. I’ve also got a brilliant idea, but it’ll require a little show and tell. Hence, the drinks. “A date is more than just an orgasm, right?”
The doubt vanishes from her blue eyes. “A quickie and a quickie,” she says, taking one of the offered drinks.
We sit at one of the tables. “Did you think I was leaving?”
“No.” But she doesn’t sound like she believes that.
“I said I’d be right back,” I point out.
“I know,” she says, lifting the cup and sniffing it, then shaking her head like she’s trying to shake off those doubts. “It just threw me off. But that’s me, not you.”
“I wouldn’t want to do that,” I say, reassuring her—because even if it is her, I still don’t want her to worry about a single thing. “Throw you off or make you think I wouldn’t come back.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” She takes a sip of the hot cocoa, then lets out an approving sigh. “This is the good stuff.”
“Orgasms and chocolate—how am I doing on the dating front?”
“Ten out of ten tonight,” she says.
I’m about to stretch my arms above my head and preen when it hits me. If I ace these practice dates, she might think I’ve graduated from her school. No way do I want the lessons with her to end. I haven’t dated like this before—with someone who asks me to be honest. With someone who gives honesty. “This is new to me, Isla,” I admit. “The whole talking openly like this part. Don’t let the hot cocoa fool you.”
“It’s new to me too. Doing that.” She gestures back toward the bench where she fucked my fingers. “With a client.”
Yeah, I had a feeling that was sticking with her, like a pebble in a shoe. “I won’t tell,” I say.
“No kidding you won’t tell.” As she takes another sip, her gaze turns contemplative—guilty, even. “I feel…like I failed though.”
“Because I don’t want to date anyone else?”
“Yes.”
I take a fortifying drink of the sweet stuff, then set it on the table. “You didn’t fail. If anything, I failed. I’m no good at this romance stuff. I told you that. I’m just not sure it’s ever going to be my thing.”
Sadness flickers in her eyes. “You really believe that?”
I blow out a breath. I give her question some real thought. “What happened with my ex…it was pretty bad,” I say—and hell, that’s vulnerable, isn’t it? “For me. And for Mia.”
Isla reaches for my free hand and squeezes it. “I’m sorry. That must have been awful.”
My stomach twists. I don’t want to serve up the whole sad story of the way we were left. But I also want Isla to know where I’m coming from with romance, with dating, with lessons. I feel pulled and stretched in two different directions—do I keep the story to myself or share it?
I weigh the choices in my palms, and I’m honestly not sure which option is better. When I’m on the ice though, I don’t have all day to wonder what to do. Out there, you have to make split-second decisions. Pass to a teammate for a scoring chance or keep possession. Pressure the opponent to force a turnover or clear the crease for the goalie.