Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I loved the simplicity of frot, but that was also its beauty—the magnified sensations of my fuzzy chest rubbing against his, our legs tangled together, the stripe of hair on his belly against my cock, the salty-sweet taste of his lips, the rise and fall of our synced breathing.
“Jonas.” Declan’s voice had an urgent edge to it. “Close…”
“It’s okay. Come with me.”
“Yes. Together.” He thrust harder against me, his cock driving into the crease of my hip. His head fell back, mouth open on a silent moan. I’d been wrong. This, this was the beauty, the ability to witness his pleasure and satisfaction as he came between us.
“Me too, baby. Me too.” The extra slickness of his come always did it for me. A few more thrusts and I was coming all over his stomach.
The room smelled like sex, and I had no idea what time it was, early or late, because I was already partway asleep when Declan used one of our shirts to give the barest nod toward cleanup. He nestled in beside me, head finding its spot on my shoulder, and neither of us woke until bright sunlight filtered through the basement windows.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Declan
“Would this be considered a walk of shame?” Rowan lounged against the wall directly across from the basement stairs. I’d awoken to the bright morning light and the sound of an awake household. I’d scrambled for my clothing, grabbed a handy basket of clean towels, motioned to Oz to follow me, and hoped I could make it upstairs undetected before Jonas woke up.
“Uh…” I held up the basket of rolled towels. “I was doing laundry?”
“In Jonas’s shirt?” Rowan gestured at my shirt. Oh fuck. We’d both had on black T-shirts yesterday, and I’d totally spaced on using mine for clean up after we’d had sex last night. No way could I pass off Jonas’s blood drive shirt as one of mine. “And you didn’t sleep in your bed last night.”
“Um…” I made a distressed noise as I made a beeline to the backdoor like it was a holeshot and a championship was on the line. I set the towels aside since no one was buying my excuses anyway.
“Morning.” Eric saluted me from where he sat on a stool at the island. He pointed over at the coffee pot. “Coffee is ready.”
“Thank you.” After letting Oz out, I stumbled to the coffee maker and poured myself a giant cup, added enough sugar and milk to soothe my battered nerves, and turned back to Rowan, who’d followed me to the kitchen. “How do you know where I slept last night?”
“Simple process of deduction,” Wren spoke up from over by the fridge. Damn it. Of course, they were awake too. Might as well bring the whole house in on this. I’d wanted to come out to the house, but this was a bit…abrupt. Not that anyone seemed to particularly care. Wren pointed toward the back hallway. “If you’d seen what Rowan did to your room, you would have said something.”
“Should I be worried?” I decided to leave the question of where I’d slept last night for the moment. I headed toward my room, both kids right behind me.
“Perhaps.” Rowan sounded near giddy, and I was surprised he’d managed to last this long without showing me. “It’s not a black color scheme.”
“Or motorcycle themed.” Wren cackled, a perfect mad scientist laugh. “Which is probably just as well since you’re unlikely to be sleeping up here much.”
“Nuh.” I made a strangled noise as I turned back toward Wren.
“What?” They held up their hands. “Just an observational fact.”
“But regardless of where you sleep, the room needed the overhaul.” Rowan gestured for me to open the door.
“Wow.” I stepped inside, taking in the transformation. Gone were the avocado walls, replaced with a white with the barest hint of yellow without being ivory or cream. The heavier drapes and blinds had been replaced with airy curtains. My light-sensitive eyes would likely curse the dawn, but the overall effect was sunny and light. My bed had been remade with a light-blue puffy comforter, and the weird side chair had been replaced by a large wicker rocker. The dark dresser had a fresh coat of white paint as well as new hardware. “What a difference.”
“The color is called Fresh Start.” Rowan pointed at the walls. “It was time.”
“It was,” Eric added from behind the kids. His voice sounded nasal, like perhaps he was coming down with a cold or allergies. “And Rowan ran with a tiny budget and a lot of thrifting.”
“It’s impressive.” I turned back toward Rowan. “You should hire yourself out.”
Rowan snorted before cackling exactly how Wren had. “There are probably better ways to rent myself out in LA.”
“LA?” I grinned even as Eric looked rather grim. Rowan, on the other hand, looked utterly delighted. “You got the part?”