Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Henley
I wake gently to the sound of her breathing. My eyes drag open, and I reach over and turn the alarm off my phone.
Somehow I don’t need my alarm when I’m with Juliet. I sleep so soundly that I wake before it goes off. She picks up my hand and puts it around her waist and immediately drifts back to sleep.
Why do we have to touch while we sleep? It’s a weird concept.
I lean in and inhale her hair, soft and sweet. The warmth from her body is comforting, and I kiss her shoulder from behind.
Getting into bed with Juliet Drinkwater is easy. Getting out of her bed . . . not so much.
I run my hand up her thigh and cup her full breast.
She’s fucking gorgeous.
My lips drop to her neck, and I slowly trail them up to her jaw, my cock rising to the occasion.
I can’t get enough of her. Even this close isn’t close enough.
And I should be sated, damn it. I spent most of yesterday inside of her. But the one thing I’m beginning to realize with Juliet is the more that I have of her, the more I need.
There is no quenching this thirst. In fact the opposite is happening.
My hunger for her is building at a rapid pace.
She moans softly as she stirs, and I know I have to let her sleep; with one last kiss to her cheek I drag myself out of her bed and dress in the dark. I watch her as she sleeps. Her honey hair is splayed across the pillow; her dark lashes fan across her face. Even in the semidarkness, her beauty emanates around the room. I’ve never known anyone quite like her.
I’ve been with gorgeous women before, sure. But none that affect me the way she does.
She’s working tonight, damn it. I won’t get to see her.
With one last look over the sleeping angel, I sneak downstairs and see Barry snoring in his bed. “Dumb dog.” I walk out the back door and see that the sun is just rising, the birds are chirping, and it’s a glorious day. Juliet’s words from last night come back to me, and I smile as I make my way across her backyard.
“I’m yours.”
“Good morning, Bernard.” I smile to my father as I walk into his hospital room.
“Is it?” he grumbles.
“It is.” I pass him the morning paper and open the blind. I pick up the remote and turn his television on to the morning news. “How did you sleep?”
“Not good,” he replies flatly.
I smile at his grumpy reply. Always the pessimist. “Would you like some coffee?”
He looks at me blankly.
“You like coffee,” I remind him.
“Do I?”
“Uh-huh.”
He shrugs. “I guess.”
“I’ll make our coffee, and then we’ll eat breakfast and get you showered. How does that sound?”
“I don’t want a shower,” he says as his eyes stay glued to the television.
“You love a shower and shave. Makes you feel fresh.”
His eyes meet mine, and I can see the confusion rolling around in his head. “Do I?”
“Yep.” I smile. I make my way down to the kitchen and brew us both a cup of coffee. I’ve done this so many times I’m almost on autopilot now. Every morning it’s the same routine: I have to talk him into showering, remind him that he likes coffee, and put up with his griping. But I wouldn’t change it for the world. This two hours with him is my favorite part of the day.
We sit and drink our coffee in silence. He watches the morning news, and I read the paper.
A nurse puts her head around the door. “Good morning, Henley. Morning, Bernard.”
“Good morning, Alison.” I smile. “Nice day outside.”
“Is it?” Dad grumbles as his eyes flick out the window to the park below. “Doesn’t look that good to me.”
“Can’t wait to see it,” Alison replies as she puts the towels onto the end of his bed. “Have a good day.” She disappears down the hall.
Twenty minutes later, I turn the shower on. “Come on, Bernard. Shower time.”
“Why do you always want me to have a shower, for Christ’s sake?” he snaps as he walks into the bathroom.
I smile as I readjust the temperature of the water. “Come on, clothes off.”
He exhales heavily as if I’m the biggest inconvenience in the world and drops his boxer shorts and steps under the hot water.
I hold out the shampoo bottle. “Wash your hair.”
“I just washed it ten minutes ago.”
“I know, but it got dirty again.”
He frowns as he stares at me. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” I squirt the shampoo into his hand. “Wash your hair.” I put his hand up to his head, and he begins to wash his hair. Once he’s doing an action, his body goes onto autopilot, and he remembers how to do it.
“Tell me about your family,” I suggest to him.