Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“Perceptive.”
“So that’s an invitation?”
“Do you need one? Most of my friends are out of town. You could hang out here for a few days till New Year’s Eve. Pack a bag.”
The smile melts from my mouth and my jaw unhinges. “Seriously?”
“You’ve spent the night before, Vee. Why’s it so different?”
It’s one thing when you have sex and fall asleep at a guy’s place. That’s still just hooking up. But planning to stay for a couple of days, packing a bag, feels like a relationship. And I know that’s not what this is. It’s not what Monk wants, or probably even believes I’m capable of.
“Bring your ass on over and explain it to me when you get here,” he says, amusement in his voice, but also affection.
“I was gonna work on my pitch.”
“I got work to do, too. Bring it with you.” When I don’t answer, he huffs a breath. “Forget it. You don’t have to come. I just thought you might—”
“I’ll come,” I cut in. “But I’m hungry.”
“I’ll cook something.”
“Cook?” I scoff, sitting on the kitchen stool and resting my elbows on the counter. “You?”
“Very funny. I used to cook for you all the time.”
“I know you ain’t talking ’bout them fried baloney sandwiches,” I laugh.
“I don’t remember you complaining.” The smile is clear in his voice.
We don’t allude to the past much. Things go smoother when we focus on now and how good the sex is instead of then, and what we were to each other before.
“What are you doing for New Year’s Eve?” he asks.
“I was either staying home and watching somebody’s ball drop, or I got invited to Galaxy Studios’ rooftop party.”
“I was invited to that, too. Thinking about attending. Best food and liquor in town. Bring your clothes and we can go.”
“Not together! We said we’d keep this low.”
That came out a little more vehemently than I intended, and a tight silence follows my words.
“We can drive separately,” Monk answers stiffly. “We don’t even have to acknowledge each other, if you don’t want.”
“I didn’t mean… It’s not that serious.”
The silence on the line stretches to the point of breaking.
“Okay,” I finally say, hating the strain my overreaction has introduced into the conversation. “I’ll bring my stuff and we can go.”
“Why was that so hard?” he asks, some of the stone crumbling in his tone.
I stand and pace around the kitchen, phone pressed to my ear.
“I like what this is, what we’re doing, and I know as soon as folks find out, they’ll be all up in our business,” I say. “We understand it, but they’ll try to shape it into something we don’t want it to be.”
“I get that,” he says after a few seconds. “Yeah, I don’t want them trying to make this more than it is.”
An ache throbs behind my ribs, but I force myself to say, “Exactly. Glad we’re on the same page.”
“We are. See you soon.”
I’m pretty sure I handled that badly, but I pack my bag and head over. The smell and sizzle of food hits my senses as soon as Monk opens the door. We stare at each other, and I feel every minute we’ve been apart over the holiday break. Excitement pounds the pulse at my neck, my wrists, at the sight of him. Finally.
“Hey,” he says, pulling me in by the hand and taking my bag. “I’ll take this upstairs.”
“Okay, thanks.”
I follow and try to steady my breathing, eyeing the long line of his back, the tight curve of his ass, and the flex of his bicep as he carries my overnight. I’m such a creeper, but I haven’t seen or smelled or kissed him in two weeks. I’m climbing the stairs behind him when he turns and lets the bag fall to the step. He hooks an arm around my waist and presses me to the wall.
“I was really trying to wait,” he mutters, “but fuck it.”
He lowers his mouth to mine and drinks from me like he’s parched. Eats into the kiss like a starving man, and I’m just as voracious. I lift up onto my toes to kiss him hard, uncorking all the passion I’ve been trying to hide since he opened the door. He groans, the sound vibrating through my lips and plucking a chord that goes straight to my pussy. Never breaking the kiss, he eases down on the stairs and I crawl over him, straddle him, my thighs bracketing his hips and my knees digging into the step. He slides his hand between us and slips into my jogging pants. I spread my legs wider, and when he pushes my panties aside and touches me, my head falls back. I gasp and squeeze my eyes shut.
“This for me?” he growls, running his fingers through the hot, wet slickness between my legs. “You been thinking about my dick?”