Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 68146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
His orgasm was a surprise, too, at least to me.
Intense gaze on my dazed one, he gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowed, and then he was grunting as he came.
His cock jerked, his body stilled deep inside of me, and he collapsed on top of me in the span of thirty seconds.
He didn’t even try to cushion the fall.
Laughing at his obvious exhaustion—I was, too—I wrapped my arms around him and said, “You have ten minutes, and then we’re going for round two.”
He snorted right into my ear, pulled out, and rolled me with him to the side of the bed, where he picked me up and carried me to the shower.
“I have enough condoms to do this exactly two more times,” he said as he turned the shower on with a flick of his wrist.
He hadn’t even turned the light on yet.
“Only three?” I teased.
“It’s been a while,” he admitted. “I’ve been busy with work and other stuff. Plus, I’m not usually the ‘fuck ’em before you know ’em’ kind of guy. I’m more of a ‘get to know them, make sure they like my cooking, before I give them any other parts of me’ kind of guy.”
That was sweet.
“Will you cook me something before I have to go?”
He stepped into the shower with me, placed me gently on my feet, and then cupped my face.
“I would perish in the pits of hell if I sent you away from me hungry.”
And he didn’t.
After four and a half hours of “mind-blowing, never going to get over this man for the rest of my life” kind of sex, he cooked me food.
It was simple.
Eggs—over easy like I liked them—bacon, which was the thickest cut bacon I’d ever seen in my life, and hash browns from scratch. Then, he’d cut into a loaf of bread that’d been on the counter, slathered some homemade butter and jelly onto it, and placed it all in front of me.
I eyed the food and felt my mouth water.
“Will I offend your cooking gods if I ask for salt and ketchup?” I asked.
He winced. “Probably the ketchup, yes. But I’ll manage.”
I loved every single bite.
And I’d dream about the bread and the jelly, like I would his body, for years and years to come.
Maybe I could come back during our off-season…
I helped him clean up, even though he told me not to.
Then, when it was time to leave, he walked me to the door.
The chill in the air was jolting as he opened the door, and I felt a frog enter my throat.
“If you ever decide that you want to join a circus and cook for us…” I said, “I happen to know a place that’s hiring.”
I didn’t give him my number. In fact, I didn’t do much more than blow him a kiss then walk away.
Goodbyes were hard. Goodbyes, when feelings were involved, even harder.
I missed him already, and I hadn’t even gotten into the van yet.
“I don’t have your number,” he called as I opened the van door.
I smiled at him sadly over my shoulder. “Would you use it?”
His answering frown made me smile softly and get into the car.
No, he wouldn’t use it.
And I wouldn’t want him to use it unless he planned to stay in my life.
Rolling down the van windows—yes, they were hand crank. The beast was old—I started it up.
I didn’t look at him while I backed out of the driveway.
I didn’t look at him when I pulled past his driveway.
I waited until he was in my rearview to look back.
His eyes were agonized as he watched me drive away.
And the strange pulling sensation in my heart got stronger and stronger with each foot of distance I put between us.
CHAPTER 7
Marry a woman that shares common interests with you and doesn’t mind a finger in her butt every once in a while.
-Sienna to Coffey
COFFEY
“Sorry, kids. You’re not getting an inheritance. All that money went to booze. I needed it to put up with you,” the lawyer read.
I blinked.
“He didn’t really say that,” I said as the lawyer read the first line of the will my father had left. “Did he?”
My dad’s lawyer, an old friend of his, laughed. “He did. But that was just a joke. He’s actually leaving y’all a sizable amount. Plus”—he switched the papers in his hand—“the house is to be sold and profits split. His life insurance policy lists the two of you as beneficiaries. Each of you will get two million apiece. A million is to be split into a fund for any future grandchildren, split equally.”
Even the idea of two million dollars didn’t dampen the pain I felt at the knowledge that the only reason I had that money in the first place was because he was no longer here.
“What else is there?” the lawyer paused. “Ah, yes. The final parting comments from your dad. I know he wrote each of you a letter to be given to you after his death. This is for you,” he handed me the letter. “And this is for you.”