Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 88270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
The words hang there, innocent but loaded, and I feel a rush of heat, my mind twisting them into something more. "Show me how good it is," I murmur, stepping closer, the air between us thickening. I watch as color blooms on her cheeks, a deep flush that spreads down her neck, making her skin glow. She blushes so easily these days, this new version of her, and it ignites something primal in me. My cock stirs with craving.
As if in a daze, and never taking her eyes away from me, she dips her finger in the frosting and brings it to my mouth. I open my mouth and suck her finger in. Her mouth opens in a gasp. Sweet. Oh God! So fucking sweet.
“Good?” she whispers hoarsely.
I nod wordlessly. What the hell is going on between us? She pulls her finger away, and I turn away before I do something stupid. Muttering goodnight as I head upstairs, even before my bedroom door clicks shut behind me, I am already stripping off my suit and flinging the fabric on the floor. Heading into the en-suite shower, I twist the knob and stand under the shockingly cold stream from the rain-head fixture. It is good.
It takes away the need to throw her over my shoulder and fuck her senseless.
Eventually, I let steam fill the marble-tiled space, and hot water cascades hot and relentless on me. The spray pounds against my skin, sluicing down my chest, but my mind can’t be denied. It goes right back to her—the striped sundress clinging to her curves, the way her breasts pushed against the thin fabric with every breath, full and inviting, the nipples hardening with sexual arousal.
My hand wraps around my cock almost without thought. It is hard and aching. I stroke slowly, and imagine grabbing her by that ponytail—yanking it back to expose her throat. Her gasp fills the air as I push her against the kitchen counter downstairs.
God, I wanted to fuck her right there, in that space when she put her sticky finger into my mouth. I imagine hiking up her dress, slamming my cock deep into her, feeling her heat wrap around me, and pounding into her until she screams my name, her body arching, breasts bouncing with each thrust.
The fantasy builds, vivid and consuming, the taste of her finger on my tongue as I kiss her roughly, her legs wrapping around my waist, nails digging into my back. I come hard, groaning into the steam, my release spilling over my hand, but it's not enough. The ache returns almost immediately. My strokes resume, faster now, imagining her on her knees, those blue eyes looking up innocently as she takes me in her mouth, her ponytail bobbing.
I come again, shuddering under the water, my breath ragged.
But I just can't stop, my hand moving relentlessly, the images flashing. The way her dress rode up her thighs as she bent over in the music room, the soft curve of her ass.
Over and over, pleasure crashing through me in waves, my body trembling, until finally, spent and gasping, I slam my clenched fist against the tiled wall, the impact stinging my knuckles, water splashing everywhere.
What the fuck is happening to me?
I lean my forehead against the cool marble, the steam swirling around me, my heart pounding like I've run a marathon. I feel like I'm losing all control of my life. This obsession with her is consuming me, ruining me.
Turning everything upside down, but I don't know how to stop it.
Chapter Twenty-Four
JULIET
Aweek later, the last rays of sun filter through the curtains of my bedroom. Hang on, this is Carolyn's bedroom, I remind myself. I've been perched on the vanity for what feels like hours. I set down the curling iron and carefully loosen the last roller from my hair, unwinding the loose curl slowly, feeling it bounce free with a satisfying spring.
I run my hand through the waves, my fingers combing gently to loosen and separate them so they cascade down my back in soft, voluminous layers. Then I take a deep breath and stand. The mirror in front of me reflects a stranger. I stare at myself, really stare, my breath catching in my throat as I take in the transformation.
I can't believe that is me staring back—Juliet, the barista from Nolita, who used to pull on a pair of jeans and a tank top for a night out. Right now, I look like the actual Carolyn, polished and poised, every inch the wealthy socialite with her flawless makeup—smokey eyes, nude lips glistening with gloss, and loose curls framing my face like a halo.
The dress is a vision, a masterpiece of elegance laced with undeniable sexiness, and it’s pretty astonishing how it molds to my body as if it was made for me—or rather, for Carolyn, but tonight, it feels like mine.