Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
I can’t ask my mom for advice, though, and I don’t know what she would have told me. Instead, I picture my dad’s face—my sarcastic, sweet, lonely-but-dealing-with-it widower father. I can’t trick myself into believing what I’m doing is okay, simply because my dad thinks we’d be a cute couple.
I vow to remain realistic, to make my own choices. I’m a grown woman, and I can handle this brief and fantastic fling, as well as its inevitable ending.
I square my shoulders, grab my phone, and turn to my playlist. I love me some sexy music. Always have. That’s the mood I want to be in tonight, so I find a sexy song and crank the tune all the way up. Closing my eyes, I sway to the slow jam, moving my body to its languid notes, its sensual words, its filthy lines, too.
It’s a promise of a long, lingering night rich with the kind of tempo I want with Jones. As I listen, I don’t think about good ideas or bad ideas. Roles or places. Right or wrong.
I let go of the daughter I am, the hard worker I am, the career woman I am. Tonight, I want to be only one part of me.
The woman. The lover.
When my phone rings, I’m turned on before I hear his voice. I’ve already set my own mood.
“Can you meet me in five minutes?” His gravelly voice rumbles over me.
“Yes.”
“Come down the hall to my room. You don’t even have to knock.”
“I don’t? Are you leaving the door open?”
“No. There is a key in the side of your purse. I put it there at the pool,” he says, and I remember the tugging I felt on my bag. That was him. “Let yourself in. You’ll understand why.”
24
JILLIAN
I slide the card key across his door, anticipation threading through me. Goose bumps rise on my arms. I don’t know what he has in store, but the wild beat of my heart tells me I want whatever is coming my way.
Badly.
As soon as I push open the door, I know.
Water from the shower pounds in a rhythm, signaling to me. A zing tears through me, racing across my skin, leaving tingles in its wake.
I shut the hotel room door behind me, locking the chain.
I tiptoe, not because I need to, but because I want to. The lights are low, and when I enter the large, white-tiled bathroom, only the mirror lights are on. They illuminate him just enough. I see his reflection first in the mirror, and heat rushes to my core.
He’s naked in the shower.
He’s giving me my fantasy. Discovering him all alone.
As I walk into the room, I turn my gaze to stare directly at his carved, muscular body through the glass shower wall. He doesn’t look at me as he runs soap over his skin.
He’s bathing, and it’s erotic.
So much more than I dreamed.
That big left hand runs over his right pec, down his side, and I murmur, as if I’m watching a naughty video.
This is my filthy fantasy.
His private time.
As I watch him rub soap across those powerful thighs and legs, he doesn’t acknowledge me. I’ve become a voyeur, and I hope he’s saved the best till the audience arrived.
I walk past the enclosed shower, heading to the counter in front of the mirror. The shower is behind me now, and my back is to him as I stop at the counter. My view in the mirror reveals everything, shows every move he makes. He glides the bar of soap over his body, lathering up his arms, his stomach, and now his erection.
His hand slides over his hard-on.
A murmur falls from my mouth. He’s in silhouette, his hand washing his dick. He lets go of the soap, places it in the dish, and leans under the stream, rinsing the shampoo from his head. Both hands rise, giving me a view of those powerful arms as he drags them through his hair, the suds pooling at his feet.
With his eyes still closed, he lowers his hands, the right drifting down between his legs again.
His palm slides over his cock and strokes once, absently, as if he’s testing whether he wants to pleasure himself, as if he’s curious if he’s even in the mood.
I moan as a wild pulse beats in my body, heat rising in my core. As he runs a hand slowly down his shaft, desire rockets around inside me, flooding every square inch of my body. I’m dying to touch myself, to slide my fingers inside my panties and feel how slick I am.
But I don’t want to miss a minute of this private show. The pace of the water is relentless, insistent. The patter of the stream against the tiles is the soundtrack of his seduction as he grips himself, stroking his length. I can’t help but start to rock my hips. I’m dying to move my body against his, to find some relief for this absolute ache in my center.