Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Yes, men are the ones complaining sex isn't as good with a condom, but women are the ones who feel actual tissue irritation. Especially if it's been a while. Or if a woman is used to bareback sex.
Fuck—
When did I last feel someone's skin against mine? Would I even survive that sort of intimacy?
I climb onto the bed. "Show me how you like it."
She nods, nerves slipping into her eyes, but just barely. She pushes herself up. "On your back."
I place myself in the middle of the bed.
She climbs on top of me, straddling me, her thighs pressed against my hips.
She looks down at me as she brings her body onto mine.
The first brush of my flesh against hers. Her eyelids press together. A groan falls off her lips.
It's been a while.
I lift my hips to tease her again.
She mutters a curse, pulls back, lowers herself onto me slowly.
My body disappears into hers.
She takes her time getting used to the sensation of fullness. Which is good for me. She feels too fucking good. Soft and wet. And I like her too much.
I'm not used to that.
It's fucking up my stamina.
That can be good. Flattering. But it's not what people expect from a pro.
I close my eyes. Channel thoughts of baseball. The most boring subject known to man.
She shifts, rising over me and taking me again.
I let her play with the speed, position, posture until she finds it.
Then I play dirty—
I bring my thumb to her clit. I bring my other hand to her chest. I toy with her as she takes me again and again.
It pushes her to the edge.
Her groans run together. Her hips move a little faster. Her eyelids flutter closed.
"Fuck." The world rolls off her tongue as she comes. She pulses around me, pulling me closer, taking me deeper.
It undoes me.
I release control. Let the sensations overtake my body. Let myself enjoy every moment of it.
The satisfaction in her eyes. The flush of her cheeks. The curve of her hips. The soft, sweet feeling of her body enveloping mine.
"What have you done to me, Ivy?" The words are half routine, half real.
What the hell is real anyway?
She looks down at me with a satisfied smile.
I help her untangle our bodies, take care of the condom, wait for her to come closer or ask me to leave.
She settles onto the bed and pats the spot next to her.
So, I nestle into the space, holding her body against mine.
I don't mean to fall asleep next to her, but I do.
Chapter Seven
Romeo
Ivy is kinder than most clients. She doesn't wake me up.
No. That honor belongs to my mother.
My phone rings five times in a row.
I answer with a sleepy voice. "Good morning to you too."
"It's past nine a.m. sweetheart," she say, in Italian. "I thought you had a job."
"I set my own hours." That's true.
"I need to talk to you," she says. "About your brother."
"What about him?" I ask.
There's a gentle knock on the door. "Hey, Romeo."
"Oh, I see. Of course." Mom laughs. "Mija, do you really think you're going to meet the one this way?"
"Mama. I'm not. Hold on." I put my phone on hold and meet Ivy at the door. She’s already dressed for work, whereas I’m naked in her bedroom.
She doesn't hide her stare.
"Can you give me ten minutes?" I ask.
"Five." She checks me out one more time, then she closes the door.
Where is she going?
She's an adult. She has a job. Of course, she wants me out of her house. Not everyone falls in love with me the first time we have sex. Despite popular belief, plenty of women enjoy sex for the sake of it. Plenty of women enjoy sex without strings, without getting confused about their feelings.
Sure, I'm good, but—
Dammit, I'm getting distracted.
"Sweetheart?" My mother asks. "Who is that? Or do you even know her name?"
"What's wrong, mom?"
"Your brother. He didn't tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
"No. Of course he wouldn't." She tsk-tsks in the way she does. "You know he's always worried about you and Cynthia."
"What's there to worry about?"
"Romeo." She puts so much emphasis on my name. The way Daniel does, but without the condescension. It's all in those three syllables.
She's right, of course. She doesn't have to explain.
Cynthia didn't start out as Daniel's fiancée. She was my best friend. My very platonic best friend.
She fell for him right away. He's the one who didn't see her that way. Mom says we have a romantic love story, two friends who never realized they love each other. Or she did. Until she and Daniel got serious.
Well, until a few years after she and Daniel got serious.
This is Mom’s story, isn’t it? Daniel doesn’t care.
"He's in a tizzy, darling. He's having visions of Cynthia walking down the aisle, seeing you standing in the best man spot, realizing she's marrying the wrong brother," she says.