Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 17001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 85(@200wpm)___ 68(@250wpm)___ 57(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 85(@200wpm)___ 68(@250wpm)___ 57(@300wpm)
But here’s the thing. I really, really want to say yes.
Your words have been in my head for days. The way you describe touching yourself? Hot. My thighs are currently crossed because of you. My thoughts are undeniably filthy because of you.
And you want to know the worst part?
I haven’t been able to sleep without picturing you over me, between my legs, holding my wrists down and telling me to be a good girl. (It’s the rolled-up sleeves, fyi.)
So. Full name. Give me that, and maybe I’ll tell you where to find me.
Eagerly waiting, slightly squirming, definitely hot and horny,
Amelia
P.S. After I came? I said your name out loud. You owe me a ruined pair of underwear, sir.
From: ad_re1987@email.com
To: ya_chaosqueen@email.com
Subject: For background check purposes
Amelia,
It’s Adam Rhys Reeves. Born on August 5. No criminal record. Single. No kids, no ex-wife, no bitter ex-girlfriend who might strangle you in your sleep or wait for you in the parking lot.
Now give me your full name because the next time I say it, I want it to be while you’re shaking underneath me, back arched, mouth open, begging me not to stop.
Waiting,
Adam
From: ya_chaosqueen@email.com
To: ad_re1987@email.com
Subject: OH GOD ALMIGHTY THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING
Adam Rhys Reeves.
Okay, so now I know what name to scream when you finally have your mouth between my legs and your cock deep inside me. And the name to give my best friend in case you do turn out to be a psycho (jury’s still out, but damn, you’re tempting).
Here’s mine: Amelia Moore. Fun fact: My best friend, Rina, calls me AMOR. Because AM (Amelia) and MOR (Moore). Get it? Oh God. *facepalm* You might have just reconsidered meeting me.
Added my number at the bottom. Text me. Call me. Hell, breathe near your phone and I’ll probably answer.
When and where?
See, Adam, I’m done pretending this is just a pen pal thing. I want to see the man who made me ruin three pairs of panties in one week and see how the real thing compares. Ya know, for research purposes.
XOXO,
Amelia
From: ad_re1987@email.com
To: ya_chaosqueen@email.com
Subject: Be there
Amelia,
I’ll call.
You asked for me. Now you’re getting me.
Yours,
Adam
2
ADAM
Ikeep on reminding myself that I’m a thirty-eight-year-old grown man on a date and not about to get executed in a guillotine. Maybe this is what happens when you’ve been out of the dating pool for so long and the only women you interact with are your landlady, the kind grocery owner downstairs, and the lady firefighter from across the hallway who only talks to me when she wants someone to watch after her five cats.
After weeks of exchanging emails with Amelia, I finally get to meet her and put a face to the funny, filthy woman. Funny and filthy—the only ways to describe her. Honestly, I don’t even care what she looks like. She has her hooks so deep into me, I haven’t been able to think straight since we decided to go on a date.
Yes, we belong in the same city (what are the odds?), but the chances of us meeting by pure accident are slim to none. After she gave me her name, I didn’t Google her. I wanted to keep the suspense as long as I could. Although, in hindsight, I should have at least tried to learn if she was married. Then again, I don’t think so.
I look around the rooftop restaurant and hope to God it impresses her. I badly need to impress her.
From the strings of low-hanging bulbs to the skyline stretching out in every direction, it’s cozy and romantic. Amelia’s seat is still empty, which is to be expected. I’m at least half an hour early.
Like I said, terribly excited.
I pull my jacket closed even though the breeze is warm, and press my palms flat on the tablecloth.
Don’t sweat. Don’t fidget. Be cool. Act cool. Stay cool.
But I’m not cool. I’m wired.
“Adam?”
I spin so fast in my seat that the chair jerks beneath me, skidding a few inches, and I nearly lose balance.
Smooth. Really smooth. Great first impression. She’d definitely find it sexy.
I stand to my full height, pretending I didn’t just almost fall gracelessly on our first date. The moment I lay eyes on her, though, words elude me. I can’t even remember my fucking name.
Amelia stands a few feet from the table. Her hair is longer than I imagined—inky black waves spilling over her shoulders, and her hazel eyes are, my God, the most striking I’ve ever seen.
She smiles shyly at me, and I still can’t form coherent words because she has the sexiest crimson red dress on. It hugs her figure perfectly, and even all the way from here, I can trace her curves and dips with my gaze.
“I really hope you’re Adam because if you’re not, then this is hella awkward,” she says, smiling and showing a dimple in her right cheek.