Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
What does that mean? As if staying away is simply impossible, I walk across the room and stand behind him. My hands rest on his shoulders before I begin working them around, massaging the thick muscles.
It takes no time at all for him to relax into my touch. It takes even less time for me to realize this was a terrible idea in front of people. My sex clenches, desperate for relief—begging for the attention he’s promised it.
“You know what?” I ask. “I like Jess’s big cock. I hope he keeps it while I’m around.”
Banks throws his hands up in the air.
Moss shakes his head. “Well-freaking-played.”
Kixx chuckles. “You know what, Pippa? I like you.”
I laugh. “I’m glad.”
Jess snakes his hand around the back of the chair and grips my leg. He squeezes it, clasping it tightly as if it’s a promise of what’s to come.
I pat Jess’s shoulder and then step away. Every cell in my body tingles—every nerve ending is frazzled.
“Damaris?” I ask. “May I use your restroom?”
“Oh, sure, honey. It’s through that doorway and then down the hall on your right.”
“Thanks.”
Jess’s eyes are on my back as I disappear around the corner.
Pictures of the Carmichael kids are framed on the walls. It’s amazing how much they all look alike—except Paige—and I wonder how Kixx and Damaris can tell which boy is which. Maybe that comes with birthing a human. It would make sense.
The bathroom is comfortably classy in shades of eggplant and cream. There are bits of green here and there that give it a bit of flair and dimension.
I turn on the faucet and then pull up my dress. The panties I lied about wearing are pointless. They’re soaked and irritating, so I slip them off. Not sure what to do with them, and having left my purse in the car, I tuck the thin material into one of the pockets in my dress. I’ll find an excuse to get something out of my car before dinner.
After a quick wash of my hands and a slight adjustment to my hair, I open the door.
Oof. Jess is standing on the other side. He embodies the sexual frustration pounding through my veins.
“What’s going on?” I ask sweetly.
“You just rubbed your hands all over me in front of my family so I can’t do anything back,” he says. “That wasn’t nice.”
I gasp in faux horror. “I was trying to be helpful.”
He winks. “I’ll remember to be helpful later.”
Oh shit.
I hold his gaze, hoping to find a crack in his armor. But there is no crack. There’s only a man who knows what he wants and can taste it.
My stomach roils as I imagine what might be waiting for me later. But that’s exactly what Jess wants—he wants me to be on the edge and unable to think about anything besides him.
Two can play that game.
I take his hand in mine and hold it up. Then I slip my panties out of my pocket and hook them over his thumb.
His eyes darken. They hood. He licks his lips, and I wonder for a split second whether he’s going to press me up against the hallway and have his way right now.
I wink and then walk as coolly and confidently as I can back into the kitchen, leaving him standing behind me.
13
JESS
“You survived your first Carmichael family dinner.” I close my front door behind Pippa and we remove our shoes. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”
“No. It was great. Interesting, actually.”
The words sound innocent enough, but there’s not a damn thing innocent about the look in her eyes.
My blood runs hot. My instincts plead with me not to waste time—to grab her and hold her and take advantage of this situation before something happens and she changes her mind.
But if she wants to change her mind, I want her to do it before I touch her. For both of our sakes.
“Do you know that Banks has a fudge fork?” she asks.
I deadbolt the door. “A what?”
I guide her into the living room. It’s the biggest room in the house and the most comfortable. I took a wall out in the kitchen and opened it up to this space, creating a room where everyone can hang out, watch television, or enter the sliding glass doors to the lanai.
“A fudge fork. That’s what he called it,” she says, glancing at the pool through the glass. “Your mom asked me to get the forks for dessert. I opened the wrong drawer—one full of paperwork and knickknacks. There was a fork sticking out from under a phonebook, so I pulled it out. Banks snatched it out of my hand and whispered that it was his fudge fork like he was giving me the code to Fort Knox.”
“What does one do with a fudge fork? Or do I not want to know?”