Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
But it’s a good hurt.
Damn, it’s good.
So good…
I fist my hand in the thin denim at the base of her spine, urging her even closer, groaning into her mouth as she wraps a leg around my hips. She grinds harder, faster, and I swear, I can feel her heat through my jeans.
I can also feel how quickly this could turn into another scandal if we’re not actually alone…
I pull back with a sharp inhale, cupping her jaw in one hand as I fight for control.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, her lips swollen, and a “need you inside me” look in her eyes that has my balls dragging between my thighs.
“Nothing. Not one fucking thing.” I hold her gaze, willing her to see how dumb it is to keep pretending this connection is fake. “Come home with me. Let me show you what I can do to you in an actual bed for once.”
She bites her bottom lip, her forehead furrowing.
“Stop,” I say, prying it free with a gentle tug of my thumb. “There’s nothing to stress about. Just come home with me. Let me make you come and bring you coffee in bed in the morning before I leave for practice. It doesn’t have to be complicated. Or weird. I promise.”
“I can’t,” she says. “I’m sorry, I just… I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Boundaries. We set boundaries.” She swallows, her throat working as she nods. “And I think we should stick to them. At least for now.”
“For now?” I probe.
“Until we both get what we came for,” she says, a pleading note creeping into her voice as she adds, “I can’t afford for you to decide you’re done with this before the wedding, Baylor. I really can’t.”
“Charlotte, I would never—”
“I know you probably wouldn’t,” she says, ducking out from under my arm. “I’m probably being stupid, but three more friends sent me that article today and…” She paces away, shaking her hands at her sides like she’s trying to fling something unpleasant from her fingers. “I can’t stand it. I really can’t. I can’t stand being the cliché, the pathetic middle-aged loser tossed aside for a younger woman and left to rot like some… Like a pumpkin in the Louisiana heat. All saggy and rotten, with a puckered old lady mouth that will never smile again.”
I laugh, then wince, the suffering of my cock forgotten as I realize she isn’t kidding. Not really.
“You can’t let this get in your head like that, Charlotte,” I say. “It’s not true, and he doesn’t deserve that kind of power over you.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not old. Or a lady.” She turns back to me, her hands threading into her hair to form twin fists. “It sucks, Nix. It sucks more than I ever thought it would. I always thought that I didn’t care all that much about getting older, and I certainly wouldn’t let anyone else make me care. But now…” She exhales a ragged breath. “When everyone treats you a certain way. When society, your friends, your ex, a lifestyle magazine, and everyone else and their mother have decided you are a thing—isn’t it crazy to insist you’re something else?” She presses her lips together for a beat before she whispers, “Am I crazy?”
Aching for her, I shake my head. “No, you aren’t. You’re just different. And smart. Two things it’s really hard to be sometimes.”
“Yeah. It is.” She sniffs, swiping at her nose with the back of her hand before her arms drop limply to her sides. “Thanks for listening. I feel better.”
“You’re welcome. Anytime.”
“But I’m not sleeping with you tonight,” she says, her eyes narrowing on my face. “No matter how perfect you’re being. No more rushing into hot, spontaneous, mind-blowing sex.”
Fighting a smile, I nod. “You’re right. From now on, we should only have cold, scheduled, mind-torturing sex.”
She huffs out a laugh.
I wink.
She rolls her eyes.
I shoot her my best “you know you want to fuck me again” grin.
“Impossible! You’re impossible.” She sticks her tongue out, a childish response I find ridiculously cute, before pointing a finger toward the Range Rover. “Go. In the vehicle. Now. I have to get home and eat leftover salmon quinoa and consider the consequences of my actions.”
“Sounds exciting,” I say, leading the way across the lot. “Way better than orgasms and pizza from Gianna’s in my bed.”
She moans, pressing a hand to her stomach. “Oh my God, Gianna’s. I haven’t had their pizza in years. Is it still slap-your-grandma good?”
“It’s slap-your-grandma-and-two-rescue-puppies good. They added new sauces for the breadsticks.”
She curses colorfully, making me grin as I climb into the passenger’s side.
She’s weakening.
No, she’s awakening, and it’s only a matter of time before she admits she doesn’t want to fake this, either.
Forty-five minutes later, I stand in the empty stadium lot, hands shoved in my pockets as I watch her taillights disappear, refusing to take this as anything but a win. We had an amazing time together today, and she wanted to say yes.