Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 131387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Okay, I was curious. Wildly curious about that reaction when mentioning his mom.
But obviously, considering his current mood and that tremor, story time about that later.
I gave him a shake. “Okay, so, that big tote I brought in earlier had homemade cream of mushroom soup in it, and you’re my taste tester for these herb rolls I tried. And don’t panic when you see them. They’re white, but I used white whole wheat flour. They’re vegan and clean, nothing refined or artificial. I’m going to admit, I tasted one, and I was shocked it was super good. That said, I brought butter for me. You can have some if you’re very nice to me later.”
He frowned.
“Really, I swear, nothing refined,” I promised.
“I thought that tote had your toothbrush and clean panties in it.”
Now I was experiencing a tremor, but for a vastly different reason.
“I sense you’re a man who can tell the different shapes of a Tupperware and a toothbrush.”
His lips curled up.
Shoo.
Good.
A smile.
Then he frowned again.
“But that tote had your toothbrush and clean panties in it,” he stated firmly.
I rolled my eyes. “My cat is in your house too. Since I had so much to carry, and you were busy, my overnighter is still in the truck.”
He lifted his free hand, palm up to the sky, toward me. “Keys.”
I hoped this meant we’d get out of the cold, go in and eat, and maybe I could make him smile again.
“The keys are in the house.”
He turned and started us in that direction.
“You don’t have to cook healthy for me all the time, babe,” he muttered as we walked up the steps.
“Why not? I rock at it.”
He looked down at me, gave me a quick kiss while still walking, and then pushed into the warmth of his house, taking me with him.
I was down at the front, up at the back, in Hutch’s bed, taking his cock, both of us on our knees.
I’d wanted to lavish him with attention.
He stole my job.
It turned a little nasty, a whole lot raunchy, and now I needed to come.
Bad.
As usual, I didn’t need to say it.
Somehow, he felt it.
This was why he curved an arm around my middle, pulled me up in front of him, kept powering in behind me, and one of his hands went to my nipple, the other to my clit.
He rolled both with his fingers.
I came apart in his hold.
I wasn’t close to down before he pulled out, put me on my belly, whipped me to my back, wrapped my legs around his ass, lifted my hips, spread his knees to get more leverage and powered back in, holding my thighs, watching his cock drive into me, then my body moving with his thrusts, finally my face.
His was flushed. Severe. Hard set.
Soul destroying.
He liked what he saw.
He liked what he was doing.
He liked who he was doing it to.
A whole lot.
And I liked what I saw, that hairy, defined chest, the veins coming up from his flat groin, the muscles in his biceps bulging, his strong jaw flexed, the intensity in his dark eyes.
I knew it was close when he fell on me, hiked up one of my legs behind the knee, and rode me hard until his head lashed back, the tendons in his neck distending, and he pumped his release into me.
God, he was beautiful.
He blew out a harsh breath as the orgasm finished with him. Only then did he pull out of me and roll off, but he grabbed my hand and held it to his rapidly rising and falling chest.
Oh yeah.
Hutch put in the work.
The light from the fire in his fireplace danced in the room.
“Condom,” he muttered, twisting to kiss my shoulder before he got out of bed.
I gave myself a few more seconds before I rolled, found his flannel shirt on the floor, dragged it to me and shrugged it on.
To say the inside of Hutch’s house was more bare bones than the outside was an understatement.
He had furniture.
And that was about it.
It was attractive, though. Sturdy. Comfortable.
As for décor…
He didn’t keep his guitar in a case, but on a stand next to an easy chair that was also easy to see was used regularly. The state of the chair and the guitar were part of the reason why, but the stack of books around the chair was the other part.
There was also a confluence of pictures in frames on the mantle in his living room. Mostly dogs he’d trained.
But there were other photos.
Photos I could ask about, but they were intermingled with those I couldn’t.
Like there was a picture of him sitting on the ground on a big wool blanket, back against a log, long legs stretched out in front of him, boots crossed, what had to be the light from a bonfire on him. Nadia’s husband was beside him, Hannibal on Hutch’s other side, with a slightly smaller gray version of Hannibal on Doc Riggs’s side (my guess: Gia).