Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77611 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77611 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
I was there to distract her during the day and hear what she couldn’t share with the others. Connor was on heavy lifting and moral support. Val moved Bex into his bedroom and slept on a cot beside her in case she had nightmares while I was sleeping. She had them a lot. And she clung to him those first few weeks. He was the one to rescue her, and he seemed to be the only person who could bring her back from that dark place she’d go to after her dreams.
Wow. That was some serious off topic inner monologuing, and I’m sorry. Like I said, there’s been a lot going on and I’ve been too frustrated and distracted to get any. Though I’m not even sure why it matters when I look like this.
You know why.
Because Michael is outside the bathroom door waiting to see if I’ll need him. Still humming like I asked him to. Still planning to feed me.
Who knew grumpy but nurturing was my weakness? Honestly, that’s how I’ve been describing Val for years, and I’ve never once been attracted to him. Why is it an irresistible combo with this guy? The chocolate and peanut butter—or in my case, the jalapeños and ice cream—of personality profiles.
Don’t judge me. I almost died today.
I see a packaged toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste by the sink and nearly cry in gratitude. As I brush, I look around the room. I actually like it in here. If most of the cabin is wood-on-wood violence, this floor-to-ceiling tile in a soothing grayish-blue ombre makes me think spa retreat in the clouds. The excessively large tub is sized for at least a couple and sits temptingly beside a walk-in shower with a bench and multiple shower heads. As long as there is hot water and the power stays on, I wouldn’t mind spending the next four hours in there.
My mind instantly adds Michael to that shower scenario and I rinse out my mouth, silently swearing at the heaviness of my cock. This is not a good time, I tell myself, even as every daydream I’ve ever had about him returns with a vengeance. My hand drops to my hardening dick without my permission and gives it a solid stroke through the fabric. Then another. God, that feels good. A little shameless too, since I can still hear him humming. What is that song anyway?
And what is it about him? I enjoyed everything about our impromptu office meeting that night, except for the way it ended. But that can’t be why I’m still reacting so strongly to the man. I’ve been interrupted mid-bang before. It happens. I’ve always been able to let it go and move on. No regrets and very few repeats, that’s my jam. No one has ever captured my attention this completely, or made me want them to the exclusion of my sanity and all common sense. Until Michael.
You’re different with him. He’s different.
I can’t deny that. I saw him from a distance and had to find him. I found him, and I had to stay. I stayed, I flirted and I unzipped his pants. I haven’t stopped thinking about him since.
That isn’t casual, it’s a compulsion. Troubling but irresistible. It’s still there, that something I can’t put my finger on, like a cord connecting us. Drawing me closer to him since he walked down those stairs. Making me want things, most but not all of them related to orgasms. The not all bits are more alarming.
“Do you need any help in there?”
I yank my hand away from my dick, and my jolting twist of surprise sends pain shooting up my leg. “Fuck,” I hiss under my breath as I hop on one foot. When did he stop humming? “I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“I’ve been doing this on my own for a while now, Michael,” I snap unfairly, glaring at the closed door. “I know your heart is in the right place, but trust the person with sixteen years of roommate experience when I say solitary bathroom time is sacred. We can’t all be LBJ holding meetings while doing our business, can we?”
There was a moment of silence and then, “No?”
I slump against the sink in shame. LBJ? What a perfect fucking visual to add to the mix. I don’t care how big Jumbo (his nickname, not mine) was purported to be—or how many times he let the press in while he was in the restroom or skinny-dipping in the pool to show it off—the man was not attractive. Am I actively trying to turn Michael off and chase him away?
Well, you’re really into him. So, yes?
“I’m sorry. I think it’s low blood sugar.” If low blood sugar is code for I was about to jerk off and you interrupted me, then I’m not lying. “I’ll be out in a minute.”