Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 160732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 804(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 804(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
I felt my brows hitch up.
They did this because, yes.
He was angry.
“Okay,” I agreed quietly.
“And you do it with your mouth and I don’t mean talkin’.”
“Okay,” I repeated, my mind struggling with surprise, my body fighting a happy shiver.
He kept issuing orders.
“And you can do it by suckin’ my tongue in that mouth or you can suck somethin’ else into it.”
“Oh…” I breathed, feeling my nipples getting hard, “’kay.”
Once done issuing orders, he took my coffee cup right out of my hand, straightened and raised it to his lips, taking a sip.
After that intimate gesture, he sat in the chair Gear had set beside mine the night before and lifted his legs high, setting the heels of his bare feet on the top railing and crossing his ankles.
And he didn’t give me back my coffee.
“Do you, um…want me to get you some coffee?” I offered.
He lifted my mug slightly, scowling at the landscape.
“Already got some.”
Okeydokey.
“Do you want me to make you some Pop-Tarts?” I asked, and his head turned to me.
Oh dear.
I’d done something else to make him unhappy.
“Saturday and Sunday, babe, I make breakfast.”
This sounded like the twelfth commandment, therefore I made a note of it.
“I already had Pop-Tarts,” I admitted.
His eyes narrowed.
Then he looked back at the scenery and took another sip of my coffee.
Hmm.
He wasn’t normally a bear in the mornings.
Apparently, someone woke up moody.
“I’m going to go get myself a cup and let you have your mood,” I muttered.
I felt his eyes on me, the feeling of them was venomous, and I froze before I took my feet from the railing and looked at him.
“Not in a mood, Toots.”
“You seem like it to me.”
“Woman,” he started, and I braced. He’d never called me “woman” before and I didn’t think that was a good sign. “Been sleepin’ next to you for days, finally got my hand on your ass and your tongue in my mouth and my daughter comes home and pukes on the floor. Commence fuckin’ teenage-kid, drunk drama, and I reckon you’re in no mood after dealin’ with that shit. Then I wake up to an empty bed. So I’m not in a fuckin’ mood,” he leaned into me, “I’m fuckin’ frustrated.”
This was interesting.
Although I knew he could go all night with the energy of a teenager, and he was definitely all man as in all man, thus I knew he had a very healthy sex drive, still, he’d had Nails just the day before.
But he was acting like he hadn’t had sex since the dawn of time.
Maybe he and Nails just made out and didn’t do the deed.
This would be a relief.
A fleeting one, considering I didn’t spend every hour of every day with him, and he’d not only had, but would continue to have ample opportunity to carry on in that manner.
But perhaps he didn’t do that yesterday, then kiss me and later start something with me.
And yes.
That was a relief.
I didn’t question this verbally, for obvious reasons, the primary one being my own peace of mind.
Instead, I thought the prudent way to play it was to whisper, “Point taken.”
He twisted his neck, and I did too, to see Gear wandering out onto the deck wearing a pair of drawstring gray sweats cut off at the knees and nothing else.
Good golly, I hoped he kept his clothes on around girls. With his hair a mess like his dad’s, sleep in his eyes like his dad’s, and a six-pack that was as defined as his dad’s, except leaner, if they got one look at him, they’d tear him limb from limb.
He dragged a chair to my other side, sat in it, lifted his heels to the railing just as his father’s were and sipped from his own coffee.
“Mornin’,” he muttered to the view.
“You sleep okay, Gear?” I asked.
“Yep,” he answered.
“Good,” I whispered.
Then, for some reason, Gear said on a question, “Eggs, pancakes, waffles or French toast?”
“Your choice today, Gear,” Buck replied.
“Totally French toast,” Gear stated then took another sip of coffee.
I looked at Buck and saw him sip at mine.
“I’m getting coffee,” I mumbled, taking my feet from the railing and putting my hands to the arms of the chair, pushing myself up.
I was attempting to squeeze through the small space between Buck’s and my chairs when Buck’s fingers wrapped around my wrist.
I looked down at him to see he was looking up at me.
“Get it and get your ass back out here.”
Still moody.
And domineering.
I nodded.
He let me go, and I only braved my muttered, “Moody,” when I was at the door to the house.
I got my coffee and then took my ass back out there.
After I settled in my chair and put my feet on the railing, Buck did an ab curl, wrapped his arm around my thighs and pulled my bent legs to rest against his elevated ones. Then he left his arm wrapped around my thighs, though in sitting back, it slid so it was wrapped at my upper thighs at the same time my chair with me in it scooted the scant inches that were present to close the distance that separated it from Buck’s.