Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Way to see inside my soul. “Yes. Yes, it did.”
She presses her forehead gently to mine, staying like that for several necessary seconds. Like that, with her touch, something tight inside me starts to unknot. “You can’t stop a fan from taking a picture of me,” she says. “You couldn’t stop your dad. I couldn’t stop a truck from crashing into my parents. All we can do is move forward.” She lets go, looks me square in the eyes, then says, “You have to know that.”
I draw a deep breath.
I didn’t come to this town, this farm, or this job for exoneration from the last kernels of guilt that had dug roots inside me. But maybe I found it anyway. “You’re probably right,” I admit quietly.
She flutters her lashes. “Say it again.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re right.”
“Louder for those in the back,” she says.
I laugh. “You’re definitely right.”
She smiles, then cups my cheeks and brings me close. “But thank you for telling me. I know that wasn’t easy.”
“It wasn’t.”
She drops a kiss to my lips, then backs up. “I feel like I understand you better. Why you like rules. Why you try to be a gentleman. Why you care so much about doing the right thing.”
“I do. A lot.”
“Why you like it when I follow rules,” she adds, her tone flirty.
Lust stirs inside me. “I fucking love rules,” I say.
She nibbles on the corner of her lips. “Remember when you gave me three rules?”
I flash back to my first night here last week. “I do.”
She tilts her head, takes her time. “Maybe rule number four should involve putting me on my knees.”
My gaze drifts to her thick blond hair, held back in that stretchy headband, which looks perfect for us. “And maybe five should involve other uses for headbands.”
32
ALL KINDS OF TOYS
BANKS
“You’re so DIY,” she says.
“From flowers to headbands, sweetheart,” I tell her as I twist the stretchy fabric around her wrists.
“Everything’s a sex toy with you,” she says, glancing back at me since I’m behind her, adjusting the soft material around her hands, clasped behind her back.
“And everything should be,” I murmur as I tug on the material to make sure the hold is firm enough but not too tight. “How does that feel?”
“It’d be better with your dick in my mouth. Can I have that sex toy, please?”
“It better be your favorite toy,” I say.
“Guess we’ll find out.”
Heat charges through me, followed by my own laughter. This woman. She’s sexy and witty, caring and giving. Strong-willed and submissive at times too. If I’m not careful, I’ll fall hard for her.
And that unexpected thought was brought to you by your libido.
Or…was it? Because my heart is tripping fast now. So much faster than I’d expected.
What the hell is going on inside me? But now’s not the time for me to analyze that organ in my chest. Other organs need tending to.
I rise and come around to face her while the dog settles quietly into a corner of the cottage.
Ripley’s on the floor, kneeling on the area rug in front of the couch. She’s wearing panties and a white T-shirt that slopes off her shoulder. The simplicity is even sexier than if she were wearing elegant lingerie. I run a hand down her soft blond hair. She stretches her neck, moving with me.
“You like it when I tell you what to do in bed,” I say, adding on to our conversation from moments ago, before I bound her. It’s a statement, not a question. Still, I’m dying for her response.
“Seems I do, Banks,” she says.
I drag my hand to the back of her head, curling it over her neck. “Because you spend all day taking care of everyone else. At night, you don’t want to.”
A small, wise smile shifts her lips. “Yes, so why don’t you shut up and fuck my mouth?”
Yup. That’s her. Keeping me on my toes with that defiant attitude. My damn heart surges, making a liar of me once more.
I tug off my T-shirt, but I don’t fully comply. Instead, I drop down in front of her. Cup her cheek. Hold her gaze. “Patience,” I tell her.
“Why do I have to be patient?”
“Because good things come to good girls who wait. Like this,” I say, then I brush my lips to hers—a tender, gentle kiss that has her gasping.
Me too.
I dust my mouth over hers again, the kind of kiss that leaves you wanting.
Teasing her, I graze her lips, kiss her jawline, travel up to the shell of her ear. She’s sighing and murmuring as I return to her lush mouth, tip up her chin, and take another sip of a kiss. I drink her kisses like they’re whiskey I want to savor. Like each drop needs to be tasted fully on my tongue.
We luxuriate in the kiss till my bones are melting and Ripley’s breath is stuttering. I let go. “See? Patience is a good thing.”