Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
More than a physical release. It’s like money in the bank. Knowing every time we make love, I’m securing our family’s future.
Creating our lineage.
King and Queen, together.
Breathless and both of us covered in a sheen of a special kind of sweat, she comments she might have ruined her dress.
“You can have a new dress every twenty minutes,” I tell her, flexing inside her again as she shivers and gasps with aftershocks that make her face so serene, so peaceful every time I look at her.
“What you do to me,” I muse aloud, letting my fingers trace across her face and down to her chest before leaning down to kiss her.
“I love you, Holly,” I hear myself saying.
Telling her in a way I never thought I could.
Sounding nothing like Steve Carter, the business mogul.
More like Steve Carter, a man who’s in love and isn’t ashamed to shout it from the rooftops.
Her breath shivers with emotion, and before she can tell me the same, I can already see it in her eyes. Feel it in her body.
We kiss again, and I lift her up into my lap again, cradling her in my arms in my office chair.
Both of us were naked, bathed in the fading light of the day but warmed by the fire kindled between us.
A flame that’ll never go out.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Holly
The spell I’m under with Steve never wears off, but by the time I return to earth, I realize my new dress is hardly something I could wear out to dinner right now.
“Sorry,” I murmur, finally shifting off his lap and trying to straighten myself out, my legs shaking and my heart still pounding against my ribs.
“Sorry for what?” Steve asks, knitting his brow, pulling me close to him again, gnawing at my neck until I giggle from his five o’clock shadow tickling my skin.
“We can shower, change and go casual,” he decides.
“I’m a little sick of the three-piece suit thing anyway,” he confides, standing with me still in his arms like I weigh nothing. Stepping out of the pants around his ankles as he takes us both to the bathroom.
“Don’t you ever get tired of it all?” I ask once we’re both under the giant shower head, an open shower, and a bathroom. Steve Carter-sized, like everything else.
I mistake his silence for maybe being a little offended by my question, but lathering some shampoo into my hair as he turns me to face away from him, he hums in agreement.
“I think you’ve hit the nail on the head, Holly,” he says in a low voice. His huge hands massaging my scalp firmly but gently enough to send shivers up and down my spine.
His fresh arousal is already pressing into my back, but I know now it’s just a Steve thing. Whenever he’s near me, anywhere near naked, his flag pole is always flying at full mast.
“I’m not sick of what I do,” he continues. “More like I feel I’ve missed out on a lot of what really matters,” he says thoughtfully, moving my head gently under the warm water to rinse my hair.
I swear the man could’ve been a hairdresser in another life.
And a masseur. And a chef and a million other things he’s so damned good at without even trying.
Once we’re done, and I finally discover the secret of his scent that he produces from a mirrored cabinet, he dries me off and asks whether I think he should shave.
I reach up and run a thumb across his day-old stubble, recalling the effect it has on me.
Already feeling it tingling between my thighs.
“I think you can leave it for another day,” I advise him with a coy smile.
He uses his scent sparingly, and once I can see it’s a custom fragrance made in Paris by a house I know is for non-retail buyers, I kiss goodbye to my idea for a Christmas present for him.
The man really does have it all.
How can I compete with that? Especially without a dime to my name.
“I’ll let you change,” he says, moving his eyes up and down my body as I notice his own arousal looking more intense than just a few minutes ago.
“Otherwise, we’ll never get outta here,” he adds with a little smile.
Leaving each other just long enough to change, I’m taken aback when I come back out into his office and see him in denim jeans and a crisp white T-shirt that hugs his muscular frame as he pulls a plain gray sweater over it.
I’m wearing jeans, a sweater, and sneakers, not heels this time.
Something I don’t think I could ever get the hang of anyway, no matter how hard I try.
He smiles as his eyes move over me, becoming a question mark when he notices my gaze.
“What’s the matter?’ he asks, looking a little embarrassed, running his hands up and down his front, glancing down at his jeans.