Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“Alright. What do you want to make?”
“Judging from your socials, Morgaine_Le_Clay, mugs are your specialty. So we can start there.”
“You looked me up?”
“You left me alone with a business card right in front of my face,” I said, getting a smile from Marnie as she none-too-subtly eavesdropped. “Why don’t you do more collections?” I asked as she moved around, getting the water and the clay together.
“Why do you care?”
“Hey,” I said, waiting for her to turn. “Just having a conversation, baby. You don’t need to get defensive. Just curious about it, that’s all.”
To that, I watched as her shoulders loosened, as those walls she liked to keep around her lowered a bit.
“I don’t need a lot of money. But, I mean, it is mostly because it is such a chore to get here,” she admitted. “It wasn’t so bad when Clyde did the driving. But I still had to haul all my stuff into town one day, then haul it all to the post office once they were all done. And it’s just not convenient when you’re relying on someone else, or worse yet, public transportation.”
“You consider getting a replacement for that truck?”
“All the time,” she admitted, lobbing a hunk of clay down on a wheel. “Sit.”
“Why don’t you then?”
“Oh, the pesky DMV tends to have a lot of questions when you register a car. Where you live. Proof of insurance…”
“Right,” I said, nodding. “Get it. Makes sense,” I told her as I got on the seat. “Would you ever consider living off-grid, but legally?” I asked as she walked me through using the pedal and starting to shape the clay.
“I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, I guess the main reason for the way I live now is because I didn’t have the money when I moved out here. I spent everything I did have on the tiny house and the solar panels and all the other crap you need to survive off-grid. And because of the lifestyle I live, I haven’t been saving a whole lot.”
“But if you ramped up production like you’ve been doing…” I said.
“Yeah. I know. It’s an option. It would do away with a lot of my current issues. But there isn’t a whole lot of land for sale in the area. And I kind of like Shady Valley. It’s small without feeling claustrophobic. And since I am not the only criminal around, I don’t feel like I stick out like a sore thumb.”
“There isn’t a lot of land,” I agreed. Millionaire’s Row, the apartments, and the ever-expanding suburbs had taken a lot of the empty land up. “But there are the farms. Even if you talked the current owners into subdividing them, since they are so big.”
“That’s true,” she agreed, her gaze going far away for a while, lost in the possibilities. “No, no, you have to keep moving your hands,” she said as she snapped back to the present moment.
Her body rushed forward, placing her hands over mine, desperate to save the project that was just an excuse for me to spend a little more time with her.
“Like this,” she said, voice a little airy as she guided my hands upward, then dipped them inside the mug, shaping it together.
I didn’t give a single fuck about the mug the second her hands touched me.
Because all I could think of was them running up and down my cock.
And to complicate shit, her position was so that her tit was brushed up against my arm, and her hair was in my face.
I actually found myself leaning forward to take a deep breath, breathing her in.
“You’re making it too big.”
Yeah, well, she was making something else a bit uncomfortably big too.
“I drink a lot of coffee,” I said as I forced my gaze back to the mug.
“It’s going to be super heavy.”
“I’ve got strong fingers,” I said, and had to fight back the smirk when her wide-eyed gaze shot to mine for a second, thinking I was referencing something else. Which I absolutely was. “Big fingers too,” I added as I deliberately slid my hands under hers a bit. “So I’m going to need a good handle,” I added, almost chuckling at the way she slow-blinked at me before she got ahold of herself.
Oh, yeah. Had I gone back that night, she would have absolutely let me inside. Then inside her.
“Handle!” she yelped, yanking away from me suddenly. “I can make that,” she said, moving as far away from me as fast as she could.
With that, she focused on the damn handle as if it required every ounce of concentration she had in her. Which was a lot.
“I think that is done, Crow, honey,” Marnie called, making me look up at her. “What do you have there, Morgaine?” she asked the woman sitting a few wheels away from me, using the surface as a table, not a wheel, as she did something with a pile of sculpting tools.