Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
“I thought they’d never leave,” Sam said, his voice husky with desire, as they waved the car off a short while later. “I think we should christen every room in this house tonight.”
“It’s only three rooms, really, since the kitchen and living room are open plan,” Lia babbled and then yelped when he dropped his hand on her butt and squeezed.
“Living room sofa and kitchen counter. They’re separate rooms to me.”
He positioned himself in front of her, dropping his free hand to her other butt cheek and squeezing and lifting her behind until her crotch was in line with his.
“We have a lot to get done tonight, Lia,” he said sternly. “Let’s not dawdle.”
In the end they managed living room, kitchen, shower, and bed. They now lay sprawled, naked and exhausted on top of the bedcovers, both on their backs and staring up at the ceiling. Lia was on his left, her head tucked into the nook between his shoulder and arm, one hand resting on his flat, ridged abdomen and the other pillowing her cheek on his shoulder. His arm was hooked around her shoulders, and his fingers were idly tracing up and down her side, from the swell of her breast to the dip of her waist and back, and his other arm was draped across his stomach and with his hand over hers.
Aside from explicit instructions from both of them about what felt good where, they hadn’t really spoken since the shower and were both content to just lie in companionable silence for the moment.
“I had an imaginary puppy once,” he admitted, his voice even more gravelly than usual.
“What was his name?” Lia asked softly.
“Rex. I was six, so no points for imagination. I can’t remember much about him—my mother said he was my best friend for nearly a year, and when she divorced husband number four, I cried for days because we’d moved out and I was heartbroken because we’d left Rex behind.”
Lia frowned and stroked his chest, wondering why he was telling her this. Her heart broke for the confused little boy who had lost his only friend but she wasn’t sure how to respond to his words.
“My mother offered to buy me a real puppy after that, but I refused. I was scared that the next time we moved that dog would be left behind, too.”
“I see,” Lia murmured.
“I’m very busy with work,” he said, and the non sequitur made her blink in surprise. “Even when I’m not in the field, I spend long hours in the office. I can’t have a dog. I know you think I should adopt Trevor.” It was the first time he’d ever used the dog’s real name. “But I can’t. He’d spend too much time alone. My hope is that he’ll learn to trust others through me and find that special someone who’ll be willing to take him into their heart.”
Now she wondered if he was referring only to the dog, or if his words were a gentle reminder to Lia not to get too attached.
“I’m sure he will,” she said, keeping her voice low and soothing. “You’ve worked wonders with him, Sam.”
“Lia—”
“I should get you home,” she interrupted, not wanting to hear him expand his confessional to include his relationship with her.
“I could stay.”
“No, you can’t, Sam.”
“For fuck’s sake, Lia. We’ll just be sleeping in the same bed, it’s not a big deal.”
“It is to me. Maybe you’re used to spending the night with just any woman, but to me, sleeping with someone is more intimate than just having sex with them. It’s . . . it’s . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she wasn’t quite sure how to express her feelings on the matter. “It means more to sleep with someone. We’re having fun, and I don’t want it to be more than fun. I don’t want it to mean more.”
He sighed, the sound rife with frustration, and levered himself out of bed. His movements were graceful and an indication of just how much better he was. He would be leaving soon, that much was evident. He was healing by leaps and bounds, and she was sure he wouldn’t be staying for the entirety of his three-month convalescence. He’d be gone in a matter of mere weeks, and it was important for her to keep sight of that.
This last week with him had been wonderful. They’d spent as much time together as possible; she never got tired of his body, and he never seemed to grow bored with her, either. Every time they were intimate felt like the first time. She would have expected that desperate edge to wane by now, but instead it seemed to be growing more intense.
Frighteningly, she had to remind herself on a daily basis not to fall in love with him, that this wasn’t real. That it was nothing but casual fun.