Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 116231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
“My turn,” he says, his voice giddy. “What was your best kiss?”
I grab my glass of wine and take a big sip, or maybe it’s a gulp. “We can’t lie, right?” I ask him and he gives me a grin because the asshole knows right now what my answer will be.
“You can, but what fun is it to lie?”
“Ugh,” I actually say out loud, “fine.” I roll my eyes and avoid looking at him, not sure I want to see how smug he looks. “The kiss in the SUV.”
“Really?” he says, and he tries not to beam with happiness but fails.
“Yeah, whatever.” I look to the side. “You?”
“Same,” he replies and my head whips back to him.
“Okay, you don’t have to say that because I said it.”
“I’m not.” He holds up his hand. I look down, trying not to smile and biting my lower lip. “Okay, your turn.”
“What was your first impression of me?” I ask and he snorts, and I can’t help but giggle.
“Obviously, I thought you were hot.” I put both hands under my chin and shimmy. “Then you went for the jugular.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “I think you started that.” I point to him, taking a sip of water. “Well, I also thought you were hot, but then it dwindled when you opened your mouth.” We both laugh.
“Okay, fine, I’ll give you that,” he concedes. “Where’s the wildest place you’ve ever had sex?”
I laugh. “An SUV,” I say without skipping a beat, “I’ve never done that before.” I wait for his answer.
“Same,” he states and I shake my head.
“You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not. I’ve fooled around in a car before, but to actually go all the way in one? Never done that in my life.”
“What’s the wildest thing you’ve ever done to get someone’s attention?” I ask him and he looks down and hangs his head.
“Is showing up at someone’s house to return their panties wild enough?” he asks me. “Or maybe it’s when I showed up at someone’s house to bring her coffee, even though it was nighttime, and I knew I wasn’t going to drink the coffee.”
The bark of laughter leaves me. “I mean, thank you for returning my panties.”
“Vincent found them in the car,” he tells me. My mouth opens and I think the color literally runs out of my face. “It’s okay.” He shakes his head. “I snatched it before he was able to have it hang on his finger.”
“What did you say?” I ask him.
“I told him it was a napkin.” We both laugh and I shake my head. “What about you?”
“Hmm.” I pull my hand back and think, even though I kind of know the answer. “Emailing someone with the hopes that they’d call me.” I see his eyes catch onto what I’m saying. “You still haven’t paid”—I point at him, making sure he knows the email was for him—“by the way.”
“I was going to pay it on the plane but then I forgot, I’ll do it first thing tomorrow,” he assures me. “Which do you like more…” He looks into my eyes, the smirk on his face making him look ruggedly handsome. “sending dirty texts or dirty talk in person?”
“Dirty talk in person, for sure, but I’m not opposed to the dirty texts,” I point at him. “if you’re going to talk dirty in person within the hour.”
“I’ve never gotten a dirty text,” he remarks and I gawk at him.
“You were married,” I point out. “You went on the road.”
“Yeah,” he nods, “and a lot of it was ‘I can’t wait for you to get home.’ Or ‘I can’t wait to get home to you.’”
“So, you have never texted ‘I can’t wait to fuck your brains out’ to someone before?” I ask, shocked, and I see his abs move from silently laughing.
“I have not. You have?”
“No,” I shake my head, “but I’ve never been married.” I finish the second glass of wine. “What is the most times you’ve had sex in a single day?”
“Three,” he says and I scrunch my nose. “I think that’s my cap.”
“We had sex three times the last time,” I remind him, “and that is only because it was time to go to bed.”
“Yeah, we would have done it two more times, at least.”
“At least,” I repeat and stop talking when the first plate of appetizers comes out. I grab my fork, stabbing a meatball before asking him, “Do you prefer giving or receiving?”
“It’s my turn,” he says, stabbing his own meatball, “but that’s a good question so I’ll answer it.” He smirks. “I definitely love receiving,” I roll my eyes, “but I prefer giving.” The part of me he likes giving it to contracts. “There’s something about giving someone pleasure, it’s so much better than getting it.”
“Yeah,” I agree and I’m pretty sure I’m panting it out.