Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 37324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 187(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 187(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Inhaling slowly, I stepped back and gestured for her to walk ahead of me. Following her outside, I waited for her to lock up and led her to my SUV. I opened the passenger door and held out my hand to help her slide in. Then I went around and climbed in. The air between us thickened the moment my door closed. Her perfume filled the vehicle, a light floral scent mixed with vanilla. I breathed it in as I buckled up, then started the ignition.
The sky was black now, the road gleaming under the streetlights as I pulled away from the curb. She sat angled toward the window for a few minutes, still and quiet. Then, as if realizing the silence was too much for her nerves, she started talking.
“So, um, I grew up in Manhattan. Upper East Side. My parents still live there. In the same apartment I grew up in, actually. It’s a little ridiculous.” She laughed softly, and I felt the sound hit me low in the gut. “I’m an only child, which probably explains why I never stop talking when I’m nervous.”
Her voice was smooth and a little husky, full of warmth. I didn’t interrupt. I just wanted to listen.
She went on, gesturing with her hands as she spoke. “Most of the people I grew up with have moved away, but I have two friends I’ve known since kindergarten—Jen and Stephanie—who live in the city, too. We try to get together when we can, but everyone’s busy. Although it doesn’t really matter how long you’ve known someone for them to be vitally important to you, does it?”
“No,” I replied in a low tone, glad for the darkness that hid the fierce expression on my face. “It doesn’t.”
“When I first met Lorna, we just clicked. It was like we’d known each other forever, and it didn’t take long for her to become my best friend.” I could practically hear the smile in her voice as she continued, “Then she had to go and get married, ruining a perfectly good thing.” She paused before sighing. “It’s weird how fast you can get used to having someone in your space.”
I nodded slightly, my eyes on the road. “You miss it.”
“Yeah,” she murmured. “But I’m happy for her. She and Cole are so great together.”
I liked hearing her talk. Every little piece of her life she gave me felt like something I could hold on to. Her words painted pictures of the apartment she grew up in, her parents’ voices, and her friends’ laughter. And I wanted to know every part of her life.
Her voice wrapped around me, warm and unguarded, and I couldn’t stop imagining how it would sound when I had her beneath me, gasping for air while she whispered my name, her voice breaking on a moan. I wanted to hear how it changed when I made her come—soft, breathless, completely undone.
My body reacted fast, and my hands tightened on the steering wheel until the leather creaked. I shifted slightly, trying to ease the pressure against my jeans, but it didn’t give me much relief. The drive stretched longer than usual for this late at night, so I focused on her words, on every story that tumbled out of her mouth, because I needed to stay composed. Stay in control. So I didn’t pull over and drag her onto my lap and feast on her delectable mouth.
After driving for a while in comfortable silence, she spoke in a light, teasing tone. “You really don’t talk much, do you?”
I glanced over, caught the flicker of humor in her eyes. “I talk when there’s something worth saying.”
Her lips curved into a grin. “And apparently, I do enough talking for both of us.”
“Works for me.” She didn’t realize I was memorizing every sound she made.
By the time I turned onto her street, the traffic had finally thinned. Her neighborhood was quiet—rows of old brownstones, narrow sidewalks, and a few trees that looked skeletal against the glow of the streetlights. She pointed at a red brick building halfway down the block. “That’s me.”
I parked at the curb and got out before she could protest, jogging around and opening her door. Her eyes followed me, wide and curious when I offered her my hand again. She hesitated for half a second before slipping her fingers into mine. I could feel the heat of her skin, even through her knitted gloves.
The street was still, the kind of quiet you only found on the more residential areas of Manhattan. Muted sounds of distant traffic, the rustle of leaves in the wind, and someone’s muffled music behind a closed window. I walked her to the front door, where a small brass number hung crookedly above the buzzer. The light overhead was dim, catching the shine in her dark hair when she turned to face me.