Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“I’m not pointing fingers,” she rushes out, “but I was on maternity leave when he was hired. I never would have signed off on something like this.”
“Then who the hell did?”
“I—I don’t know,” she stammers. “Whoever covered for me from the temp agency? I can pull the records, find out who they sent—”
“Don’t bother.” My voice is clipped, my patience gone. “I’m heading back to the office.”
I hang up and return back to the table, my mood soured.
“Fun’s over,” I announce, glancing between them. “There’s an emergency at work.”
“Shocker.”
I don’t have the time or patience for his shit right now. “Enjoy yourselves. Eat. I’ll see you both back at the house.” Noah doesn’t spare me a glance and drinks his wine. “Watch it with the wine.” He finishes his glass and picks up the bottle to refill.
I stop at the valet on my way out, throwing a wad of cash and instructing them to have someone drive Noah’s car home and call for an Uber when they’re ready to go.
Chapter twelve
Georgia
Ican’t sleep.
Even the two glasses of wine haven’t helped. Jackson’s vulgar questions loop endlessly in my mind. Dinner was a disaster. After he left, Noah became a trainwreck. A switch had been flipped inside him. I tried to talk to him, get him to open up to me, but it had been fruitless. He harbored a deep hatred for his father. He finished the wine. Ordered most of the menu to spite him. Then I worried about the poor valet’s well-being when he explained Noah’s father had them bring his car home.
When we reached the house, he went straight to his room and slammed the door. The music instantly blared through the walls. I slipped into my room, hoping the day would be over, but I couldn’t succumb to sleep. Now, after hours of trying, I lay here, tormenting myself by replaying Jackson’s words in my head.
“Go to sleep, Georgia,” I demand, flipping on my side, but when I close my eyes, the only thing I see is him—his alluring stare, his mouth, his lips, his filthy words…
My nipples harden under my thin shirt. I graze my hand up my belly to cup my sensitive breast. Licking my lips, I imagine his hands and mouth on me, pinching, sucking. My lips part, and I drag my hand between my thighs, finding my panties wet. I insert two fingers, lost in thoughts of him. My back arches, and I let out a soft moan.
My inner walls are so slick and swollen that I replace my two fingers with three. Biting my bottom lip, I work myself into a fit of desire. God, I wish his hands were on me. I imagine his cock being back in my mouth, and my fingers get soaked even more. “After you sucked my cock, did you go back to your room and fuck yourself?” I’m close, nearly on the brink, and I pull my hands away, letting out a drawn-out huff. What the hell am I doing?
My skin is on fire. My sex pulsates with need and shame. I need to release this pent-up aggression, but this ongoing fantasy is only going to lead me down a dark path.
I turn onto my side and shove a pillow between my legs, hoping the pressure will relieve the achiness, but it’s no use. Grabbing my phone, I glance at the time. It’s almost one in the morning. Noah’s music still plays on the other side of the wall, but with how much he drank at dinner, he’s probably passed out.
I get up and slide out of my soaked panties, then open my bedroom door and walk down the hall. I stop in front of Noah’s room, pressing my ear to the door, debating whether to go in and shut the music off, but another argument, if he’s still awake, is the last thing I need. Instead, I head downstairs into the kitchen. Grabbing a glass, I fill it with ice, then pull a piece out and drag it down the center of my neck. The coolness is a brief relief against the heat building inside me. My lips part, and I lift my shirt to trace the ice between my breasts down to my stomach. I turn, resting my back against the fridge. That’s when I spot him standing in the doorway of the kitchen, his eyes fixated on me.
I jolt, dropping my shirt and the piece of ice. “Sorry, I was just—”
“Don’t stop on my account.” Jackson pushes off the doorframe and walks into the kitchen.
My cheeks blaze with embarrassment. “I was hot… it’s hot in my room.”
“I’m sure it was. What made you so hot, Peach?” he questions, his voice coated in desire.
“I was just… hot…” I trail off as he takes the cup of ice out of my hand. Retrieving a cube, he lifts it in his hand and drags it along my collarbone.