Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92941 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92941 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“Sounds good,” Beau replied.
Chance and Danny had barely moved to leave when their mom spun on them. “Where do you think you’re going?” she snapped. She pointed at Danny. “Set the table.” Then at Chance. “Ice water and wine glasses for everyone.”
Beau’s chest jerked with silent laughter as he led me out of the room.
“You said no one would—” My words cut off as Beau’s hand covered my mouth. He shook his head.
“This is the common living area,” he said, his hand still over my mouth. “We each have our own spaces, but if we’re spending time as a family—we come down here. There’s a big television that drops down above the fireplace, but it barely gets used. Come on. My rooms are this way.”
He tugged me up a flight of stairs and down a hallway.
“If you turn the other way at the top of the stairs, that’s my brother Ulf’s rooms.” He finally dropped his hand.
“You have a brother named Ulf?”
“His name is actually Ambrose, but we’ve always called him Ulf.”
“Interesting.”
“My dad’s never called any of us by the names my mom gave us.”
“Why not?”
“Probably to be a pain in her ass,” he replied dryly.
“What does he call you?”
“Bjorn,” he replied, swinging open the door at the end of the hallway. “He calls Danny, Arne. Chance is Happ.”
Inside was a living area that was pretty much the same size as my apartment. A couch and recliner sat in the center around an old wood coffee table. Actually, all the furniture looked old and expensive.
“This is the living room,” Beau said, closing the door behind us. He pointed to the left. “That’s the kitchen—but I don’t have anything up here except eggs and beer.”
“So, all the food groups, then,” I replied sarcastically.
“I mostly eat downstairs,” he said, following as I moved toward the kitchen. “Sometimes I make a couple of eggs up here if I’m in a hurry.”
“You like eggs, huh?”
“It’s the only thing I make well.”
“Typical,” I muttered. There was a small kitchen table that looked straight out of a historical museum.
“My mom likes to decorate,” Beau said as I stopped to look at it.
“Your mom decorated your bedroom?” I asked, pressing my lips together in amusement.
“This is my dining area,” he shot back. “My bedroom is that way.” He pointed toward the other side of the living room.
“Tell me the truth,” I ordered jokingly as I walked toward the bedroom. “She decorated in here, too.”
The door was open, and I swanned through like I owned the place, only to pause when I got a good look at it. The bed was massive. There were two chairs in the corner, one of them draped with the shirt he’d been wearing when we met that morning. The dressers were matching and older than I was. Everything was dark and luxurious and incredible.
“I know you didn’t decorate in here,” I mused. There was no way.
“I chose the bed. The rest of the shit came with it.”
“Nice bed,” I murmured as he stepped in behind me.
The fire that was becoming almost familiar under my skin began to thrum. Knowing that I could slake it made it only slightly less disconcerting. We’d already had sex twice. It made absolutely no sense that I was already itching for more.
“Your mom said dinner is almost ready,” I rasped as his cool palms slid under my sweater.
“We’ve got a little time.”
“Not enough.”
“We’ll see,” he said quietly, pressing against my back until I started toward the bed. I’d barely reached it when my sweater was tugged up and over my head, leaving me completely topless.
Beau hummed deep in his throat as he turned me and pressed his hand in the center of my chest.
“Lay back.”
“We don’t have time,” I argued half-heartedly as I dropped to the bed, letting my shoes slide off my feet as I lay back.
Beau stared.
“What?” I asked, frowning. Looking down, I couldn’t see anything out of place. I mean, breasts were present and accounted for. Nipples were hard as rocks and pointing toward the ceiling. I didn’t have a dryer sheet stuck to me or anything.
“So pale,” he murmured, kneeling on the bed by my hips. His hands tucked under my arms and scooted me up the bed. “And pink.”
“It’s not like they see a lot of sun,” I replied, rolling my eyes.
Bracing on one arm, his other hand slid up my stomach, and I arched against it. His hands were so cool on my heated skin.
“How long is this supposed to last?” I asked, letting out a relieved breath as his fingers brushed over my nipple. “We literally just had sex, and I’m already on fire.”
“I’m not sure,” he mumbled, leaning down to lick my nipple.
I damn near shot off the bed when he wrapped his lips around it and tugged.
“That’s not comforting,” I replied, holding his head to me. My toes curled against the comforter as I arched toward him.