Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
When soft curls brush my chin, and my nostrils flare to suck in the scent of their shampoo, it hits me. I am in Macy’s bed. My arm hangs over her swollen belly, and she has clamped her legs around my thigh, as if she is seconds from riding it to climax station.
I am the definition of the body pillow Alex insists Regan will never have—pregnant or not. He won’t let anything come between them. Even something synthetically made.
Guilt washes over me when the sun filtering through the curtains announces the day is well on its way. I was only supposed to stay until Macy fell asleep, but exhaustion must have also overcome me. And not for a little while, either. If the clock on the bedside table is correct, I slept for almost seven hours.
What the fuck am I doing? I’m supposed to be focusing on finding Cameron and Kendall, not working out why my body responded the way it did when Macy moaned within a second of me placing my hands on her.
I was hard in an instant and struggling to remember that we aren’t sharing an apartment because we’re a couple. We are coworkers desperate to find long-lost loved ones.
The way I acted last night isn’t fair to either Macy or Cameron, and it sees me eager to sulk out of bed like I did the kitchen last night when Macy’s interrogation reminded me that I was the bureau’s prime suspect for the first six weeks of Cameron’s kidnapping.
With more care than I’m used to showing of late, I slide my arm out from beneath Macy, trying not to wake her. She stirs slightly but doesn’t wake up.
I stand at her bedside for a minute, watching her sleep. Guilt is still in abundance, though it isn’t solely for Cameron this morning. Macy appears peaceful, yet also vulnerable.
Her vulnerability stirs something inside me that I’ve forever struggled to contain when she is present. I’d give anything to protect her from additional harm and to be there for her, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m taking advantage of the situation. That I am exploiting her vulnerability more than I’m attempting to eradicate it.
Just because she isn’t seeking a relationship doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve one. This also isn’t a situation where I can burn off some restlessness, then close the door I forced open as if nothing happened.
Macy is my colleague and friend. I can’t chew her up and spit her out as if she means nothing to me, but that’s precisely how any adult interactions I’ve had since Cameron’s disappearance ended.
Needing to clear my head, I pull on a pair of black shorts over my boxer shorts and then grab my running shoes from under the hallway table. I need to burn off the restless energy that’s rapidly building inside me, and I need to do it now before I stupidly believe the solution to my predicament is faintly snoring next to me.
The air is crisp after a recent downpour, and I suck it down while pounding the pavement. I push myself hard, striving to outrun the guilt and confusion bombarding me. The streets are quiet since most residents are already at work, and in minutes, I lose myself to the rhythm of my strides.
I’m unsure of the distance I cover, but when I finish, I’m soaked in sweat and my muscles ache.
Arching up, I rest my hands on my head and strive to catch my breath. The physical exertion has helped, but the guilt is still there, gnawing at me. It forces me to wear off another handful of miles on my running shoes before I eventually give in and call it a day.
I walk back to the apartment instead of running, but my heart still races as if I competed in a marathon when I reach the front door. Things have always been sparking between Macy and me, but it stepped over a line I’m comfortable with when I invited myself into her bed.
As my hand circles the doorknob, I realize I must have stepped in something unpleasant. The intoxicating scent I was sucking in like an addict after a prolonged stint of abstinence is nowhere to be found. The fresh scent is putrid, and it makes me smell as dirty as I feel.
I look down, a huff rumbling in my chest when I see dog poo smeared across one side of my shoe.
Great. This is just what I need.
Not wanting to track the mess inside, I take off my shoes and leave them outside the door. I quietly enter the apartment, mindful that Macy may still be asleep. Desperate to wash off the funk still plaguing me, I head straight for the bathroom, stripping off my sweaty clothes on the way.
I’m about to enter the bathroom when a faint moan freezes me in my tracks. It’s the same throaty mumble that thickened my cock last night, and it is as effective at turning my brain to mush now as it did then.