Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85950 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85950 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
I can’t really consider myself a very good cop, seeing as how easy they just walked up on us.
Adalynn gives me a private smile before turning back and heading toward the dining room.
The guys are in a sour-ass mood, and it drags everyone else’s down long before the meal is over.
Both their mother and father ask them what’s wrong, but they aren’t in the sharing mood. They both grumble under their breaths when Adalynn asks them point blank if it’s about the new woman in their lives.
“There’s no woman,” Donnie grumbles, his eyes darting to his brother.
They both look sad, as if they recently had their dreams shattered or their balloon of hope was popped.
No one presses them further, but despite trying to change the subject, it all falls flat.
No one asks us to stay when Adalynn and I let them know we’re leaving. We don’t get any side commentary about wanting time alone like we normally would, and that makes me question what her parents know. The guys head out at the same time we do, which is also unusual. The growl of Donnie’s truck pulling away from the curb gives us an opportunity to smile at each other before she ducks inside her car.
I follow her taillights all the way to her house, my cock thickening in anticipation with every quarter mile of distance we close.
I watch her from the driver’s seat of my truck as she climbs out of her car. I know if I get close to her before she gets inside that the neighbors will be gossiping about us over coffee before the sun comes up tomorrow.
I don’t bother knocking or using the doorbell like I did the other night. I open her door and step inside, locking it behind me.
I arrow toward her bedroom, finding her lighting a candle on her bedside table.
“Hippie Jones had a new shipment,” she says, as she makes her way around the bed to light a different one on the other bedside table.
Her bedroom is symmetrical. Mine, on the other hand, doesn’t have two bedside tables because I’m the only one in the room. Her having two tells me that she has plans to spend her life with someone, eventually. The idea of it makes my stomach turn.
I shake my head, trying to rid it of those thoughts. Maybe I’m reading too much into it. Maybe her bedroom suite just happened to come with two, whereas I piece and parted mine together from items I snagged on social media “for sale” pages.
“That one,” she says, pointing to her bedside. “It’s vanilla and this one is sandalwood. Jones swears that they’ll smell like the sexiest thing you’ve ever had in your nose when combined together.”
Her voice dips to imitate Stanley Jones, the owner of The Devil’s Lettuce, a local gift shop that is known for selling off-the-wall shit.
“Why didn’t he just order one candle with both?” I ask, trying to pay attention to her words rather than staring at the backs of her thighs as she bends over to relight the second candle when the wick doesn’t catch the first time.
“Because then he’d only sell one candle,” she says, her smile bright when she turns back to face me. “We almost got busted by the guys.”
“I think they’re so stuck in whatever they have going on, that they didn’t even notice.”
“I hate that they’re going through something and don’t want to talk about it.”
I hate that her brothers were even brought up. Adalynn is the type of woman who feels the innate need to fix everything. She wants everyone around her to be happy. If there’s a way to bring someone out of their sad mood, then she feels like it’s her responsibility to do just that.
“Do you want to go track them down?” I ask.
It’s the last thing I want to do, but her needs have always come first.
Her eyes dart to the bedroom door at my back before coming back to me.
She shakes her head, and the sensation of her picking spending time with me over her brothers lances me with hope I probably have no business feeling.
“Tonight is the last night in my fertility window.”
And just as quickly that bubble of hope is popped. She’s not picking me over them. She’s picking herself, and that’s a shift in the right direction.
I do my best to shift gears, but, honestly, the idea of having the opportunity to get inside of her again isn’t much of a hardship. I crave this woman constantly. It’s the not hoping for more than what she’s willing to give that’s the struggle for me.
“You need to come on my cock, baby?” I ask, stepping closer to her.
I instantly grow obsessed with the way the candlelight flashes across her face.
The next hour is spent worshipping her body. I pray, even though it would leave her disappointed, that she actually doesn’t get pregnant because that would mean this ends rather than giving me another chance to have my mouth on her skin again next month.