Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
“I know that for most people who act like they have no souls, it’s a thing that happens to them throughout their life. It’s a thing the world does to them. The pain just stays on the inside, scarring them up, even if they’re immaculate on the exterior.”
“So you’ve said.”
“It’s okay to be that way. But it’s okay to not want to be that way as well.”
“By that definition, I’m perfectly fine, so that’s quite faulty logic.”
She shrugs, grinning at me with more sunshine than what’s shining through the window we crawled through last night, and it’s getting pretty sunny out as the morning ticks on.
“Get back into bed.” A pillow gets plumped behind me, and she pats it and eyes my legs. “Don’t make me swing them up and in myself.”
I sigh. “Ignacia.”
“Here, try the coffee. It’s good. I got cream, too.”
That’s a hard freeze. “How do you know I like cream in my coffee?”
“Well, because you’re not a complete monster. Coffee is so dark and bitter and hard on the stomach without cream. You wouldn’t add any extra sugar to your diet. It was just a guess. If you’d told me you liked it black, I would have taken one for the team and drank that cup and got you another. There’s a whole pot downstairs.”
I humor her and move enough to get my legs back on top of the quilt. I mean to be all manly about it, but I can’t hold in a groan at the jarring pain that shoots through me. I’m not sure how long I’m going to be sore, but my body says a long time.
“Oh my god.” She scrambles onto the bed and kneels right on top of me, straddling my lap and legs without touching me. I’ll die if my body betrays me now and pops a boner. I swear to god. Not that Ignacia would see it past the folds of her long green dress, another one she’s sewn, but still.
I’m spared an untimely death yet again. It appears even my cock is too sore to function properly this morning.
She leans over, her sunshine scent enveloping me. Sunshine smells like warm flowers, warm grass, and warm hay, if you must know. And fresh coffee. The extra dark, extra greasy, extra tasty kind with a hint of chocolate and burnt undertones. The mug appears when she straightens, cupped between her hands. She sips first, captivating me as I watch her mouth, her lips, her throat, and her eyes.
“Mm. It’s pretty good, and I’m not a coffee person.”
“I thought you made it for me,” I quip.
“I did. But now you know it’s not poisoned,” she replies with a chuckle.
“I’d survive it. I’m not that easy to get rid of.”
“So you proved last night.” She slips the mug into my hand and waits for me to take a sip. I haven’t had coffee in way too long now, and oh! Oh, that’s good.
Basically, it’s sex in a mug good.
Fuck.
I don’t want to be thinking about that with the most beautiful woman in the world hovering right overtop me.
“Yeah? I told you it was good.” She grins, and then she sweeps forward, her lips grazing my forehead. I need to react, shove her off, get up, stop all this. Except I don’t. I can’t. I’d spill the coffee. My body won’t cooperate. “I’m going to run you a bath. I’ll put in some of those salts that help with muscle soreness. I think a nice hot soak is exactly what you need.”
Honestly? I’d like that.
And I’d like it even more if she joined me.
My mouth opens, but the usual I’m good, thanks doesn’t come out. Nothing comes out. Zero protests. Maybe the fall knocked more out of me than I thought.
We’re on the same wavelength with that one. “Are you sure you’re okay? Where are the bitter, manly protests?” she questions.
They died when I imagined you naked, pressed up against me, and riding me in a clawfoot tub full of soapy water—bareback, of course—because this is a fantasy that is never going to happen anywhere except in my head.
She’d ride me, and then I’d take her to bed, get her spread out for me, and feast on her sweetness for hours. Then, I’d help her upright and take her from behind. After we’re both exhausted, I’d hold her in my arms until she’s asleep, and then I’d trace my name onto her skin with such gentleness that she wouldn’t wake up. She wouldn’t have to in order to know she was mine.
Holy. Fucking. Fuckstacks. No.
No, I don’t go to stuff like that in my head. Writing my name on her skin? No. Bareback sex? Incredibly stupid.
“Hey. Seriously, are you okay? You look like you’re going to throw up,” she says, frowning.
Throwing up is the last thing I have on my mind, even if I should be disgusted with myself. I’m letting my brain conjure up things it never has before—sweet, cuddly things that people do together when they care about each other. When they want to make a home and a life together.