Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 83167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
There was good soundproofing in his place. They’d heard Mag come in, but that was it. What they didn’t hear was that Mag came back with Boone.
So over Chinese delivery, Lottie got Boone’s version of Test the New Woman.
Mo figured, with Boone, she passed after she successfully shotgunned a beer.
It wasn’t that Boone had lower standards than Mag when it came to Mo.
It was that Lottie was Lottie.
Chapter Thirteen
No Shit
Lottie
The massive spasm of his big body woke me and nearly sent me flying off his bed.
And then I wasn’t teetering off the edge.
I was in Mo’s arms, those arms so tight around me, I worried he’d snap my ribs.
And I couldn’t breathe.
Just awake after coming out of a deep sleep, which came after a great fuck, unable to breathe, feeling the strength of him for the first time in a way that frightened me, it took me a second to figure out what the fuck was going on.
But I heard Mo’s breathing, felt his skin was hot and clammy, and I figured it out.
“Okay,” I pushed out. “It’s okay. It’s okay, baby. I’m right here. Right here. You’re home. In bed. With me.”
His arms got tighter.
Was he even awake?
I couldn’t tell in the dark in his bedroom.
I forced my hands under his arms, shoved them up his chest and grasped either side of his neck.
“Mo, honey,” I called.
He rolled into me, giving me all his weight.
All of it.
And his arms hadn’t loosened.
God, he was going to suffocate me.
“Mo, baby.” I squeezed out the words as I squeezed his neck. “Wake up.”
“Awake,” he grunted, putting his weight into his arms at my back, taking some of it from me, at the same time relaxing his hold.
I sucked in a big breath.
“Shit,” he whispered. “Fuck,” he said.
Then he let me go and rolled to his back.
Instantly, I rolled into him, climbing him, my chest to his, the rest of my body falling off his side.
“Dream?” I asked quietly.
“Christ,” he replied.
I gave it time, carefully moving my hand to hold his neck and stroking his throat with my thumb.
When his breath came easier and some of the tension went out of his body, I tried again.
“Was it a dream, honey?”
“Yeah,” he said to the ceiling.
It was the Sunday, the morning of the night I was going to meet his family.
In the ensuing two weeks, I’d met all his buds (and all of them were as awesome as Mag was). I’d hung with all of his buds (and hanging with all of them was as awesome as hanging with Mag was). He’d had dinner with my family. I’d gone back to the club. He’d been put on some surveillance job where, fortunately, he worked nights so he was working when I was working which meant we had most of our time together.
Though the first night I was onstage, Axl, Auggie and Mag were sitting front row to the side.
Not to watch me strip.
To make sure I was good my first night without Mo at my back.
Boone was working some other job.
Vance, Hector and Ren with their women, Jules, Sadie and Ally, as well as my sister, by the way, were sitting at the table next to them.
Eddie was at home with the boys (doing this avoiding having to watch me dance).
Jet, Jules, Sadie and Ally watched me dance.
Vance, Hector and Ren engaged in an apparently deep conversation while I danced.
I was loved.
And it was good to be loved.
But now, I wasn’t feeling that goodness.
For nearly a month, being officially together for a two and a half weeks of that, Mo and I spent all our time together when we weren’t working. We slept at his house, or mine, depending on a variety of factors.
He had a razor, shave cream and bodywash in my bathroom and a drawer and a rail full of clothes in my closet.
I doubled up on all my stuff, including a ton of makeup, a hairdryer and curling irons (that was fun, more fun, Mo was a man who didn’t mind shopping—I had his sisters to thank for a lot, something I was going to get a chance to do that night). And since his big master closet was far from full, I’d filled my own rail and two drawers.
Neither of us was fucking around.
This was it.
He was the one.
I was his one.
And both of us knew it.
It hadn’t been years, but we now had some time in and in that time, not once since Mo started sleeping at my side did he get up before seven in the morning.
No nightmares.
All good.
Until now.
And I had no clue what to do.
“You wanna talk about it?” I asked.
“No,” he answered.
“Do you need to go work out or something?”
“Maybe.”
“Wanna fuck?” I offered.
“Lottie, you don’t have to fuck me every time I have a bad dream.”