Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 22733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
The pillow I strategically placed as a structural buffer zone down the middle of the bed is long gone, and in its place is Rowdy Bouchard.
My mind scrambles, attempting to piece together that late-night timeline as my eyes flutter open against the dim morning light filtering through the crack of the closed curtains. After my shower, Rowdy ordered Italian from our group favorite, and I had full intentions of paying for my half, but the second the food arrived, Rowdy told me absolutely not. In fact, he grunted, “I’m paying, Jett. End of discussion.” I rolled my eyes, because I was too tired to argue and conceded. We sat on the couch, hunched over our meal of choice, eating, talking, and laughing well past midnight.
Rowdy, though, flirted relentlessly. His dark eyes never left mine, and his lingering touches had my pulse racing. The conversation was easy, fluid, and I almost forgot that this could derail my entire career if I toed over the line.
Oh, fuck. I’m cuddling my client.
The realization hits me like a bucket of ice water. I hold my breath as I slowly try to inch my leg away from his thigh without waking the giant sleeping next to me. I carefully try to disentangle my arm from his chest, easing my palm along the way, and that’s when Rowdy stirs.
Before I can complete my retreat, his thick, heavy arm shoots out, wrapping tightly around my waist like an iron band. With one effortless tug, he pulls me backward, rolling me over to my side, then my back is flush against his chest. I gasp softly as he tucks himself against me. I can feel him, all of him, through the thin cotton pajama shorts. The unmistakable, rock-hard length of his dick is nestled right between the cheeks of my ass. He’s thick, long, and throbbing.
“Where do you think you’re going, sunshine?” He scrapes his chin along my neck. The slight abrasion of his roughened beard causes goose bumps to rise along my skin. Add in his voice still thick with sleep and, well, all I can do is attempt to suppress the shiver being sent down my spine.
“Rowdy, we need to…” The words die in my throat when his large, calloused hand slips beneath the hem of my black tank. The heat of his palm against my bare skin is electric, making my stomach contract instantly. Rowdy doesn’t pause, one hand travels upward, gliding over my ribs, his fingers spreading wide, nearly cupping the heavy curve of my breast. At the same time, his other hand dips below the elastic waistband of my shorts, and his fingers slide along my skin with an agonizing slowness.
I stay completely still, even when my mind screams at me to pull away, to enforce the boundary I set, to not mix business with pleasure. Except my body refuses to obey. No, the traitorous hussy is begging for a release I wasn’t able to achieve in the shower last night.
God, how I tried.
After Rowdy fell asleep, I slipped back into the bathroom, trying to quiet the ache pulsing between my thighs that he’d planted in me before, during, and after dinner. But my own touch felt hollow, inadequate compared to the overwhelming presence of the man who’s currently holding me captive in his arms. There’s also the fact that staying quiet was nearly impossible. I’m sure I was a sight to behold, forearm on the counter, bent at the waist, mouth full of my towel while my fingers worked at a furious pace inside my shorts.
Rowdy lets out a low, satisfied grunt against my neck. His finger circles my hardened nipple, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core. Below my waist, his other hand presses deeper, the tips of his finger brushing over the smooth skin before tugging on my landing strip. Jesus, if he goes any further, he’ll realize just how hot I am for him.
My thighs part on instinct, my head falls back against him, and my eyes close as I surrender to his touch. I’m ready to let him go as far as he wants.
I want his hands.
I want his mouth.
I want his cock.
I want every single inch of Rowdy Bouchard to wreck me right here beneath the sheets covering us. His fingers move lower, reaching my slick folds, one thick digit dipping—
Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!
The harsh shrill of Rowdy’s phone alarm blares to life on the nightstand behind him. The sound shatters the quietness of the room like a brick being thrown through a window. The noise makes Rowdy flinch, and his hand slips away from my breast as he groans out an angry, violent curse, reaching to slam his palm down on the screen to kill the noise. I whimper, the sound tearing from my throat before I can stop it. A needy, desperate, pathetic moan at the sudden loss of his touch.