Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“You’re so damn wet, darling...”
I clutch at his shoulders, lost in sensation as he circles and teases, bringing me closer and closer to the edge with each deliberate stroke. When he slides one finger inside me, then two, I cry out against his mouth, beyond caring how I sound or who might hear.
“P-Patrizio...”
His thumb presses against that perfect spot while his fingers curve inside me, and I shatter completely, crying out his name again and again as wave after wave of pleasure washes over me.
When I finally come back to myself, I’m cradled against his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady beneath my cheek. One of his hands strokes my hair with gentle possessiveness while the other holds me securely against him, as if he’s afraid I might try to escape.
He’s fully clothed. I’m half-undressed. And I’ve just had the most intense orgasm of my life with my student’s brother on his penthouse sofa.
This is bad. So, so bad.
“Stop thinking,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I can practically hear your brain trying to rationalize this away.”
“This can’t happen again,” I say shakily, even as I make no move to leave the comfort of his arms.
“But we both know it will. Again and again.”
“I’m Annie’s professor, and you’re her brother! That—”
“—makes us the perfect pair, since we both want what’s best for her, don’t you think?”
“What I think—”
“It was rhetorical,” he cuts me off. “I’d rather you don’t think, if you don’t mind.”
I bite my lip hard.
No, Jayne.
Don’t laugh at that.
Just don’t.
“But if you insist on thinking,” he says magnanimously, “then think of how right it feels, for you to be in my arms—”
Doesn’t he see he has this completely backwards?
“In my home—”
Everything about this is wrong!
“Because this is exactly where you belong.”
No, no, no!
The certainty in his voice should scare me. Should make me run as far and as fast as I can. Instead, it makes something deep inside me settle, like a puzzle piece finally clicking into place.
“I need to go,” I say, not moving an inch.
“Of course.” He presses another kiss to my forehead, then helps me sit up, his hands lingering on my waist.
I try buttoning up my blouse, but my hands are shaking too hard.
“Let me.”
My breath catches as his fingers brush against my skin, and heat blooms in my cheeks when we both notice the way my nipples have started pouting anew.
“They miss me.”
“They do not!”
Dark eyes gleam down at me, and argh! Why does it feel like I’ve already lost just by talking about my nipples like they’re actual sentient beings—
No!
I stumble back, but it’s too late, with his hand against the small of my back, and he’s holding me still as he pulls my nipple into his mouth for one last bite.
I’m fuming when he finally releases me, but Patrizio only smiles. “When you’re ready to admit what you really want, you know where to find me.”
Rule #4: Don’t let him show you his world. Or you’ll never want to leave.
IT’S BEEN A WEEK SINCE I made the worst decision of my academic career, and I still can’t sit in my office without thinking about strong hands and whispered commands and the way Patrizio Steele looked at me like he could see straight through every professional facade I’ve ever constructed.
Which is ridiculous, because I’m a grown woman with a PhD, not some romance novel heroine who gets derailed by one admittedly spectacular encounter with a devastatingly attractive man.
Except apparently that’s exactly what I am.
I’ve been trying to avoid him by changing my routine completely. Taking different routes to class, grading papers in the faculty lounge instead of my office, even switching to a different coffee shop three blocks away instead of the convenient Caffeinated Pages on the ground floor of his building.
The problem is that Patrizio Steele seems to be everywhere I try to hide.
Yesterday he was coming out of the university administration building just as I was going in. The day before, I spotted him through the window of the coffee shop I’d fled to, talking to someone on his phone while leaning against what was probably a very expensive car. This morning, he was standing in the lobby of my apartment building (yes, mine!) when I came down to check my mail, looking like he belonged there more than I did.
Every time I see him, he gives me that slow, knowing smile that suggests he’s perfectly aware I’m running from him and finds my attempts at avoidance deeply amusing.
“Triple shot cappuccino, extra foam, no sugar?”
I look up to find a pretty blonde barista approaching my table with a refill and a smile that lights up her whole face. Something about her makes me think of the cool girl in high school who was somehow friends with everyone without trying.