Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
I’ll lick her eager pussy until she’s flowing with more release until her whole body is tingling, and she can’t take it anymore. She can’t say no because the desire inside of her won’t let her.
She pulls on her pants, shuffling into them.
“I’m sorry,” she says, catching my gaze. “I know it’s probably annoying. You know, letting you do that… then saying I want to stop, but I can’t just make myself ready.”
“It’s fine,” I say gruffly.
The last thing I want to be is one of those men who starts pouting if their woman says they don’t want to have sex. I’ve seen those types at bars and clubs and out in public with a hangdog expression as they sulk next to their woman, not man enough to either accept it or walk away.
“One of them was you,” she goes on, sitting on the edge of the bed, “and it’s weird. I feel like I recognize the other two, but I can’t be sure.”
I clench my teeth and grind them from side to side. “Why does it matter?”
“Because they clearly matter to you.”
I spin on her. She flinches beneath me, squeezing her hands tighter together. The flutter of fear across her expression is the last thing I want to provoke.
“Why do you care what matters to me?”
She springs to her feet and stares at me with all the bravery befitting my woman. “That’s a stupid question. Why do I care? You’ve made me care by keeping me here. By… kissing me and everything else. By telling me you were Dad’s best friend but refusing to tell me anything about it.”
My mind returns to those days, the laughter, the camaraderie, and the good times.
She places her hand on my chest. I love when she does this. She squeezes down, and her fingernails dig into me like she can’t stand the idea of letting me go. It’s a feeling I know well, the same one I experience with her, the unwillingness, the pain of letting her go.
It’s why she’s still here and will always be with me.
“Was it Dad in the photo?”
I try to mask my expression, but I must flinch or somehow give myself away.
“And the girl was Mom,” Bonnie whispers.
I try to turn away, but she takes my face with her free hand and directs my expression to her. She forces me to stare at her.
“Tell me I’m wrong. I knew I recognized them.”
I want to lie, to say she’s wrong. I want to get out of this, so I don’t have to explain, but she’s right. I’ve trapped myself.
When I kiss her, she shoves against my chest as if meaning to push me away. Then our mouths open in their obsessive way, and instead, she pulls me toward her. We kiss hungrily, able to forget about the tension for a while, but then she gives me another shove.
“Am I wrong?”
I let out a breath.
She keeps her lips close, standing on her tiptoes. She can’t know how difficult it is for me not to collapse against her, not to encircle her in my arms and completely own her, every inch.
“Am I?” she goes on. “I won’t kiss you again until you tell me.”
“Is that the new game?” My hand slides down to her ass. “I prefer the old one.”
She whimpers when I spank her, her eyes widening. I’m learning to read the pleasure in her expressions, the constellations of her lust.
“You, Dad, and Mom were friends when you were kids?”
“You’re persistent, aren’t you?”
I try for a smirk, but it feels false.
“Yeah, I am. I owe it to Mom to be. When I’m a private detective—”
“Do you even want to be a private detective?” I growl.
“You’re changing the subject again.”
I stare, and she nods firmly.
“Yes, I do. So I can help people get justice. Maybe I’ll even find the person who killed Mom.”
“Is that your only reason for wanting to be one?” I ask.
I’m thinking of Cameron, wondering how he could do this and lie to his daughter about what happened to her mom, but at the same time, I get it completely. He wanted to protect her.
“Y-yes,” she says after a pause. “But who cares? Everybody needs a reason.”
“What about your art?”
“You haven’t even seen my art. You’re talking like it’s this super important thing. Anyway, you’re changing the subject again.”
I sigh and take her hips as softly as I can. “I can’t talk about this. You need to understand.”
“You can’t talk about the fact you were friends with my parents? You can’t explain that?”
I force myself to step away from her. “No.”
“Why?” she demands.
It will involve too much pain, too much delving into dark areas of the past better left untouched, but she’ll have to find out eventually, won’t she?
Goddamn it, Cameron.
“I just can’t.” I turn away, making for the door.