Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
I want to do this right. I want to let go, but I can still hear the voices in my head that remind me of how silly this is. But those voices are so minuscule compared to the eagerness and excitement I have about exploring this further and discovering what it will be like when I’m able to totally surrender to my pup self.
Frankie stands in the living room, in jeans, a tee, and a beanie.
As soon as he sees me, his expression turns serious.
I was expecting maybe a laugh or something, but he doesn’t look amused. He looks like he’s appreciating my puppy gear, which helps to push all my concerns to the back of my mind.
“Hey there, Pup Runt.” He approaches me, offering a few scritches on the back of my neck. “Good boy. That’s a good boy.”
Those words, simple as they are, make me feel so safe, so cared for.
It’s nice having Frankie here with me, and nice being able to put my trust in him.
Hell, that’s the reason why I haven’t so much as had sex with a guy since Peter. I already made the mistake of putting trust in the wrong guy once, and of course I had to choose the biggest bastard of them all. As terrible as I was about making the decision to put my faith in Peter, I know I’m making the right decision by putting it in Frankie in this moment because he’s never taken advantage of me. He could have easily preyed upon me that night when I was feeling so down and insecure.
All he’s ever done for me is be a great friend. And now, he’s Pup Runt’s handler. Who would have thought this is where we would have wound up?
“Now.” He snaps his fingers and points to the floor. “Sit.”
He’s good at this.
A lot better than I am at being a pup.
I feel so silly, but the way he takes to it, the way he’s treating me helps me relax into this experience.
I obey his command, just like I imagine a good pup would.
Frankie grins. In some ways, I think he’s getting a similar thrill from this experience.
“I think that deserves a treat.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small bag of Reese’s Pieces.
Grabbing a Reese’s Piece from the bag he’s holding, he says, “Open wide.”
I obey, and he slides it under the snout, into my mouth.
Something about this moment…it’s so playful and innocent, and I can’t help myself.
He’s right there, kneeling before me, so I lean forward and slide my tongue through the opening between the snout and the hood and lick up his cheek.
He laughs, and now I’m the one who’s reveling in being able to get to him.
“Looks like Pup Runt’s already looking to be punished,” he says.
I bark, again I can tell it’s not all that convincing, but I have time to work on that…we have time to work on that.
12
Frankie
There’s a strange sort of sizzle beneath my skin as I kneel next to my Pup Runt. Evan’s hazel eyes twinkle through the hood but in this moment, he’s not Evan…he’s a pup. Or at least, he’s on his way to being one. There’s a mixture of apprehension and excitement in his gaze. He wants this; there isn’t a doubt in my mind about that, but I imagine it’s hard to completely let go and put yourself into pup space.
I stand and take a few steps away.
“That’s it?” Evan asks, and I look down at him, cocking a brow.
“Pups don’t talk, remember?”
“Shit.” His voice is again muffled. “Sorry. I…” When I cross my arms, he gets the message and whimpers instead.
“It’s okay, boy. You’re doing real good. Now, stay.” I back up slowly, watching him. In some ways, he’s a natural. His hands are positioned correctly, mitted and in front of him. His arms are just the way a dog would have them, but I see the wheels turning in his head. I see it in the tenseness in his body. As much as he craves this, he can’t fully let go. Right now, he’s Evan in a hood trying to be a pup, instead of letting go, finding pup space, and being the little runt I know he’s dying to be.
Still backing up, I don’t stop until my legs touch the couch and lean against the arm of it, watching him. We’re only about ten feet away, but there’s not a doubt in my mind that he wants to come closer. That he’s yearning to crawl over, rub his head against my leg and earn some scritches.
Still, I wait, count it out in my damn head, each second that goes by making my heart beat faster the way I figure his is too. It can’t be more than a minute that he asks, “Frankie?”