I’m suddenly envious of a woman I’m not even sure exists.
The idea of a man that size, that rough around the edges, wandering into a bookshop to find the perfect romance book for his partner? That’s the kind of love that should be in a novel all on its own.
My ex would never. He had forbidden me from reading anything remotely sexy. He said reading romance meant I wasn’t satisfied.
Like I should be ashamed for wanting something other than the lukewarm, two-minute missionary he gave me.
I glance back at the man in the aisle. My pulse ticks higher. If only my ex could see this—the contradiction of it. A man that looks like he could rip a tree in half with his bare hands… standing in the romantasy section. He’s almost too delicious to be real.
The man pulls two books from the shelf and strides toward the counter. My breath stills and I quickly push the smutty monster literature under a stack of returns.
He sets the books down between us, and then, he smiles.
Good god.
His smile is gorgeous. One dimple cuts into his cheek, while bright, straight teeth flash under the shadow of his beard. I have to crane my neck just to look up at him—he towers over me, broad and solid.
“Two books,” I say, clearing my throat. “It’s buy two, get one free today. You should go grab another.”
“Oh!” His brows lift, his whole face lighting up. “Seriously?”
I nod.
It takes him less than a minute to return, another thick paperback in hand. He sets it on the counter, chest rising and falling a littlefaster, like he really did sprint for it. And when I glance down at the cover my stomach tumbles.
The Beast Who Owns Me.
Heat prickles across my skin, blooming in my cheeks, spreading lower. Of all the books in this place—he picked that one.
I bag the books, brushing my fingers against the smooth covers. “That’ll be $28.76 I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
He swipes his card, and I hand him the receipt. His hand lingers just a fraction longer than necessary, warm against mine.
Then he gives me another smile. His hazel eyes sparkle, and there’s a little catch in his breath. “Have a good day,” he says voice low and smooth as he glances over his shoulder as he turns to leave.
The apartment is quiet, besides the sounds of meows and the fake fireplace in my tv console. I get comfy on the couch withThe Beast Who Owns Meand a thick, soft throw blanket.
My thoughts drift to the towering man from the bookshop. Were the books for him, or someone else? Did he return to an empty apartment like me or was he greeted by a partner with open arms. I wish I had asked his name, wish I had found a reason to talk to him.
I pour myself a mug of chamomile tea, the steam curling like vanilla scented smoke. Chinese takeout waits on the coffee table, Oakridge’s finest. I pick up a piece of General Tso’s chicken, savoring the sweet heat, but even that can’t chase my thoughts of him.
I push the empty takeout container aside, curl deeper into the couch, and pick the book back up. The words hook me immediately, dragging me into a world where danger and desire blur into one. It doesn’t take long before my skin is flushed, my pulse quickening with every filthy line.
I shift, pressing my thighs together, but it only makes the ache sharper. The wet heat between my thighs pools with every page I turn, and I have to bite my lip to keep from sighing out loud.
And then, just like that, he’s there again in my head. I close my eyes for a moment; the book balanced on my lap. I can’t help but wonder… is he at home reading the same pages? Do the words make him just as turned on? Does he shift in his seat and swallow hard too? Now I can’t stop imagining him fisting his cock. Jesus. I need to get laid.
I set the book down along with my glasses. My hand trails down past my lower belly. I shift under the blanket, lifting one leg over the back of the couch. I move my hand down to my throbbing center, soaked with warmth. My fingers move in small circles, a moan escaping my lips.
I move faster, and harder, my hips move in time with my fingers. My breaths come sharp and ragged. I grit my teeth and my legs tense asthe pressure builds, coiling tight in my core. My fingers move faster with more even pressure.
Until finally—pleasure consumes me. My legs are shaky, sweat drips from my brow and my chest heaves.
I lay there for a moment, catching my breath, waiting for my heart to settle. I think for a moment of just drifting off right here. But I know better, I know my neck would punish me tomorrow.
With a small groan, I push myself up before I actually pass out where I am. The blanket slips from my shoulders as I shuffle down the short hallway.
When I reach my bedroom, I peel back the covers, slip inside, and sink into the mattress with a sigh. My mind narrows to today’s thoughts—his smile, that book, the way he looked me. And I fall asleep thinking about the broad man from the bookshop.
