Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
I let out a small moan when I start to wake. It’s been a long time since I slept that deeply. When I go to stretch out, I pause, unable to move. My mind is still foggy from sleep. I wiggle, thinking I’m trapped in my blankets. A warm breath tickles against my neck.
Without a thought, a scream rips from me. In a flash, I’m rolled over, a giant body coming over top of mine as a hand comes down on my mouth to cut off my scream. I start to fight for a second.
“Babe, it’s me. You’re safe.” That deep voice that I know belongs to Jackson breaks through my moment of panic. I swallow, shaking my head. Stupid tears leak down my cheek. “Fuck, I scared you.” He drops his hand from my mouth. “Didn’t want you to wake the whole neighborhood.”
“No, I’m sorry. I guess I forgot you were here.” His eyes search my face. “I’m used to sleeping alone.”
“You weren't scared. You were petrified.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Yeah, babe, a big one.” He rolls off me. “You’re naked,” he points out.
Heat rushes to my face as I watch him adjust his cock. I turned him on? The towel at some point had come free, and I had my naked body pressed up against him, but he hadn’t done anything. Wait, don’t men get morning wood? That has to be it.
“You pulled me into bed in only a towel. What did you think would happen? Of course, it came loose.”
“I only pointed it out, so you knew why I have a raging hard-on and I don’t freak you out more.”
“Oh.” I lick my lips as my eyes drop to his crotch. The large hard outline is clear. It’s safe to say Jackson is big all over. “Is that normal for men to have when they wake up?”
“Not one this painful.” He adjusts himself again.
“But you didn’t do anything.”
“Not going to lie. You’re a temptation that might break me.” He runs his hand through his short hair. His comment doesn't scare me.
In fact, it does the exact opposite. I might not know Jackson well, but there is something about him that gives me a sense of security. How else would I have slept so deeply with a man in my bed? I knew he wasn’t going to do anything.
“Why don’t you get dressed? We need to talk. I’ll make breakfast.”
“You cook?” I perk up at that.
When I lived in the city, all I ever had was takeout. After that second kitchen fire with the bacon incident, I’d given up trying. My kitchen has somehow turned into a second art studio.
“You’ll find there isn’t much I can’t do.” He doesn’t sound cocky when he says it. It comes out more in a way if I let him, he'd be more than happy to lend a hand if I needed it. He gives me a warm smile that makes heat pool deep in my stomach.
“I’ll get dressed.”
“I’ll meet you downstairs.” I watch him go. How did I go from locking myself away in my new home, one that I’ve been calling a safe house, to now dwelling with a man that invited himself right into my house and into my bed?
I mull over his words about how he stayed up watching my house and already fixed my door for me as I try to find something to wear. Most of my clothes have paint or something smeared across them. Nina would pitch a fit if she saw the condition of some of the outfits I’ve worn. She was the one to make me buy them, knowing that they would probably get ruined with paint so she shouldn’t complain.
I appreciate that some clothing is a form of art, but it has never been one for me. I’m more about comfort, whether it be a loose flowy dress, overalls, or my favorite oversized pink Balenciaga sweater Nina got me last Christmas. And we can’t forget the yoga pants. With how cold it’s starting to get outside, I go with a sweater. When I pull it on, I notice a few yellow splatters of paint. Thankfully, Nina won’t be here to see them.
I’ve done well for myself. My artwork is in a ton of exhibitions, selling for more money than I ever thought I’d make in a lifetime. I am responsible for making the pieces, and then Nina does her thing with them. All I ever wanted was to remain anonymous. I didn’t want any of the fame or anything else that came with being successful in the art world. That hasn’t worked out so well for me.
I pull on some thick socks before I make my way down the stairs. I can already smell the fresh-brewed coffee and bacon. My attention goes to my door first. The thing is completely fixed. I think there are even different locks on it. The trim isn’t the same either.