Total pages in book: 9
Estimated words: 7640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 38(@200wpm)___ 31(@250wpm)___ 25(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 7640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 38(@200wpm)___ 31(@250wpm)___ 25(@300wpm)
My lips pull tightly over my teeth. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now if you’re done coddling me—”
“All right, Tyler. I’ll let you go, but you need family now. Bella comes over on Saturdays and makes waffles. Why don’t you come tomorrow morning?”
“I am not the waffle and family kind of guy.”
“Maybe you should be.”
“Or not. Thanks for the check-in. Now goodbye.” I disconnect and rotate back to the apartment.
I never heard the door. I don’t think Bella left.
I walk inside the apartment, and I do so with Dash’s advice on my mind. Better to bury myself in Bella, than a bottle. Not his specific words, but close enough.
Chapter Four
Tyler
It should really surprise no one that I have a dominant side and a need for control.
In light of that reality, by the time I’ve shut the sliding glass door, and sealed myself inside, I’ve already conjured an image of a submissive version of Bella at my command. Me on my couch, her naked and lying across my lap, with my palm on her backside. A safe fantasy considering I have no intention of acting on it. Hand to cock is about the only relief in sight on this night, because I have zero interest at this moment in anyone but Bella. But it’s a hell of a fantasy I allow myself because it’s better than all the other places my head has been the past two hours.
As if she knows I’m better off with her than without her, the object of my fantasy is indeed still here. Of course, she is, as I’ve thought before tonight, this is Bella. And Bella never runs from any challenge I offer her, even if that challenge is managing to visit my apartment and leave without ever ending up naked.
She’s now curled up in the chair, a blanket covering her, an open pint, and a spoon in hand. I step to the end of the couch and stare down at her right as she shovels a giant spoonful into her mouth. “I thought about leaving, but the ice cream is perfectly soft right now, and it’s really wet outside.”
My brows shoot up, and her cheeks flush but her lips purse. “That only sounded bad because you have a dirty mind. Which is better than a sad one, I suppose, though I generally think it’s a male disease to turn everything into sex.” She waves the spoon at me and then the table. “Eat the soft ice cream. Believe it or not, some things are better soft.”
If we’re talking about her in my arms, she’s right.
I ease into the space of the sitting area and sit down. “What happened to the chocolate peanut butter?”
“You can try it, but you can’t have it,” she says, lifting the pint in her hand.
“What happened to this being my pity party?”
“Pity is for—” She bites her lips and stops herself.
I supply her answer. “Pussies?”
“Yeah, that,” she says. “And you are many things, Tyler, but not that.”
“Now I’m intrigued,” I assure her. “What am I then, Bella?”
“Eat the ice cream and I’ll consider my answer while you do.”
I’m actually hungry, and while a steak would suit me better, I do like a good helping of ice cream. I pick up the cookie dough pint and pull off the lid.”
“I knew you’d go for that one.”
“Because you took my favorite option.”
She sits up and lets the blanket fall away, leaning close to offer me access to her pint, which is better than no access at all. “You can taste, but that’s all.” She smiles, and I suspect she knows exactly what she’s doing, but it’s hard to read Bella. She comes off that damn sweet, when I know she is far from the naivete that sweetness suggests.
If only she meant I could taste her, and if she was anyone else, I’d do that and more. Instead, I dig my spoon into the ice cream, and then taste it. She watches me, and I don’t miss the parting of her perfect, plump lips as if she’s anticipating my reaction. It’s truly an alternate reality. She should be anticipating where my mouth will go next on her body, not my reaction to ice cream.
I allow the milky sweet richness to melt in my mouth, and it’s better than I expect. Not better than the taste of her, I am sure, but better than I expect. “It’s good,” I declare softly, my gaze falling to her mouth, and lingering as I contemplate how sweet she might be, how soft her moans.
When my eyes find hers again, the rain is splattering the floor-to-ceiling windows, the intimacy of the dimly lit room, of my stare and shared ice cream from the same container, thickens the air between us, and I have no doubt my gaze is pure lust.