Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94678 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94678 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
When his tongue delves out for the second time in the past minute, I steer toward the latter.
Warmth blooms between my legs, and because I am forever weak when it comes to this man, its heat has me walking toward Mikhail with my hips swinging and my eyes full of lust.
For just a moment, I relish the electricity crackling between us. I allow it to build my confidence to a point it will never topple before I snatch the dress out of his hand and enter the dressing room before him.
I didn’t think my plan through. A curtain forms the changing room’s door. There’s no lock. I’ve not even hooked Mikhail’s pick onto a hanger at the side of the ample space before his imposing aura pinches the last of the air in my lungs.
“What are you doing?” I ask, attempting to portray that I have some sort of morality when it comes to this man.
His predatory stalk flashes up images of his eagerness to remove my jeans only an hour ago, and they make me wet.
I’m not the only one feeding off the lust brewing in the air. Mikhail’s reply almost crests the wave in my stomach. “With a sixteen-thousand-dollar purchase price, you can be assured that I’m going to make sure it is the perfect fit before handing over a penny.”
I love his attempts to squash the last bit of tension between us with playfulness, but I can’t help but tease him. “Isn’t that Wilfred’s job?”
He stares straight at me while replying, “Usually.” His lips twist as he shakes his head. “But not when it comes to you.” When his words freeze me, he tilts his head and hikes up one side of his chunky lips. “If you’re shy, I can twist away—”
I shut him up by unbuttoning my jeans. The hiss of my zipper as I lower it matches the whistle that rustles through his teeth when I peel my jeans down my thighs while maintaining eye contact.
I’m not watching him solely to prove my confidence will only ever surge in his presence instead of wilting. I am also doing it so I don’t miss a single expression that crosses his gorgeous face.
Mikhail’s eyes speak a million words before his mouth articulates a single one.
Every nerve in my body ignites when a deep murmur sounds from his chest as he takes in my printed underwear.
“Sunflowers.” He lifts his hooded eyes to mine. “Fitting.” He rakes his teeth over his lower lip, augmenting the throbs hitting my clit. “Though I prefer daisies. They’re delicate and sweet.”
They’re also the flowers he ordered to be grown across acres of land when he proposed.
The planning of his proposal proves it wasn’t a quick-winded decision. It took months to implement and made me truly believe he asked for my hand in marriage because he wanted me to be his wife and the mother of his children.
Vying to ignore the heartache of our lost years, I toe off my shoes and shimmer out of my jeans. “They’re my favorite print too, but they seem to have gone missing.” His eyes flare, but his mouth remains tight-lipped. “You need to give them back. In my hurry to pack, I only packed five pairs of panties.”
I struggle to keep up when he tosses out mixed signals. “That leaves four pairs too many.”
I assumed his daisies reference was to maim my heart. Only now am I wondering if he is attempting to conjure happy memories like our trip to the waterfall instigated?
I pretend I’m not being swallowed by confusion. My skills are top-notch… until I bend over to gather my jeans from the floor.
I don’t bend with my knees. With a flourish, I pop down in a way Elle Woods would be proud. I thrust my rear end out and cock my hip, giving Mikhail a bird’s-eye view of the area he made moist during our grind-up.
It is an extremely unladylike poise that has Mikhail growling like he’s a beast under attack. You’d need superhuman eye strength to see through the minute crack our entrance to the changing room caused, but Mikhail acts as if it is as gaping as the hole he left in my heart when he left.
He rushes forward to cover me with his body so fast that the briskness of his long strides cools my overheated skin.
I moan in appreciation, loving its relief.
Mikhail doesn’t hear my moan in the way I intended. I understand why. I’m only good at lying when I am trying to convince myself it is for the greater good.
When Mikhail’s heated breaths batter my earlobe, I know I should walk away, disappear into the disappointment that will inevitably surface like it did when our grind-up was busted, but for the life of me, I can’t. My heart hasn’t beaten at this rhythm for over a decade, and it was never as low as it is thudding now.