Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
My eagerness to learn everything about him comes off as rude, and I’m not the only one noticing this. With a grunt deeper than any he’s hit me with previously, JR flips me back over, bands his arm around mine so they’re pinned to my chest like I’m wearing a straitjacket, then he buries his nose into my hair.
Even if I want to apologize for my insensitive interrogation, I can’t. JR has made sure he can’t see my lips or my hands, so instead of using words to express my sorrow, I use actions instead. I melt into his embrace, the ease of my action surely better than any apology I could muster.
I hope my gesture will expose to him that my interrogation was purely out of curiosity, but within minutes of it being initiated, the rhythm of his heart and the warmth of his body pressed against mine coerces me back into a restless yet somewhat horny slumber.
Chapter Twelve
I thought waking up in a cold and empty bed would be the worst thing I’d face this morning. That isn’t close to the truth. Yes, my bed is empty, but the disappointment roaring through me has nothing on the ache in the lower half of my stomach.
I’m busting to use the facilities, and the pain is excruciating.
“JR…” I murmur before rolling over to his half of the bed that’s surprisingly warm considering how low the flames are in the fire. “Would a trek to the bathroom be too much to ask?”
Up until two days ago, I would have never asked someone to accompany me to the bathroom, but after the frantic whistles of the wind last night and taking the inches upon inches of snow covering the only window of the cabin, I know it won’t be a solo trek today.
I don’t need JR to place me onto the toilet seat, but I sure as hell won’t make it that far without his help.
After breathing out my annoyance that I’m not as strong as I like to portray, I stand with the aid of the chunky bed knob. “JR?” I try again before I curse my stupidity to hell.
He’s deaf, you idiot. He can’t hear your calls for help.
Just as I snatch up the stick JR dumped by my bed last night to whack it against the bedpost, a groan sounds from the bathroom. It’s rough and unhinged like someone is in as much pain as my bladder.
“Hello?” I murmur, confident the grunt didn’t come from JR. I’ve grown accustomed to his grumbles the past couple of days. This wasn’t one I’d heard before. “Is someone here?”
Mindful the spikes JR located could have been earmarked for me, I hold out the stick in front of myself like it’s a weapon of mass destruction before I hobble toward the bathroom, confident that is the direction the noise came from.
“I should warn you that I’m armed.” Partway through my confession, my eyes stray to the doorway. My worry doubles when I spot JR’s gun resting against the warped wooden material. My father always says if you see a hunter without a gun, he’s most likely being hunted, and the groan that leaves the bathroom this time around backs up his claims.
JR sounds like he’s in pain and has me racing through the bathroom door without a single thought for my safety.
He saved me, so it is only fair I return the favor.
“JR…” I burst through the door at the speed of light, then I almost choke on my spit. JR isn’t being tortured by a bunch of locals who have confused him as Big Foot. He’s washing himself in the shower, and the visual is enthralling.
The water has flattened his hair away from his face, his beard is glistening with the droplets I’m suddenly envious of, and his hand is wrapped around his fat cock.
When it dawns on me that he’s relieving tension in the exact manner you’d expect for a man who lives in the woods, instead of upholding his privacy, I watch every sordid detail with a wish my tongue could hang out of my mouth, and the urges of my bladder are pushed aside for a throbbing clit.
I’ve never seen a more stimulating image. The pumps of his hand are long and controlled, yet still urgent and greedy. He drags his hand down his veiny shaft until his uncurled pinkie dips into the curly black hairs covering his sack before he drags it back to the glistening tip.
Although now is not the time for a medical evaluation, his lack of foreskin assures me his move to the wilderness didn’t occur until after he was circumcised. The perfect symmetry of his cock’s head is too refined to consider the prospect he was circumcised by wilderness lovers. It’s curved, glistening with arousal, and so damn thick, I doubt much more than the knob will slide between a woman’s lips when she was giving him oral.