But if we don’t have romance, at least we have sex. Sort of. Or maybe that’s just me, given I’ve taken to wanking myself half to death when she leaves to go back to her tiny apartment.
Tonight will be no different, I consider, as I allow my eyes to roam over her. She’s so fucking beautiful.Bountifulis the word that springs to mind, not that I’d say it out loud because she’d probably misconstrue it as a variant oflarge. Even if her breasts are—no word of a lie—huge. Magnificent, even.
Her body is so much fuller this month. She’s like a peach I want to sink my teeth into. In short, she makes my mouth water.
“How was your day?”Dear,I add mentally.Mi mujer. Mi amor.
“Fine.” Her gaze slides to the table, where she moves her napkin an inch to the side. “I did a little research. Looking at a couple of new opportunities.”
“Work or investments?”
At this, her gaze lifts. “Work is dead in the water.”
“A temporary thing.”
“Can’t make connections in the UK. And I can’t get my US connections to play ball.”
“It’ll all work out in the end.”
“It better,” she mutters.
“How’s your portfolio going?”
“Looking for tips?” She gives a humorous twist to her lips.
“Always.”God, I love it when she wears her hair down,I think with a happy sigh, watching how it curls softly around her shoulders. I also love finding her hair ties dotted around the house. It’s like the Ryan version of a “Hansel and Gretel” breadcrumb trail.
“I’m up double figures.”
“And that’s why it’ll work out,” I say, pointing her way, my other fingers still wrapped around my glass.
“Thanks, Matt.”
“What for? It’s the truth. Who could resist those figures?”
Or that figure. Her outfit a soft gray woolen two-piece—ribbed for her comfort, not for my viewing pleasure, though I’m enjoying the vista just the same. Square necked and sleeveless, her dress clings to her body like a sheath, all the way to her ankles. Her arms and shoulders are covered by a matching and very cute little-old-lady-style cardigan. It looks kinda like an old-fashioned bed jacket, rounded at the edges and joined at the neck by a ribbon tied in a bow.
How the hell do I know what a bed jacket looks like?No idea. But I’d like to see it on my bedroom floor. And that ribbon ...Open me,it seems to taunt.Pull on my end!
I wish Ryan would—
Fucking brain. I discreetly adjust myself under the table. I’m definitely losing my marbles. By the day, it seems.
Ryan reaches for her glass again, holds it up to the light, and says something. Something about the wine, probably. I don’t know exactly what, my attention still pinned to that bow and all that lovely cleavage and thenow you see it, now you don’teffect.
Fuck, how I ache to get my hands on her.
“Are you done?”
ThatI hear, though it’s more the tone that pulls me from my musing. Perving? Anyway, I lift my gaze to her very pointed one, but not without noting how glossy her lips look.
Did she just lick them?
“Done for now,” I answer in an easy tone. I drop my napkin to the table and lean back in my chair.
“I wasn’t talking about dinner.”
“I know you weren’t. But you can’t blame a man for looking. Not when you’re irresistible.”
