Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 35957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
I gaze at the soft, warm tone of the walls, the dark wood flooring with an area rug in the middle of the bedroom, along with the sumptuous wrought iron bed that is centered in the room. It’s an antique I picked up for a steal at a thrift store. I painstakingly sanded the dresser and nightstand before refinishing them with a deep stain. Then there’s the bedding, a muted green and pink comforter with layers of pillows. Peeling myself out is impossible on the weekends, and god, I can’t wait for Saturday morning.
“Don’t do it,” I tell myself. The need to faceplant into one of my favorite areas of my home is real. Instead of letting my intrusive thoughts win, I keep walking and move further into the room, and don’t stop until I’m standing in front of my closet. When I kick off my heels, the arches in my feet relish being released from the torture chambers I have succumbed to. I go through my paces, unbuttoning my white blouse, allowing it to slide from my shoulders and drift to the floor before unzipping my pencil skirt. It meets the same fate as my top and shoes in a pile of clothes I’ll pick up later. The last step is unclasping my bra and sliding out of my panties.
“One more day,” I reiterate once I’m naked. There’s a temptation to say the hell with it, take a hot shower, and put on a pair of pajamas or comfy clothes, except I can’t. I promised my neighbor across the street that I’d take her boxer, Mackie, out for a walk, bring him home with me after his dinner, and take him back home in the morning. Talia works as a nurse at the hospital in the ICU department. Her hours are long, and she only works a few nights a week. Those nights are when I step in to help her out. We also get together to drink a glass of wine on each other’s front porches.
Which is why I won’t be staying in for the time being. I opt for a pair of leggings, a tank top with a built-in bra, socks, and sneakers. I’m in the outfit faster than I care to admit, and it’s mainly because leaving poor Mackie alone for much longer is pulling at my heartstrings. Along with another man by the name of Crew.
Stupid heart.
Stupid hormones.
Stupid freaking week for my shark week to attack me.
The only upside is that my period only lasted a few days, and while the first day was heavier than normal, it didn’t last long.
Thankfully.
I haven’t seen the man all week, literally. It’s like he’s a figment of my imagination. And with each day that passes, I’m really thinking that whatever it is I felt when our bodies touched maybe wasn’t anything after all. Which completely and totally sucks, especially with Crew being the star of my nightly fantasy fest. You know, the one where I use my fingers, my toy, or the detachable shower head. An occurrence that has been happening every single night without fail, sometimes twice, and there’s been an occurrence in the morning when I wake up from a particularly erotic dream.
One of which occurred this morning. I was hot and sweaty, drenched between my clenched legs, thumb sliding along my clit, two fingers tunneling in and out of my wet center, all while moaning a man’s name I barely know. This is what life has come to—dreaming about someone whom I know not one single iota about, except for the fact that my uncle is partners with him. He’s melt-your-panties hot and has this aura about him that gives off a vibe that you just know he’s a take-charge kind of guy.
I shake my head of the thoughts before I veer off my path and take longer to get to Mackie in order to take the edge off. Still, I doubt very seriously it’d help. I walk out of my bedroom, leaving the mess where it lies, and make my way back through the house, only stopping at the front door to grab my phone out of my purse and the keys I have hanging on the hook.
The setting sun smacks me in the eyes, and I squint to help with the overpowering color trying to blind me. I make a beeline for the house across the street. The pathway leads to the sidewalk, which leads to the driveway, and a quick look both ways for the occasional passerby. Our street is cute and quaint with a cul-de-sac. I’m close enough to Talia’s front door that I can hear Mackie’s happy noises, the prancing I’m sure he’s doing on the other side of the door, the tapping of his paws, and the excited talking.
“I’m coming, Mackie boy,” I tell him, putting the key in the lock and whipping the door open once I sped walk to Talia’s house. She only left a couple of hours ago, helping cover another nurse who had to leave for an emergency. Still, Mackie is used to a routine, and it’s been changed up today.