Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 27032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Day unbuckled his pants and let them fall to his knees. He wrapped his fist around his shaft and held it tight, not moving, breathing through the sensations.
Day thought of broad shoulders, thick pecs, and packed muscles stretched out on top of him.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He gave himself a languid stroke from base to head, clenching his tongue to mute the groan rumbling in his chest.
I’ll treat you better than anyone ever has.
Day wanted to draw his pleasure out, but he couldn’t, not with the feeling of God’s mouth on his throat so fresh in his mind and his infatuation lying in his bed with his nose buried in his pillow.
You smell better than any man I’ve ever been around. If I could have you, Day…
Day went under his sweater, slid his palm up his chest, and rubbed his nipples until they were firm peaks. He pinched them hard enough to make him hiss.
His balls tightened, his stomach clenching as he sped up, pumping so fiercely at the sight of God shoving his hand down his underwear.
Day braced his hand against the wall over the toilet, his knees threatening to buckle.
If he had his dildo, it’d be deep in his ass while he thought of God nailing him from behind in a way that would make him feel it for days.
A hushed moan escaped before he could clamp his lips shut.
I’d call you Leo…yeah, Leo…you’re my Leo.
Day shot so hard it missed the inside of the toilet and hit the lid before it dribbled over his knuckles.
Shit.
He slumped against the wall for a long moment to catch his breath before he turned on the shower.
After he was clean, Day climbed into his bed beside God and allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to have him there every night. His weight and body heat lured him into a deep sleep.
In the morning, he’d probably have to jerk himself off again.
Day had gotten a glimpse of the kind of Cashel Godfrey he’d wanted and pined over for three years. That was going to have to be enough…
For now.
Day
Day woke to God’s loud snores and a streak of sunlight beaming across his pillow since he’d forgotten to close the shades.
His head was a throbbing reminder that he’d had a few too many bourbon shots himself. Thoughts of last night flooded to the surface, along with a host of imagery that made his dick harder than usual for a Sunday morning.
When he’d gotten into bed, God was already passed out, and as if he’d felt him in his dreams, God had damn near climbed on top of him before he fell back into a deep sleep. Day had finally shoved him over when he’d started to sweat from the insane body heat.
He glanced over and was rewarded with a full view of the roaring lion tattooed over eighty percent of God’s back. With each breath, his muscles moved, and so did the beast.
Day had to bite into his bottom lip as his cock jerked for attention. Fighting back the lingering haze, Day pushed himself out of bed and gently closed the bathroom door behind him so he could do the same thing he had six hours ago.
Once he was sated, all his body craved was food with frighteningly high levels of cholesterol and a huge cup of coffee.
Not long after he opened all the blinds in the living room, turned on the television, and threw a load of laundry in the wash, Day heard his bathroom door slam shut and the shower start.
His brain flickered back to God’s drunken declarations and the slurred whispers against his ear of how he wished they could be something more. But he pushed it aside. They’d both been wasted and wishing for the impossible.
He set his coffee machine to brew, then went in search of something to eat. He settled on scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage links, and buttered toast.
God preferred the simple things.
Day knew exactly how much milk, a pinch of salt, a light sprinkle of pepper, and how soft to cook God’s eggs. Day’s coffee was mostly a dessert—ten pumps of one of his many flavored syrups, foaming sweet cream, and brown sugar. He poured God’s—black, teaspoon of sugar, done.
He set the toast and coffee on the breakfast bar when he heard God’s bare feet on the hardwood floor. His partner turned the corner, and Day almost choked on the melon he was eating.
What the…seriously?
God was dripping wet, wearing a too-short towel clinging to his hips for dear life.
“Where are my clothes, Day?” he rumbled before he dropped down on the stool in front of the breakfast bar and took a big sip of his coffee.
“Laundry,” he muttered. “I just hope your hoodie doesn’t shrink anymore, or you’ll be wearing it as a goddamn halter top.”