Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 57707 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57707 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
“I love you, Mom,” I tell her once it’s all done.
She can barely whisper it back. Today is one of her bad days.
Grabbing a blanket, I decide to curl up on the armchair. Since Mom got sick, I’ve learned to sleep in some contortionist positions.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
TRISTAN
“Still no word?” Tank asks me over the sound of the spin bikes.
We’re both hitting them hard, Tank’s question punctuated by heavy breaths. I’m panting, my whole body burning, but I push harder. Tank doesn’t need me to tell him no. I would’ve told him if Raffie or Carlo had contacted me about the meet. Maybe Carlo sensed something was off after the fact.
“Damn, T,” Tank grunts, gasping as I push the pace.
“DOR anytime you want, motherfucker.”
DOR is Drop on Request, and no self-respecting Marine is ever going to let another jarhead say some shit like that to him and then quit. Tank grits his teeth, leaning into each stride and looking at my display. “One … forty… RPM … what!?”
I grunt as I push even more, remembering when I wanted to quit and go soft, but I kept going. I kept pushing. Finally, we stop, and Tank slides off the bike and collapses onto his back, staring at the ceiling.
“Good work,” I say, grinning down at him, but then I stumble to the closest seat. My legs feel like they’re going to give out, too. After a minute, we get up, both of us stretching out.
“You need a date,” he says with a smirk. “Get that demon out of you.”
“Yeah, right,” I growl. “Tristan’s Tails is on the brink of becoming FUBAR. I need to get this Raffie shit sorted so I can find out how I’m going to fix the home. I need to cut back.”
“Staff?”
“No,” I grunt. “I’ll cut corners. We don’t need the fake waterfall flowing all day. Stuff like that.”
“That’s cents, T. You need more than that.”
“I’m not firing her,” I snap before he brings it up again as we head toward the gym locker rooms together.
“You’re paying her to stay home and have a dog vacation. People would pay to be in her spot.”
“Just drop it.”
As I shower, the water flowing down the fresh-shaven sides of my head, I try not to think about her. I try not to see the curves of her body or to remember her taste. When I was grinding her against the desk, I wanted to let it all out so badly.
Tear her pants down, rip her underwear aside, and get a look at her dripping core. I could hear how badly she wanted it as she moaned; I could taste it, feel it in the passionate warmth of each breath. She was as hungry as me.
With a grunt, I quickly turn the shower to cold, as icy as it’ll go. I can’t let my hard-on rule me or even this passion that’s creeping up on me.
I need to remember Vanessa. Remember how it all ended. Remember the promise I made to myself.
Yet, with Maya, I can’t, dammit. Even the cold water does nothing to kill my rock-hard dick, the tip leaking precome, my base burning. It’s like I can almost feel myself slipping into her tightness. I can see her eyes widening as she takes me, as she slides further and further …
I open my eyes, realizing I’m sinking into the fantasy. What am I going to do, jerk off in the gym shower?
Quickly washing, I take a minute to let the passion drain away, focusing my mind on the tiles on the wall, counting them as my solid length slowly returns to normal.
Outside in the parking lot, Tank says, “Keep me posted.” Then he climbs into his car.
I don’t drive away at first. The gym is closer to Maya’s house than Tristan’s Tails is. I could swing by and tell her I wanted to see Loki. Is that a lame excuse? She won’t be surprised that I know where she lives. I can say I asked Simone where she lives.
Do I want to see her that badly? Part of me wishes I could stop thinking about that kiss, about her grinding against me through our clothes, about her sassiness, her toughness. When I really think about it, I don’t want to.
Be cold; be tactical. If not seeing her distracts me, I should visit, shouldn’t I, to calm myself down. Or maybe that’s just a justification. Calling up Simone at the home, I say, “Hey, can you check something for me?”
“Sure, what’s up?”
“When are Loki and Luna due for their monthly pills?”
“Uh …” She taps a few keys. “About a week.”
“Hmm.” I nod to myself. “Maybe I’ll swing by the vet, then take them down to Maya so she can give them the pills.”
“Uh, okay,” Simone says, probably wondering why I’m offering so much information.