Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Their legs tangled together as if he’s worried, she’ll scurry away, and she’s afraid he’s going to let her?
He won’t.
Not just because I won’t, but because in spite of all the huffing and puffing and pretending he has no fucks to give for someone who metaphorically just drove off the back of a transport plane to crash into the jungles of our fairly uncomplicated lives, he cares.
Actually. Cares.
It’s why he asked about her during his longer towing stretch.
It’s why be brought home a whole chocolate pie for dessert instead of just a couple slices.
It’s why he let her use his shower and made sure she wrapped herself in his towel and insisted she could have one of his pillows for the night.
He wasn’t staking a claim to tell me to fuck off.
No.
He was simply showing me that if I really want her here, she’s welcomed.
If I fucking care, he’ll learn to care, too.
You know, funny thing is, Bunny calls him a mutt, but it’s more accurate than she realizes.
Yeah.
He barks.
And yeah.
He bites.
But he’s also protective as fuck.
Loyal as fuck.
And just wants to be rewarded with a fuck of appreciation.
In some cases…literally.
However, not directly from me.
Or I guess it’d be more accurate to say not directly from me yet.
That shit is coming.
I can feel it.
He can feel it.
And Bunny can fucking feel it considering how she keeps looking at us like that’s what she’s ultimately waiting for.
She’ll be the first we share.
The only.
Nolan’s phone begins buzzing across his bedside table prompting me to call out, “That’s the fifth one this hour.”
My best friend pops open one eye to spot my position.
“Third in the last twenty.”
Deep grumbles seem to successfully stir his bedmate awake.
“Coffee’s already in a cup.”
More grunts echo around the room at the same time her stare settles on me.
Mine.
Widens from surprise but swiftly melts in what can only be described as a sympathetic nature, although I’m not entirely sure why.
She has nothing to be sorry for.
I’m great at sharing.
At least with him.
“Fuck. Me,” Nolan mumbles during his shift upward. “Guess I need to go rinse my balls in the sink.”
“Might wanna give the teeth a go too.”
He grunts in agreement, swings his legs over his side of the bed, and stands before indulging a good stretch.
While this isn’t the first time, I’ve seen him stretch – or naked for that matter – it is the first time I openly admire what I see.
Tattoos – the odes to the life we live now – and burns – reminders of the life he’d lived before – are spread out all across his back like a junkyard project put together with only the spare parts a person could find.
I’ve never hated it.
Why would I?
Sure, top of the line, custom and shiny and brand fucking new are all great, but there’s so much to appreciate about an older model. One you know has been roughed up. Banged. Can handle a harder hit. Last longer under pressure. Will require a little more love from you to roar like it once did.
Maybe that’s one reason why I’ve always loved him.
He isn’t easy.
He requires work.
And effort.
And I treasure the shit out of getting to spend time under that type of hood.
My gaze manages to grab one more eyeful of his toned ass prior to him heading for his bathroom. His semi receives a small tug that’s mindlessly followed by a lazy scratch to his sack, both indications he’s still in the process of waking up. That he’s still in that phase where he remembers his name and not much else. Rather than continue to track his movements, I shift my glare to where Bunny’s still presenting me with an apologetic gaze. One that’s pleading for forgiveness.
Understanding.
Mercy.
Poor sweet thing…
She’s not getting any of that shit.
The first two aren’t needed, and the last one?
Well, it isn’t on the breakfast menu.
Crossing over to her side of the bed is wordlessly done. Sounds of the sink running could easily capture her attention; however, Bunny keeps her stare planted on me. Studies the way I drop to my knees upon arrival. How my fingers curl around her legs. Roughly turn her unsteady figure. Yank her to the very edge of the mattress where she’s spread wide despite her gasp.
Burying my face between her thighs overwhelms my senses with maddening scents of sex, cum, and hints of vanilla. Animalistic grumbles reverberate in the back of my throat as my nose traces the inside of one thigh, teases her clit with the very tip of my appendage, and then drags itself the length of the other. Aromas instantly attach themselves to the mental images from earlier this morning pushing me to lower my jaw and sink my teeth into the nearest silky skin.
There’s no hesitation to taste the remnants of the life changing moment or reluctance to allow the saltiness to saunter itself across my tongue.