The Survivor Read Online Jessica Gadziala

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, Insta-Love, Suspense Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
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“Yeah?” the woman asked, tentatively excited.

“Definitely,” I said, shooting a smile her way. “What now? Can I take her with me today?” I asked.

“You sure can,” she said. “Let me just figure out the paperwork, and grab you her toy and a small sample of her food.”

With that, she left us to bond some more. There was no reason. I was completely in love with her already. All I could think about was how much more secure I would feel in bed with her beside me.

Less than half an hour later, I was leading Matilda into my backseat with her baby and a promise that I had lots more babies waiting for her at home.

“If you want to bond with her,” Wells said, “you can give me a rain check on the dinner.”

“No way. Unless you’re tired,” I added.

“Not in the least,” he said in this smooth way that had my belly flip-flopping.

“I just have to drive to the grocery store to grab my pick-up order, and then I can get right to cooking,” I told him.

“I’ll follow,” he said. Then, sensing my objection, took a step closer, towering over me in a way that felt almost possessive, not intimidating. “I’ll follow you,” he said, voice firm, but somehow softer too. Soft enough to make my belly do a flip-flop.

“Okay,” I agreed.

“Okay,” he said, arm raising. And, for a second, it seemed like maybe he was considering tucking some of my hair behind my ear. Or maybe that was wishful thinking on my part. In the end, it lowered and reached for my door behind me instead, holding it open to let me slip inside, then carefully closing it once I was in and buckled.

“It feels like a date, doesn’t it, Matilda? Or can I call you Tilly?” I asked, looking at her in my rearview as I turned over the car.

Her ears perked up, but she turned her attention to nibbling her baby.

To say dinner was delayed would be a gross understatement. I actually almost felt bad by the time I was putting the plates out.

I mean, Matilda needed to go potty. Then I wanted to show her around the house, something she did anxiously, then with increasing enthusiasm, her tail waving, and her nose to the floor.

Then, of course, I couldn’t help but open my packages, throwing her new babies around the house, and setting up her food and water.

It was a whole process.

And during it, I kind of forgot all about cooking.

Wells didn’t complain, though. He was busy tossing toys for Matilda who showed no interest in actually bringing them back, just expecting him to throw different ones until he, inevitably, ran out, and had to walk around the house himself to collect them.

“This smells amazing,” Wells said as we sat down at the table. Matilda was dead asleep on the couch, which she decided was entirely hers once she realized she was allowed up on it.

It wasn’t even my best recipe, but it was one of my quicker ones, knowing I’d already stolen a lot of his time. And that he likely didn’t have much of it to begin with.

“Oh, my God,” I said, eyes huge.

“What?” he asked, tensing as he reached for his fork.

“Your dog! What about your dog?”

To that, he relaxed.

“He’s okay,” he assured me. “I have a dog walker during work hours. I just asked him to drop by one more time and feed Boss. This is not the first time I’ve been out late,” he added, shrugging. “And Boss has graduated from sleeping the sixteen hours a day of a normal adult dog to about twenty for a senior.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, relaxing. I mean, of course he had a plan for his dog. Only an irresponsible owner stayed out without a plan for their furry friends to eat and go potty.

I knew I’d already formed a plan in my head as I prepared the food that I would stop home every day on my lunch break to take out Matilda and give her some love.

True, she’d spent the last four months in a little pen in a shelter, and was likely used to not having much attention. But I wanted to do better for her.

“Fuck,” Wells groaned, and the sound was deep and almost primal. This time, when the shiver moved through me, it was low in my belly. Lower, even. Making me press my thighs tightly together under the table, and say a silent prayer that my completely inappropriate desire wasn’t etched all over my face. “This is amazing,” he added, reminding me that was what he was making that noise for. Not me.

My libido needed to relax.

Shouldn’t it have been traumatized from the events of that night?

“Yeah?” I asked, smiling at the way he was attacking his food. Like a starving man being given his first meal in weeks.


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