Read Online Practice Makes Perfect by Sarah Title - Free Book Online Page B

Helen’s waist. “So . . .”
    She put her beer next to his. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “So.”
    And then she leaned down and kissed him. She tasted like beer, but then, he imagined he did too.
    â€œSo are you ready to take a writing break?” He kissed the pulse at her neck. She shivered.
    â€œWe could still be productive,” he suggested, running his hand up the back of her shirt. Since it was in the way, he flicked her bra open.
    â€œHenry!”
    He stilled, hand on her back, lips on her neck.
    â€œHow did you do that?”
    â€œWhat, the bra? You don’t know how to unhook a bra?”
    â€œNot one-handed! Show me!” She wiggled around to hook herself back into her bra. “I’m gonna put it in a love scene.”
    He wasn’t going to show her anything if she kept moving around on his lap like that. Well, he’d show her something. But the more she wiggled, the less interested he became in the physics of one-handed bra unhooking.
    He trapped her hips with his hands. “Later,” he growled.
    She looked down at him, surprised. Then she smiled. It reminded him of a wolf. “Later,” she agreed.
    * * *
    It had been a day full of revelations. First, that something was going on with the archive, beyond just dust collection. Helen had no idea what, but clearly Lou was trying to persuade the committee that improvements to the archives needed to be made, and she had some ideas how to do it.
    Helen should be concerned about that. She should probably talk to Henry about it; he’d definitely be interested. But at the moment, Helen was more interested in the things Henry was doing with his tongue. It involved blazing a trail down her body, pulling her clothes out of the way as he went.
    She liked this technique. There was something both seductive and demanding about it, like he couldn’t wait to get at her, but he wanted to savor every step of the way.
    She was definitely using that in a love scene.
    Which was the other revelation. Henry’s plan, crazy as it seemed a few days ago, was actually working. She was writing. She was writing a lot, and it was good. It was hot. She no longer felt like she had to close her eyes when she was typing about mouths and fingers and skin. It was as if working with Henry took everything she knew and loved about sex and made it legible.
    Then Henry bit her inner thigh and Helen realized she was standing in her office, in only her panties, with a fully-clothed Henry kneeling in front of her.
    â€œUm,” she said shakily. This was good. This was very good. But she thought it might be better if they were horizontal.
    Henry looked up at her, his eyes dark with passion. Her knees almost buckled. Then Henry looked over at the dogs, who were watching them, their faces cocked at that curious-dog angle.
    â€œShould we move to your bedroom?” he asked, his voice husky. She willed her knees to quit shaking, and nodded.
    Of course, she was still nearly naked and Henry was still fully clothed. She moved her hands up to cover her breasts, but Henry stood and shook his head at her. “Don’t,” he said, trapping her hands behind her back. “You’re beautiful.”
    It was a good thing he leaned in to kiss her, because Helen was pretty sure the only thing keeping her upright was Henry’s grip on her hands and her waist.
    And then it was Henry’s grip on her butt as he hoisted her up and wrapped her legs around his waist. She wanted to protest that she was too heavy, that they’d never make it to the bedroom like this, but Henry wouldn’t stop kissing her so she just held on to his shoulders—strong shoulders—and went along for the ride.
    When they were in her room, he kicked the door closed—she loved when he did that, despite the threat to her infrastructure—and she unwrapped her legs and slid down his body.
    Oh god, he was strong. And he was ready.
    But he