Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
He pulls two glasses from the top shelf and fills both from the tap. "Unless you prefer bottled?"
"This is perfect."
His fingers brush mine as he hands me the glass. "I'm not a gentleman."
"But you make sure a lady comes first?"
"You've heard that one?"
"Hasn't everyone?" I ask.
"Probably." He takes a long sip. "What do you like?"
What do I like? I don't even know. Not anymore. "Not talking."
"No? No dirty talk?"
My cheeks flush. "I haven't tried it."
He smiles. "This should be fun then."
"Do you have condoms or should I grab mine?"
"Latex. Do you have an allergy?"
"No. Latex is good. Thanks."
Again, he smiles.
"What?"
"This isn't usually how this goes."
"How does it go?" I ask.
"A lot more pretense."
"I'm not big on pretense," I say. "Besides. You've already seen me topless."
"I barely saw anything."
"You did too."
"I did too." He takes another sip and sets the glass down. "But I am a gentleman at work."
"You don't stare at client's breasts?"
"Unless the piece requires it." He crosses the space to me. "How does it feel?"
"Huh?"
"You need help with after-care?"
"Right."
"Did you wash with soap?"
I nod.
"A&D ointment?"
"Not yet."
"Allow me." He pulls a small tube from his pocket, places it on the kitchen table, washes his hands in the sink, and turns to me.
His hands brush the hem of my t-shirt. His fingers skim the bare skin on my stomach.
Fuck, he's close to where I need him. No one has been this close in a long, long time. The soft touch is enough to set me on fire.
He moves to my left side as he rolls my t-shirt up my stomach. He only lifts enough to expose the new ink, not enough to expose my breasts.
I hold the extra fabric.
He squeezes ointment on his finger and applies with a gentle touch.
It's strange—not at all what I expect from a booty call—but it's only sexier for its oddness. He's tending to my body, my skin, the work he put on my skin.
We collaborated on this. Maybe that's why I feel so comfortable with him. Because I shared a vague idea and he turned it into something beautiful.
I want to celebrate being alive but acknowledge how hard it is too. Is a heart covered in thorns too cliché?
Maybe it is. But he made it into something unique and beautiful.
"There." He holds the t-shirt above my new tattoo. "Perfect. You want to see?"
"There's a mirror in the bedroom."
"That wasn't a come-on," he says.
"That either. It's that or the bathroom."
"Do you have a bathroom kink?"
"Not that I know about."
He smiles that same you're interesting and I like it smile. "Can you hold this?" He drops the fabric.
I don't reply. I let the fabric fall and I lead him into the bedroom. My bedroom.
When was the last time I invited a man into this space? Anyone into this space? The marvel of a main room is I don't have to share my bedroom with anyone.
The last time I slept with someone… my ex, his place. It wasn't great. It was never great, but it wasn't his fault. It was the combination of my meds and my inability to let go.
Patrick is a near stranger. I don't need to worry about what he thinks of me tomorrow. I don't need to consider our future or whether or not I love him (or if I'm even capable of the kind of love he expects).
No, this is crystal clear—sex.
Only sex.
The end.
I toss my t-shirt over my head and turn to the standing mirror. "It looks perfect."
"It does." He pulls a condom from his pocket and tosses it on the bed. Then he closes the distance between us. He places his body behind mine, wraps his arm around my waist. "Anything you don't like?"
"Having to issue verbal responses." I can't form thoughts and stay in my body at the same time. Not usually.
He laughs. "Then show me."
I can do that. I turn so my neck is to him.
He understands my request. He presses his lips to my neck as he pulls my body against his.
My eyes flutter closed. It's almost too much, already. I want him too badly, already.
Is this how normal people feel? No wonder they make terrible sexual decisions all the time. This is fucking amazing.
A moan falls from my lips as he pulls me against his hard-on.
He kisses a line down my neck, brings his hands to my hips, turns me around, so we're eye to eye.
For a split second, I look up at him. I try to find intention in his green eyes, but I only find desire.
It's intoxicating.
I bring my lips to his.
He kisses back with the perfect mix of need and patience. He meets me halfway, soft where I need that, hard where I need that.
I fall into the back and forth, my tongue playing with his, my hands curling into his skin. I'm a horny teenager, lost in the bliss of making out, happy to kiss and touch for hours without any expectation of more.