Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Almost as if I didn’t want her to get away. It was feral and possessive, and while I can definitely be described as wild, I am in no way covetous of long-term female companionship.
Yet last night, I felt like an animal protecting a juicy piece of meat, and if another were to come near, I’d tear them to pieces.
Yeah, that’s why I’m awake earlier than normal because it’s bugging the shit out of me that I give this—whatever this is between us—more than a passing thought about how fucking good it is with her.
I lift my arm to peek at my watch and see it’s nearing five a.m. Brienne will be up in another half hour or so since she hits the gym early, same as me. I won’t be going this morning because we have a game, which is a good thing. I’d probably drag her into the locker rooms.
I need to leave and put some distance between us.
Carefully and a bit reluctantly, because she does feel good against me, I slip out of bed. The darkest part of night has waned, and I watch her sleep for a minute.
She’s under deep, not a restless bone in her body. I think she works herself to exhaustion each day and sleeps like the dead at night. I’m sure it doesn’t help that for the past week, I’ve cut into her sleep time and exhausted her further with our insatiable fuckfest.
Sighing, I nab my briefs and haul them on. I bend to pick up the jeans I’d kicked off onto the floor last night, then my eyes shift to Brienne.
Not in consideration of crawling back into bed with her but wondering what her morning routine is like. If I had to guess, I bet she drinks a cup of coffee and grabs a protein shake on the way out the door. A woman like her doesn’t have time for anything else.
Call me nostalgic, or maybe I’ve grown soft over the last year catering to my kids, but one of the most satisfying things for me in caring for them is the simple act of preparing a meal.
I mean, I could use a little sustenance myself, so why not make Brienne some and force her to have a somewhat leisurely morning? She can skip a workout and it won’t kill her, and I can spend a few more minutes in her presence.
Suppressing a groan, I scrub my hand through my hair and admonish myself for even caring about her breakfast habits. It goes against everything we said this was—it’s nothing more than great sex.
Okay, stupendous sex.
The best I’ve ever had.
Whatever.
Despite my brain telling my ass to leave, I drop my jeans and grab the rubber band from the dresser to pull back the top portion of my long hair. When it’s secure and out of my face, I wander into the kitchen. I’ll scramble eggs, and that’s it. I’ll wake her up and leave them by her bedside.
With coffee, of course.
Maybe some toast. And bacon.
I’ll make myself some, and it will diminish this stupid need I seem to have to care for her.
“Pussy,” I mutter as I root through the fridge.
She shouldn’t matter, but something jarred loose last night when I found her working in her home office. I’m not just talking about piddling around. She was full-fledged absorbed in reading some thick document at eleven p.m., and I watched her for a while before she even noticed me. Brienne never said as much, but I’m guessing that’s routine for her.
The time we spent talking in her office was refreshing. I enjoyed learning more about her, which only increased my admiration—a far cry from when I couldn’t stand the woman at the beginning of the year.
As I start bacon to sizzling and cracking eggs to scramble, I have to admit the way our discussion ended is causing some consternation. With Jake, Colby, and Tanner coming this weekend, my life will change back into me being a dad first and foremost. I wasn’t exaggerating when I told her my evenings were for them and them alone. My boys come first, always, and that will never change.
And yet, I’m feeling a sense of loss because this last week of nights with Brienne have been amazing.
Just not sure what that means.
“Good morning, sir,” a man’s voice says from behind me. I’m not easy to startle, but I jerk in surprise.
I glance over my shoulder just as Daniel walks in. I’m really not sure who he is or what he does. My instinct is butler, but he’s not like any butler I’ve ever seen on TV or in movies. He’s probably early forties, incredibly fit, and begrudgingly, I acknowledge, quite handsome.
I don’t think Daniel is Brienne’s boy toy, because she said his name was Clay, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have more than one.