Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
“Hello!” she calls out, her voice like honey in my ears. She’s barely even legal. I shouldn’t be having these thoughts for her when I’m almost twice her age. I’m a bad man, but at least I know it.
“Hello,” she says, stepping up to me. I can smell a slight hint of perfume on her that wasn’t there yesterday. Is she trying to make this harder on me?
“Aren’t tennis coaches supposed to wear polos?” she asks, eyeing my tank top. “Then we’d be matching.”
She eyes me casually as she slightly twists her hips, causing her skirt to spin. Is she doing that on purpose? She hums to herself as she moves, but her eyes trail across my shoulders, then my chest, then my forearms. My eyes meet hers and she immediately looks at the ground.
I raise an eyebrow. “You want me to go change and come back with one?”
She looks up at me innocently, then shrugs.
Goddamn.
I look away before she can see my jaw tighten. I don’t think she even knows that she’s flirting. That’s what makes her so dangerous.
“We should get started,” I mutter, handing her a racquet as I walk past her toward the court. She takes it and walks off in front of me, giving me a perfect view of her ass that sends a surge of blood to my cock.
Cassandra is not good at tennis. She wasn’t lying when she said she had zero training. But she does try, and she is a fast learner. Of all the things I could be teaching her, how to perfect a serve would not be on the top of my list.
We rally a bit, then pause for a water break. She keeps glancing over at me like she’s looking for something. Approval? Attention? If she were any other girl, I’d think she was trying to tell me something. But Cassandra has grown up so sheltered that she has no idea she’s giving me total fuck-me eyes.
The lesson continues, and I swear that the longer I’m around her, the more primal I become. I’ve trained girls who went on to become professionals. I’ve coached Olympic hopefuls, celebrities. Even supermodels who wanted to pick up the sport for fun. None of them have ever made my knees go weak like this girl does.
I wind up for a serve, but Cassandra stands up straight. She takes a deep breath, her eyes on the ground just in front of her. “Rhett…can I ask you something?”
This comes from completely out of nowhere. I want to tell her no and get back to the drills–keep my distance and get out of here. But I’m powerless. “Okay.” I nod. “What is it?”
She bites her lower lip, sending her cuteness skyrocketing. My eyes drop to her breasts, the two gumdrop-sized bumps in her shirt. Her nipples are hard, and so is my cock. Again, she twists side to side like she’s nervous, dragging my eyes down to her perfect thighs.
“What…what do men want in a wife?”
Her question is like a splash of cold water to the face. “Excuse me?”
Her lips twist and her cheeks blush, but she goes on. “My father says I need to be a good wife for Arthur. That’s what he’s been preparing me for. That’s why I’m taking tennis lessons. But no one ever tells me what that really means.” She closes her eyes. “You’re a man. I thought…maybe you’d know.”
Shit.
My muscles tighten. My fists clench. This is precisely the situation I didn’t want to get dragged into. And I should just tell her no and force her to get back to returning my serves, but watching her stand there, eyes down, hands behind her back–I just can’t make myself do it.
She’s too alluring. Too sensual. Every second that ticks by is me fighting a losing battle against my lust for her.
Silence passes between us. Finally, she looks up at me, her eyes filled with nothing but trust. So open, so sweet, as if she knows I would never lie to her. Like she believes me to be a good man. When really all I can think about is all the terrible things I want to do to her.
“Well, I think,” I start to say, but my voice catches in my throat. I clear it and start again. “I think most men want different things from a wife.”
For the first time since we met, Cassandra looks at me with disapproval. “That’s not very helpful.”
“I–I’m sorry.”
She brushes her hair back twists her lips again. “What about you, Rhett? Do you know what you want in a wife?”
Yes. I want you, Cassandra. I want you right here, right now, barefoot and wide-eyed, with your skirt tugged down to your ankles, taking my cock doggystyle on the tennis court.
I swallow those words and try to focus.
This is a virgin I’m talking to. A homeschooled princess with no understanding of the real world. The world I come from.