Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 76402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
He came to the side of the bed, but didn't reach down, seek his clothes. Instead, he dropped the kimono with the rest of the discarded clothes, grabbed the edge of the sheets, pulled them up, and slipped underneath with me.
His arm moved around my back, curling me onto his chest, staying around me as an anchor as I allowed myself to sink into him.
"So," he said a long moment later. "I'm not sure how long is an appropriate amount of time to let pass before asking this... but... those brownies..."
Of all the ways I had maybe envisioned the events after sex for the first time in a decade, getting up to bake brownies in the nude, then climbing back into bed to eat them with Ty was not even in the realm of possibilities.
But it ended up being the truth.
And it was better than anything I could have chosen myself.
Way better.
NINE
Virgin
The list of things I hadn't done in life was maybe shorter than the one I had done.
But, somehow, in one night with Freddie, I had managed to do several of the few things I had never experienced before.
A real date.
Telling someone my life story. No filters, no omissions, nothing to ease the often ugly parts of it, the bits that - admittedly - made me feel something completely foreign to me.
Vulnerable.
Then sex that wasn't exactly just sex.
Sex had always been something base, something primal, something that required attention and skill, but nothing else. Certainly not feelings. But there was no denying that there were feelings involved when I was inside Freddie.
After that, another first.
I didn't immediately get dressed and leave.
After that, yet another.
I had a woman bake for me. Just for me.
Then, finally, the last thing.
After we ate almost a whole pan of brownies, I had scooted back down in bed, curled her back into my chest, and stayed.
I'd stayed.
The whole night.
The slamming front door was what woke me up.
Not Freddie, though. I figured that was a bit of the institution left in her, used to endless loud noises, cells opening and closing, guards yelling, other women talking, shouting. You had to find a way to sleep through it after some time.
She shifted in the bed, sliding off of me, the freedom making pins and needles ravage my arm for a long moment as I listened to Thad slam around the house.
While no one would likely accuse him of being a quiet sort, I had a feeling he was being deliberately loud this morning. So that we knew he was back. So no one came out of the bedroom naked or something.
I shifted off the side of the bed, reaching for my underwear, pants, fishing in the pocket for my phone, making sure nothing important had come in from the club, realizing I really shouldn't have had the SUV out all night without permission.
All I had, though, was a text from Sug.
So, you gonna try to tell me again that this isn't going anywhere?
I didn't respond. Because, quite frankly, I didn't know how to. My head turned over my shoulder, finding Freddie there, the girly pink sheets twisted around her, draped just high enough to cover her ass and nothing else, leaving her whole back on display. There were little marks on the back of her neck, put there by my fingers - no doubt - when she had been going down on me. One cheek rested against the pillow, her face softer in sleep, lips parted slightly.
There was a foreign sensation as I watched her, an odd tightness across my chest. I didn't even know what to call it, but I was pretty sure that whatever it was meant I wasn't going to just be able to walk away like I had done countless times before, just wash my hands of her like this was nothing. Because, quite frankly, I knew it wasn't.
It was something.
Otherwise, I wouldn't have given her my story. I wouldn't have wanted hers. I wouldn't have been invested in it as she gave it to me. I wouldn't have asked questions, demanded clarifications.
I wouldn't have pictured finding that dickhead ex of hers and pounding his face unrecognizable.
For what he did to her. What he stole from her.
And also, just be-fucking-cause.
Because a man had to own up to his actions. You didn't pawn your shit off on someone who loved you, trusted you. You didn't let someone you cared about take the rap for your fuck ups.
That wasn't how it worked.
Maybe I was a different kind of criminal. More of an old school one. Like the mob with their code of honor. Brotherhood meant loyalty up to and including self-sacrifice. It meant taking your charges. It meant doing your time. Hell, it even meant doing the time for someone else if it was asked of you.