Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 76022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“Honestly, one of the least stressful jobs I’ve ever had.”
“Really?” Saul asked, brows drawing together.
“That surprises you?”
“I don’t know the brothers well, but well enough to know they’re intense. And exacting.”
“That’s accurate,” I agreed. “But they’re not really the kind of bosses to breathe down your neck. I honestly barely even speak to them. Unless something breaks during my shift, they communicate their needs via a whiteboard in the supply closet.”
“Have you made any work friends?” he asked as we both rose from our seats, each reaching for plates and empty cider bottles.
“Not really, no. My work is pretty solitary. And it’s really just Irina—who doesn’t seem to like me—and Kate and Danielle. And they just don’t seem to want anything to do with me. It’s okay. I mean, don’t get me wrong; I want to make friends here in town. But they don’t have to be work friends.”
I rinsed the dishes.
Saul loaded them into the dishwasher with the confidence and competence of a man who’d done so many times before.
Which was way hotter than it had any right to be.
“Alright,” Saul said, taking one final drag from his bottle of hard cider. “Time for dessert.”
“Oh, my God. You couldn’t possibly still be hungry,” I said, eyes going round.
“And yet,” he said, eyes going heavy-lidded as he moved to step in front of me.
My belly flipped.
My sex clenched.
My body knew what was going to happen before my mind could wrap itself around things.
Saul’s hands slid up the outside of my thighs, then his fingertips dipped just under the material of my shorts and panties, drawing them downward. They pooled around my ankles, and I stepped out without even being conscious of telling myself to do so.
Hands back at my hips, he pulled until I was off my feet, until I was suddenly seated.
The cold bite of the counter had nothing on the heat in his eyes as he looked down at me.
His fingers glided down my thighs, grabbing me behind the knees. One firm tug and I slid forward, my hips perched right on the edge, knees parted wide before I could even think to protest. Not that I would have, could have. Not when he was looking at me like hunger personified, like I was the meal he was dying to savor.
Then he was lowering down, was angling that same look up at me.
His hands gripped the backs of my thighs, anchoring me.
Then his head was shifting, his lips pressing a kiss to the inside of my knee.
A gasp escaped me at the barely there touch, at the soft tease of his silky hair against my skin.
He blazed a path upward with lips and tongue and the scratch of his scruff.
My breath was caught somewhere behind my ribs, every nerve ending sparking with longing.
Saul’s head shifted and his shoulders slotted beneath my legs.
Then his tongue swept.
My vision went white.
A low, deep moan escaped me as my thighs clamped to the sides of his head.
My hands slapped down, fingers threading through his hair.
Saul’s tongue was relentless and slow at the same time, every stroke deliberate, each flick calculated.
Like he wasn’t trying to make me fall apart. Not yet. He was studying me, learning how to unravel me little by little.
My soft sighs started to fill the small kitchen, my thighs shaking, my hips rocking against his touch.
“Saul, please,” I whimpered.
And just like that, he doubled down. His hands gripped my thighs harder, his tongue pressed harder. My vision blurred around the edges.
My head fell back with a soft thud against the upper cabinets. But I was too overwhelmed with pleasure to feel the impact.
My moans echoed, low and unrestrained.
One of Saul’s hands shifted, slid between us. Then two fingers were gliding inside me. My walls tightened, and Saul groaned against my clit as his fingers turned, stroking my top wall.
The wave crashed over me—white-hot, dizzying, delicious.
But Saul was relentless.
Even after the pleasure was sated, his fingers stroked and his tongue teased around my clit without making direct contact. Like he knew I was too sensitive, that I needed time to recover.
It didn’t take long, though, not with his expert touch, his gentle exploration.
He took his cues from my body, giving me what I needed almost before I even realized what I was craving.
He drove me up, up.
Then sent me crashing down.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Until my body was shaking, until I was gasping, unable to catch my breath, until my moans were more like cries.
Only then did his head shift away, kissing down my thigh to my knee before lifting his gaze to mine.
The hunger was still there.
Of course it was.
This was the second time he’d given to me without me returning the favor.
As if reading my thoughts, he moved back up to his feet and reached to still my hands when they started to trace across his waistband.