Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“I think that might be the best song lyrics you’ve ever written. Don’t kiss me on the piano, it looks expensive. I want to ride you on the couch because at least leather wipes clean.” He sings it, turning the silly words into something that is beyond captivatingly beautiful.
“Who said anything about riding?” I respond coyly, just to keep myself from blacking out straight into a Wilder coma. If Thanksgiving food coma can be a thing, then so can muscular, sweaty, over-the-top, downright sexy in suspenders and old man pants, bursting with kindness and intensity, oozing with talent, larger than life, and kinder than any soul out there Wilder coma.
“I guess that’s wishful thinking on my part.”
“No, I like the riding. Also, did you see that bear fountain in the park? Why did it have a stream of water coming out of its—”
He shuts me up by cupping my face to tilt it up to his, leaning in, and kissing me like he’s not going to be able to last another second if he doesn’t. One arm bands around my waist, and the other cups my cheek, gently caressing along my jawline, then over my ear and stroking through my hair as his lips tease mine. He grazes his teeth against my lower lip before sucking on it after. Then, he pulls away, only so his breath skates over my lips in a perfect whisper of sinful temptation.
I get one breath down into my lungs before he dives in again, this time parting my lips with his tongue and stroking mine. I whimper, my hips doing something of their own free will that my theory about brains doesn’t mesh with. They bang up against Wilder’s hard erection.
I whimper against his mouth, rubbing up against him in a move that silently translates my utter hatred for clothes at this moment. I’m beyond wet. Beyond need. Beyond reason. I’m the one who deepens the kiss, skating my hand down between us to caress the long length of him through those pants.
They’re softer than they look. I thought they were vintage, but probably not if they’re made out of whatever fabric that is. Also? I’m seriously starting to think Wilder has developed an aversion to underwear. I’m ninety-eight point eight nine six percent sure he’s not wearing any. All I’d have to do is unzip that world-record-setting long zipper, get down on my knees, take him out and—
A rather undignified squeal wrenches from my lungs as I’m picked up around the waist and hefted like I weigh nothing at all. It’s somehow artful, even if I didn’t see it coming. I’m swung into Wilder’s arms, and he plants a scorching kiss on my lips that I feel straight down to my toes.
“Fair warning, I’m about to fireman’s carry you back into the control room to that couch, where I plan on doing extremely sinful things to you. If you don’t want that, speak now.”
“A fireman’s carry, like over your shoulder?”
“Absolutely over my shoulder.”
All I can get out is, “Arghffmfff.” How did I never know this was a fantasy until it was on offer? I’m pretty sure my face is giving all the right signals because I’m lifted and slung over one broad, massive shoulder. Wilder’s hand comes down on my butt, not in a hard slap, but as a brace. I failed to comprehend just how massive his hands are. No wonder he plays the piano so well. His fingers span just about both cheeks, and I have a pretty round ass.
He starts walking, and hello, Jackson Wilder’s ass. From this new vantage point, I get a whole eyeful of the reverse wedgie. I guess it’s the same wedgie, just from a different vantage point. The rock-hard boulders look incredible from this angle. Meaty and strong, his thighs are thick and muscular and highly edible. It’s all I can do not to swing my arms down further and cup them. Or leverage myself into the exact position to take a bite out of that criminal rear.
I don’t get to act on that desire because we’re out of the studio and in the control room in a few quick strides. There, I’m swung over Wilder’s shoulder, the room righting itself quickly, straight onto the larger of the two couches.
Wilder leans over me, kissing me until I can’t breathe. I dig my hands into his hair and then the back of his neck and further down to his shoulders. Clawing at his back, I try to climb him from this position on my back.
His nimble fingers race straight to the button on my jeans. “Are you sure about this?”
“Fuck yes, ten thousand million percent,” I murmur.
“You packed a bag with a change of clothes?”
“Correct.”
“How much do you like these ones?”
Oh my god, am I seriously going to get a bodice-ripper moment, but with my jeans? I don’t think a crewneck sweater counts, and under it, I just have a thin tank and a bra. No bodice, but hopefully plenty of ripping.