**MISTER O is a standalone romantic comedy and it follows supporting characters first introduced in BIG ROCK**
Mister O by Lauren Blakely
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
Title: Mister O
Author: Lauren Blakely
Release Date: May 2, 2016
Oooooooo you are going to love this book. What a hot and sweet dirty treat. This heartfelt friends-to-lovers romance is absolute perfection! This book is so well written that you won't want it to end. I think Lauren Blakely knew that readers wouldn't want the story to end, so she wrote two epilogues. God I love this writer! One-click this one and you are a bookgasm closer to reading one of my favorite books of 2016.
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I kind of want to protest. I feel like she has this impression of me that I don’t necessarily want her to have, but I’m not sure how to deflect this. “Because I have a gift?”
“That and several other reasons.” She waves broadly at my arms. It’s October, but it’s not chilly tonight so I don’t have a jacket on. “First, there are the arms. All that ink and muscle.”
She roams her eyes over my biceps. “I mean, your ink is awesome,” she says, pointing to the shapes and swirls I designed myself. The tattoos are abstract lines and curves, but inside them there’s a sun, a moon, and stars, because those were the first things I realized I was good at drawing.
“Then, the body. Mr. Men’s Health-I’m-so-fit,” she says in this mocking tone, but it’s not me she’s making fun of. It’s the article.
“You read it?”
“I read everything. I devour information,” she says, and we’re right back to that place I seem to inhabit with her, where she compliments me, but she could be saying it like I’m a car she’s considering buying. And this one has one hundred seventy horsepower.
“And then, there’s your face, and you have all this awesome scruff on it.”
I run a hand over my jaw, and the neat, trim beard that’s like an additional sex toy I can bring to the bedroom. “Chicks dig the beard,” I say, with a lopsided grin.
“I bet they do,” she says under her breath. She doesn’t say anything else right away. She presses her teeth into the corner of her lip and then speaks, more softly than before. “Can I feel it?”
She raises her hand and touches my jaw. My breath hitches as she runs her thumb across the light bristles. I’m keenly aware of every second that passes, one ticking into the next as she touches me, stroking my jawline like she’s mesmerized by the texture.
“Soft,” she whispers, almost in wonder as she stares at my chin. My heart starts hammering, and I fight to stay still. When she says, “But kind of hard, too,” I swear, I don’t know how I manage not to cup her cheeks, back her up against the stone wall, and just kiss the hell out of her. Kiss, touch, grind, and then some. I want to yank that lush body against mine, let her feel how much she turns me on, and find out if I do the same thing to her. The way her breath barely catches sends my mind spinning and lust spiraling tight in me. I can’t help but hope she wants what I do, and it feels like she could, going by the way she touches my face. It truly fucking does, and maybe that’s why her name takes shape in my throat like a warning.
So she knows she’s playing with fire if she touches me like this again.