Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
“Oh,” I murmured, my sigh long.
“Tell me.” His voice shook, gruff with affection.
“Colton Gates, I love you so much.”
“I knew it all along,” he said smugly. “Whenever I look into all that blue, I think: his eyes never get soft and dark like that for anyone but me.”
“You’ve noticed my eyes?”
“Of course,” he grumbled, taking hold of my hand and giving a gentle tug to get me moving. “Everyone does. When people come into the office and meet you for the first time, they end up staring. It happens constantly and I fuckin’ hate it.”
They didn’t, I wasn’t blind, but I loved that he thought so. “Is that right?”
“Yes, that’s—don’t be stupid.”
I didn’t laugh, just walked beside him, held his hand, and soaked in the sunshine that was him. I couldn’t remember ever being happier.
He made way too much food, but fortunately, even though he wasn’t a clean-as-you-go person, I was. When we were both drinking tea as the sun came up, he yawned loudly.
I laughed, and he shook his head. “Not sexy.”
“Actually, it very much was,” I assured him. “You’re content at the moment.”
“I’m always content when you’re with me,” he murmured, his eyelids drooping.
“Come on, let’s go lie down.”
He didn’t fight me. He slid off the barstool and let me lead him to his bedroom. We both stripped down and got under the covers.
“You should come to the party with me tonight,” he muttered as he spooned me.
I wanted to answer, but I was on sensory overload. His bicep was under my head, his arm around my waist, his chest plastered to my back, and his thighs pressed to mine. The all-over body shudder was no surprise.
“This all right?”
“Yes,” I husked.
“Good,” he said, nuzzling my hair. “And so you know, I set the alarm when we came in.”
Normally, that was the first thing I would have asked, but not this time. Not in this moment. “Thank you for telling me.”
“I know you’re worried about me, but you don’t have to be. I’ve been taking care of both of us for a long time now.”
Yes, he had.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
We slept like the dead. He because he was exhausted, and I because I felt so safe lying in his arms. When his phone woke us up around five, he grabbed it off his nightstand and stared groggily at the display.
I pressed my lips together tight so I wouldn’t laugh.
“I can’t see what this says.”
I chuckled.
He held the phone out for me and rolled over when I took it, his back to me.
“You need reading glasses,” I told him for probably the hundredth time.
“Thirty-five-year-old men don’t need reading glasses,” he groused.
“They certainly might if they read off a computer all day, read briefs all day, and type all day. We need to get you the kind with the blue lens coating too.”
He grunted, not turning to me.
“This is Mr. Somerset sending out a reminder that the whole firm—support staff, paralegals, associates, and partners—need to be at the InterContinental Chicago Hotel tonight at seven.”
Second grunt from him.
“He reiterates to everyone that it is a black-tie affair,” I said smiling. “I’m thinking he doesn’t want to see any jeans or flannel.”
“You’re funny,” he said dryly.
“You don’t mean it,” I teased him.
“I don’t even own a tuxedo.”
“Yes, you do.”
“How do you know what—oh yeah.”
I laughed and scooted over to him, kissing his nape.
“How many of those stupid things did you make me try on?”
“Many, but in the end, Armani was the one.”
“Still needed to be altered,” he reminded me. “My chest was too wide.”
“Yes,” I said with a sigh, pressing my face between his shoulder blades.
“It is, you said so,” he said sulkily.
“Yes, I did,” I agreed. “It’s because you’re so beautifully proportioned.”
“Now you’re being snide,” he snapped at me.
“Never,” I murmured, slipping my hand around his throat and turning his head so I could reach his lips.
I kissed him languorously, sliding my tongue between his lips, loving the feel of his tongue rubbing against mine.
He rolled over to face me, careful not to part our lips even with us bumping together, and when his hand closed on my hardening length, I moaned.
“That was a good noise,” he said, smiling against my lips.
“I put the lube in your nightstand.”
“Maybe I just put my mouth on you this time,” he whispered roughly.
“Or maybe I ride you like I want and you can come inside me.”
“Fuck,” he gasped, pulling away, then rolled over and tried to open the nightstand. The drawer stuck, as it always did, which I told him would happen before he decided to go ahead and buy the pair after all. Not only were they odd, eyesores amid the rest of his furniture with the classic lines, but also poorly designed.
“Stop,” I said, smiling as I climbed over him, still careful of his stitches. I lifted the drawer slightly while sliding it out.