Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
He looks sexy as fuck, and shockingly, our threads complement each other. His shirt is the same color as my blouse, and his slacks are a similar midnight black as my now-mini skirt.
The image of him in my doorway, waiting to be invited into my home instead of stomping over my privacy, makes my clit ache and has me grateful I decided to cook the meal I offered in exchange for his help instead of eating out.
Dessert is always quicker when you don’t have to wait for the waiter to return to your table after you’ve finished the main course.
While striving to act like I’m not hopeful I will once again be Nero’s dessert of choice, I open my screen door and officially invite him in before accepting the bottle of wine he’s holding out. It is my favorite label, and its hefty price tag has me forgetting he distributes drugs and guns for a living and not art and antiques.
Although this will make me sound like a twit, I wasn’t surprised when Shiloh shared some damning information about Nero and his many business dealings. He is well known by the locals in Vegas and extremely popular with adults her age.
I wasn’t surprised because from the moment I’d laid eyes on Nero, he’d screamed danger. It’s just never been directed at me long enough to cause the slightest tickle of fear to impede my speech, so I refuse to judge him on what society deems acceptable.
Nero’s actions the afternoon we met, and the times that have followed, are what I will pay the most attention to.
Furthermore, I’ve done the man who’s clean-shaven, would never get a tattoo, and would not tarnish his exemplary employment record by taking a single day off to swoon you.
It didn’t work out.
He destroyed a decade of hard work in a weekend, and he doesn’t appear anywhere near ready to end the brutal slaughter he’s smacked my confidence with over the past fourteen years.
Roy wants me on my knees, and it is for a reason completely different from the one that fills my head when Nero’s scent returns my focus to the present.
He stares at me until my heart returns to my chest instead of the floor Roy threw it on when I turned up at my warehouse to find it empty, and I’ve forgotten that the unseasonally barbaric heatwave in my kitchen has nothing to do with our location, and everything to do with him.
Then he kisses me.
Nero’s mouth is warm, his lips are demanding, and his embrace as a whole is extremely claiming. It doubles the steaminess of my kitchen and has me wishing I had picked to forgo a bra when changing out of my work clothes.
Under-boob sweat is always worse when there’s something to absorb it.
Our kiss is an inferno of touches, moans, and licks. It is as fiery as the flames that incinerated the legs of my once-marital bed, and I can’t get enough.
I kiss Nero back with everything I have. The movements of my lips are just as claiming, my needs just as vocal.
It is a kiss so potent my thighs shudder and my clit throbs.
A kiss fantasies are made from.
It is the type of embrace that has me uncaring of a single person or thing not associated with the man breathing life back into my lungs one fire-sparking connection at a time.
My moans urge Nero on.
Before I know it, I go from the entryway of my home to being pinned to the wall oven in the kitchen.
My head is in such a tailspin, I’m barely grasping a sense of reality, let alone the pricy bottle of wine Nero arrived with.
“That was meant to be for when we get back,” Nero says, talking over my kiss-swollen lips when the wine bottle tings against the wall oven. “But fuck if I can wait a second longer.” He bites at my lips before he wedges his knee between my thighs, giving me something to grind against. “I’m hungry now.”
The friction is delicious when I rub my damp panties against his muscular thigh. It steers me straight toward the finish line as productively as the tip of Nero’s blade digs into the cork of the wine.
He pierces the cork before giving it a little wiggle, loosening it from the tight confines before his teeth wholly free it.
I smile like I’m a decade younger than I am when he spits the cork across the room like unnecessary messes are my jam before he tells me to open up.
When my lips part, I’m anticipating the rim of the bottle to cool the burn of his bearded kiss, so you can imagine my delight when I’m not served the wine from the bottle.
It is fed to me from Nero’s mouth.
He swigs from the bottle, swirls the liquid around his mouth, doubling its flavors, before he tugs back my head by the roots of my hair and spits the wine into my mouth.