Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
“You really do have a bad impression of me, don’t you, Peachel?”
I let out a breath, shaking my head. “Don’t repeat this to anyone, ever, but no. I don’t have a bad impression of you.”
“Holy fuck. Is hell freezing over? Andrew Peachel admits he doesn’t hate me?”
“Never said that,” I told him, then gave him a little smile. “It just seems like everything you do is so… intense. The way you drive your car. The way you write articles, with a sharp scalpel. The way you fucking look at me.”
“You like how I look at you,” he said softly, and I was glad he glanced out his windows so that he didn’t see the guilty as charged look on my face.
“This bedroom is like a fucking oasis. That’s all I mean,” I told him.
“Just because I like fast cars doesn’t mean I can’t have a calming bedroom.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“You don’t know everything about me,” he said quickly, raising an eyebrow as he turned back my way. “Actually, you know almost nothing about me.”
It was like he’d just tossed a little grenade out into the room with his words. Like I was standing here now, wondering if something was about to blow.
And it kind of pissed me off.
“I know that your top priority is to get a good story out of me, Gilman,” I said. “Point blank. You will always value a good article over anything else. You don’t care whose feelings you might hurt, or whose lives you might ruin.”
My words spilled out with more venom than I’d been anticipating.
Gray looked me up and down, not responding at first, and I wasn’t sure if I’d gone too far.
Had I actually… hurt him?
Not possible.
He’s not affected by a goddamn thing I do or say.
“You’re a problem, Peachel,” he said in a low tone.
“Why?”
“Because I want you. Badly.”
I did a double take.
As usual, I couldn’t tell if he was joking, or just trying to catch me off guard.
But he slipped off his shoes and started taking off his belt, not even making eye contact with me.
Goosebumps rose all over my skin.
“Is that what this is?”
“I want you bent over for me,” he said, and this time his eyes did flick up to look at me.
I swallowed. “Not going to do that just because you’re mad at me.”
“You think I’m mad?” he told me, turning his head to one side.
“I know you are. I got a little too personal, and now you’re getting cocky, like you always do.”
He pulled in a breath. “I just think you look good with your ass naked in the air, waiting for me. Pretty simple. So get on all fours for me.”
My heart pounded.
I wanted to protest. To remind him that I wasn’t stupid, and I would never forget what his main goal was by hanging around me.
But my body responded immediately.
My cock was hard, too.
“Make me,” I said.
I expected him to come forward and shove me down, forcing me with his strength.
But instead, all he did was step forward and gently place his hand at the front of my neck.
No pressure, again.
No strength.
A gentle hand, guiding me downward, knowing that I would follow.
I swallowed, setting down my shoulder bag on the floor and slipping off my shoes. Suddenly the air between us felt like it was thick, as if he’d flipped the script on me and was completely in control again.
I breathed, enjoying the gentle weight of his palm against my skin.
The threat of more.
I paused for a moment, looking him up and down.
“I’m not going to say please,” he told me, his voice low and velvety. My cock was aching for him now.
And I wanted it too badly to deny him.
I dropped to my hands and knees on the ground, and his hand slipped away. He had a plush, light blue rug that covered most of the hardwood floor, and I settled onto it in front of him, then looked up.
The raw desire in his eyes almost made me feel dizzy.
“I’m starting to like you too much,” he murmured, reaching a hand down to stroke the side of my face. “What I meant was get on your knees on the bed. But I fucking love that you got down onto the floor for me, Peach.”
“You’re just trying to change the conversation,” I said, my voice coming out weirdly low, like it was painfully obvious how much he was affecting me.
“Wrong,” he said. “We can talk about anything.”
“Liar.”
I could feel my heart pounding hard in my chest. I looked straight ahead at the blue-painted wall in front of me, acutely aware that I was on the goddamn ground for him.
“I need to write a good article about the football team, yes,” he said. “But that’s not why you make my cock hard.”
He leaned over and ran his fingertips along the middle of my back, a little bit of praise. Every nerve ending in my body was primed for his touch, like every part of me was saying thank you the moment his hand landed on any part of me.