Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“I can take it off,” he says, pinching the part of the towel tucked in at his side.
“Don’t,” I say, with absolutely no enthusiasm. “Please don’t.”
My droll tone tells him to do the exact opposite.
“You said you were a little sore.”
“And you said you could kiss it and make it better,” I challenge.
“I did,” he says, reminding me exactly how he woke me up.
I hate thinking about the moment that I’m sure will come where I wake up and don’t feel these things for him. I’m not looking forward to the crash when my brain realizes it’s time to get back online and face reality.
Until then, I’ll just have to keep enjoying him as much as I can.
I spin around, giving him my back when the towel drops to his feet.
“You have got to stop,” I say on a laugh.
“You need to make up your mind.”
Water still remaining on his chest soaks into the t-shirt I’m wearing, forcing a shiver up my spine.
“I promised Brielle that I’d come help her with math.”
He instantly takes a step back, and I respect the man a little more than I already did. He could easily convince me to stay. That serotonin-loving part of my brain knows that it will get its fill if I stay with him, just like it knows that there’s no telling which version I’ll get of Brielle when I make it to the shelter.
“I’ll drive you, and then we can get lunch after you’re done.”
“We haven’t had breakfast yet,” I remind him, turning back around to face him now that I know he isn’t going to try and tempt me to stay.
I love that he respects the promises I’ve made to others. I always feel guilty for being flaky, and sometimes it’s hard not to be, even when there aren’t others around trying to get you to do something else.
“I’ve had breakfast,” he says, making me laugh when he waggles his eyebrows at me. “And you don’t eat breakfast.”
I lift my arms over my head when he reaches for the hem of my shirt so I can jump in the shower.
He isn’t any more immune to my naked body than I am his, I realize, when his eyes skate down the front of me before he leans in and takes one of my nipples into his mouth, sucking on it and releasing it in the same breath.
“You’ve been paying attention,” I tell him.
“Get washed up,” he says, taking a step back but keeping his eyes on me the entire time.
Maybe it’s only the other men I’ve been with but I can’t recall a single man who would back away with a full erection without trying to get some resolution to his state of arousal.
“I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
I nod, waiting for him to close the bathroom door before taking care of my business then jumping in the shower.
The man doesn’t have a problem peeing in front of me, but I don’t know that I’ll ever be comfortable enough around anyone to do that sort of thing.
The warm water entices me to stay as long as I possibly can, but I also want to get out so I can spend more time with Derrick. I really need to consider scheduling my visits to the shelter around his return home, but then I remember that he gave me very limited information. I didn’t ask for more details, but I’d like to think he didn’t give more because he couldn’t, and not because he was trying to hide things from me.
I lose a little wind in my sails by the time I get out of the shower and get dried off. Even with a pep talk while drying my hair, all I can manage is a small smile by the time I make it out of the room and into the kitchen.
Derrick crosses the room to me immediately.
“What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “It’s fine.”
I won’t explain the highs and lows and how those can come and go as easily as someone turning a light switch on and off, in front of everyone in the room, and thankfully, he doesn’t prod me for more information.
I hate the days that my disorder is stronger than my meds, but I also know that I’m on the highest dose my body can handle without turning me into an emotionless zombie.
Once I have coffee in a travel mug, he presses his hand to my back and guides me out of the kitchen.
I’ve met nearly every person who is connected to the clubhouse, but there aren’t a lot of them who I speak with regularly. I learned long ago in school that it’s not always best to invite yourself into a conversation. I’ve not gotten the vibe from anyone here that they don’t want me to join them, but old habits die hard, and historically, I’ve always been safer keeping to myself.