Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
“Plan?”
“Yes, what you did back there.” She jerks her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the club. “I know what you were trying to do. But it didn’t work.”
“Whatever do you mean?” I try to make my voice sound innocent, but I know it doesn’t work.
“You assumed that you could sidetrack me. That a story about a sex club in the city would entice me to write about that instead of you.” She leans in close, pressing her hands to the empty spot between us, as if she’s about to kiss me. So close. “Let me tell you something, Soren. You are way more interesting than a sex club.”
“I appreciate the compliment,” I deadpan.
She straightens and then stares at me.
We do a lot of that—staring at each other.
“So, do you admit to it?” she questions.
“I had to visit Jake for a business matter, so I figured two birds, one stone,” I admit. She shakes her head and smiles. I’m really starting to like that look on her.
Leaning in, I get close enough so my breath is hot on her ear as I say, “Did you like it, though, the way she took him in, his whole length in her delicious mouth?” I pull back to see her eyes wide and her mouth slightly parted. She fixes her composure fast as she straightens up and locks eyes with me.
“What about how she spread her legs and touched between her legs? Did you like that, Soren?” I can’t help but let a smile play on my lips—she is good. “Don’t think I forgot about our earlier conversation and how you flipped it to me. So, I’ll ask again, do you ever intend to marry?”
“Is this part of the interview?”
“Could be. Depends, really,” she muses.
“No. I hate the idea of marriage but support it at the same time. It serves a purpose.”
“Marriage serves a purpose? Gosh, I hope one day when you do marry, you don’t use that line on her.” She rolls her eyes as the car stops. I don’t comment, even though I want to grip her face, lean in close, and tell her she needs a damn-good spanking. Instead, I climb out of the car and wait for her to follow.
When she’s standing next to me, I clasp her hand in mine. The first few times I did it, she always tried to pull away, but I like to know that she’s near because she’s a sneaky little thing. I don’t know what her intentions are, so I prefer to have her in my sight at all times. She doesn’t think I hold her hand for anything romantic, and I’m glad of that, because I don’t do romance. And even if I did, I wouldn’t try to romance her. Yes, I stare at her lips a little more often than I should, but that’s because I really want to know what the fuck she tastes like.
As we walk into the restaurant, the hostess recognizes me and immediately escorts us to a table at the back. I usually come here with Arlo because it’s his restaurant and one of the best places to eat in the city. They always leave a table open for either me or him.
Glancing over my shoulder as I pull her along, I see that she’s looking around the restaurant with an amused expression. Were it not for me, I’m not sure she would’ve ever come here. It’s not a place to bring young children, that’s for sure.
When we reach the table, I pull out her chair, and she takes a seat as I tell the server to bring us a bottle of wine.
“So, no marriage for you,” she says with a grin.
“No. Would you consider marrying again?”
“It’s not my interview,” she bites back, her grin fading.
“I take that as a no.”
“I tried it once. Why do it again?” She shrugs. “Do you bring many women here to dine?”
“No, only my sister.”
“Oh, yes, your sister. Tell me more about her,” she prods, leaning in as she places her elbows on the table—my jaw tics. Growing up, we would be smacked on the back of the head for such poor manners.
“It’s rude to put your elbows on the table,” I state, shooting her a pointed look.
“Really?” She slowly slides them back until she can place her hands in her lap, and continues to lean forward. Then she does something I would never have expected. She adjusts her position so her breasts are now resting on the table. “This better?” She raises a brow. “Or still rude?”
“Do you like men staring at your tits?” I ask, and she glances down at her cleavage.
“They are a great set of tits.” She beams at me before she sits back in her chair.
“They appear to be, yes,” I agree.
The bottle of wine is brought out, and I order several different dishes. Usually, when I eat here, they bring out an array of choices, which is appreciated because sometimes you don’t want one standard meal. But it also works since I don’t know what Cressida likes, and I don’t want to ask her.