Total pages in book: 436
Estimated words: 415303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 2077(@200wpm)___ 1661(@250wpm)___ 1384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 415303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 2077(@200wpm)___ 1661(@250wpm)___ 1384(@300wpm)
“Yes,” she breathed. “Do that thing—” Another gasp as I ground against her piercing. “Oh, fuck. Yes, please. That. Oh God. That.”
I didn’t stop the motion once I knew what she wanted, only pressed harder, moved faster until her brows drew together, her lips parting, and she came all around me like thunder.
That face, her face. I couldn’t stop myself, no matter how bad I wanted to. Three pumps of my hips and I came with her hands in my hair and my name on her lips like a prayer.
When I pressed my forehead to hers, when she trailed the tip of her small nose up the bridge of mine, I caught a glimpse of just how deep the deep end was.
And I had no idea how to swim.
It took me all of about two minutes to come down from my orgasm with Bodie in my arms and the glorious weight of him pressing me into the bed before I freaked the fuck out.
I liked him.
I wasn’t supposed to like him.
And now it had to end. All the fun. All the happy. All the Bodie. All that glorious D and laughing and excitement. Over. Poof. My three dates were up, and now my carriage was gonna turn into a pumpkin.
I had to walk away.
I didn’t want to walk away.
Fuck.
My heart hammered, and I clawed my way through my thoughts. How could I tell him it was over? Did I even have to? Could I let him leave and just let the whole thing die?
I told myself I could. I also told myself I was a liar.
He propped himself up, holding my face in his hands as he smiled at me, and my insides trembled and fluttered in response. I was smiling back, betraying my freak-out so easily, I almost got whiplash. Or dicklash.
What is happening to me?
“I’m glad to see you, Penny,” he said, his eyes on my lips.
“I can tell.”
He kissed my nose and rolled away.
I sat up in bed and leaned against my pillows, pulling the covers over me as I watched him walk out of my room, stark naked. He turned the wrong way for the bathroom, and I forgot all about my anxiety, laughing when he passed the doorway again, pointing in the other direction.
God, I was in the deepest of shit. All the way up the creek of shit with no paddle.
Screwed.
Fucked.
And only partly in the literal sense.
I sat there, panicking over what to do. I should have been ready to tell him goodbye, but I wasn’t. But I had to. It had to end.
Didn’t it?
Maybe if he bugged out on me, everything would be easy. I would probably follow the old pattern, and I’d be turned off so fast, I could wave sayonara without question. There was still time — his dick was barely out of me, which was something I was really, really missing already.
But then again, maybe he won’t bug out at all. Maybe he doesn’t actually like you, a little voice in my head said.
I’d named the owner of that voice Peggy about eight years ago (thanks, Rodney!). My psychotic alter ego smoked Pall Malls and whispered around her cigarette, shuffling around me in her bathrobe with rollers in her hair, reminding me that I was a good lay and that was it. Because that was what I was good for — sex and tattoos. The good-time girl.
He’s probably got another girl or two in his rotation, one who’s less of a mess. Once he leaves, I doubt he’ll ever speak to you again, she said, which was a point that should have given me a modicum of comfort but gave me absolutely none.
That sick feeling in my stomach was back. I fucking hated Peggy. She ashed on my soul and existed solely to make me miserable.
Peggy was why I wasn’t allowed to have feelings.
I stole her imaginary cigarette and put it out, which shut her up long enough to light another one. It was the only thing that worked to keep her quiet — making sure she was stocked with beer and cigarettes and all the dick she could eat.
And when she was finally quiet, I wondered if I would be the one to bug out.
That thought sent my heart chugging so fast, it hurt.
He came back a second later with a cool, wet washcloth for me, which he handed over with a smile that panicked me even more.
Bodie made his way around the room, gathering his clothes — first his shorts, which I mourned as his ass disappeared into them, and then his shirt, another sorrowful moment of my day. And then he climbed back in bed with me, flopping down on his stomach at my side.
“I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Okay,” I said, waiting for him to profess his undying love or pledge to cherish me forever or admit that banging me was nice but he really thought we should call it.