Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 74668 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74668 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Where it’d then nicked my ovary.
I’d spent nearly two months in the hospital recovering, and I’ve spent the rest of my life remembering those days in my dreams.
That was where Peter came in.
My father had gotten him for me from a breeder outside of Lubbock, Texas.
Peter was a full-blooded Irish wolfhound.
He was also trained to wake me from nightmares, which he’d had to do on occasion.
“You scared the shit out of me,” Downy said to me, running his nose along my temple.
I nodded against his head. “Yeah, me, too.”
Thirty minutes later found me on Downy’s side of the collapsed wall.
I was on my belly on his bed, and he was picking the rest of the pricking bastards from my sensitive skin with his fingers.
“What happened to you earlier? You went somewhere else,” Downy mumbled.
I closed my eyes and rested my forehead flat on the bed.
My legs were spread wide with him sitting in between them.
“I was attacked by a dog when I was twelve. It took me nearly five years to have all of my surgeries to fix what was effected,” I explained.
He stayed silent.
“Did you hear any more about the dog?” I asked after a few long moments.
He shifted on the bed behind me as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and tossed it on the bed near my face.
I grabbed it and opened it.
“What’s the password?” I asked, staring at the screen.
He laughed. “6666.”
“Fitting,” I muttered, as I typed it in.
He pinched my ass, causing me to squeak and ram my hips into the bed to get away from the sudden, sharp pain.
He laughed and continued to work as I looked at his text messages. The ones I’d been hearing him get for nearly twenty minutes now, but he hadn’t been answering because he was busy.
I read the first one aloud to him, “This one is from an ‘O’Keefe’ and he says that the dog was taken to the emergency vet on Sigmoid Avenue. It says that the dog had signs of being used as a bait dog,” I said. “What’s a bait dog?”
Downy grunted. “Dogs they use to provoke the kill from the actual fighting dogs. They practice on them before they do the real thing with another fighting dog.”
My stomach turned. “Oh, that poor baby.”
He grunted but didn’t say anything.
“The next one is from Foster. He says that the dog had a microchip, and had been stolen from a property about a half-mile from our complex. Says the owners reported him missing about six weeks ago,” I read.
My stomach started to knot as the implications started to sink in.
“He was returning to his home, wasn’t he?” I asked in a quiet, devastated voice.
“I don’t know, honey. But whatever he was doing, he wouldn’t have been the same dog anymore. Whatever used to make him a pet, was no longer there. If he was going home, it was just out of instinct,” Downy said quietly, still working on the stickers.
I took a deep breath and read the last one. “This one is from Miller. It says that he followed a blood trail to the highway. He says it looks like the dog was dropped off there from a vehicle.”
He sighed. “Fucking hell.”
I nodded and closed his phone, not bothering to snoop anymore. I didn’t have the desire to do it right then.
My belly was churning from the possibility that our little town had a dog fighting ring in the area.
I couldn’t fathom having my precious Peter taken from me like that.
“Is there a way to get a GPS chip put in a dog?” I asked, laying my head down flat on the bed.
His hand smoothed up over my back, palm flat, and my core clenched at the movement.
Holy shit, even the most inane things felt freakin’ perfect coming from him.
“Yes. Mocha has one. You can probably get one through the vet if you asked,” Downy said.
We sat in silence for a few minutes.
“This would be easier if you’d lose the panties,” Downy grumbled as he painstakingly removed more stickers.
I snorted. “I’m sure it would be.”
I wasn’t taking my panties off, and I didn’t.
Or at least I hadn’t meant to.
I’d fallen asleep at some point during the procedure because the next time I woke it was the middle of the night, and the area surrounding me was dark.
My feet were tangled with, whom I suspected were Downy’s, and my eyes were heavy with sleep.
What had woken me, though, was the feeling of tiny little pricks in my back.
Without conscious thought I removed my shirt, settling for just my bra and panties.
I settled back on my back, closed my eyes, and fell back to sleep, although fretfully.
It didn’t completely relieve the annoyance, but the majority of it was gone
At some point I’d decided that enough was enough and took my panties off, too.
I hadn’t even been aware that I’d done it. Not until the next morning when the dawn was peeking through the slats of Downy’s bedroom window.
I woke when the bed shifted underneath of me.
My eyes peeled open, and I surveyed the area.
I was in bed…and I was partially on top of Downy.
My very bare vagina was pushed up against his hard thigh, the lips of my sex being tickled by the hair on his leg.
My bra-covered breasts were pressed tightly to the side of his chest, and my head was resting on his pec.
One arm was at my head, fingers wrapped around the back of my head.
His arm was around my waist. His hand on my ass, fingers curling in to rest on the inside crack.
The position went from innocent to holy-fucking-hell in a flash.
As soon as I realized his fingers were that close to my entrance, my core started to slicken.
I could feel the wetness now, and I knew it was only a matter of moments before the wetness reached his fingers.
I started to move away, but Downy’s hands tightened.
The lips of my sex parted with the movement of his lower hand, and I inhaled slowly.