Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 87058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“Sounds good,” she says, padding away from the living room with that delightful little ass of hers swaying every step. I’m gonna ride the fuck out of that asshole, but not tonight.
Soon, but not tonight.
Mike tugs his pants back on when it’s just us left in the room. I don’t bother with mine. Who really gives a fuck for modesty after all that?
He collects up the beer bottles and gathers the scattered popcorn from the carpet while I grab a wet cloth from the kitchen to wipe down my poor ravaged sofa. I give Carrie’s ass a playful slap on the way through and she pokes her tongue out.
Fuck, I love that fucking girl.
“You alright?” I ask Mike as I rub over the wet patches on the fabric.
“I don’t know what I am anymore,” he says, but he doesn’t look about to go anywhere, and I doubt he ever will.
I doubt either of us ever will, because this thing we have – the contagious Carrie Wells effect – I’m pretty damn sure this shit is terminal.
“I can’t find a way to justify why what we did feels so right,” he tells me.
I tip my head. “So stop trying. I have.”
“It can’t be right,” he says, but he’s lacking the conviction he’s been so desperately clinging onto.
“Maybe it’s right for us,” I offer. “Maybe it’s right for her. Fuck, Mike, neither of us have a stellar fucking track record on the relationship front. Forty years old and both single? Maybe we’re not fucking destined for a twee little life with neat little tick boxes.”
“Maybe not.” He looks so fucking pensive.
There’s that urge to ruffle his hair again. To pull him into a friendly headlock and slap his back and make this all about two guy friends again.
But I’m naked and he’s not far off either, and that crap still feels a little weird around the edges.
I’m worried about him, I’m worried about how his mind will play over all of this. But most of all I’m worried he’ll try to climb back up the cliff we’ve just tumbled over.
There’s no fucking way to scale back up that motherfucker, we’re well and truly all in.
“Coffee’s up,” Carrie calls from the kitchen, and we head out, him before me, dumping the cloth and the leftover movie-night supplies by the draining board before taking a seat at the island.
It’s when I see him look at her that I know he’s gonna be just fucking fine.
His eyes are warm, fingers reaching out to rest on her back so tenderly. Because he loves her. He really fucking loves her.
I love the way he loves that girl.
I love the way she smiles right back at him.
I love the way she sips her coffee and smiles at me, too.
We’re gonna be just fine and I know it, even if I do have to share my bastard bed with a naked guy.
I finish my drink and head up before them, tugging the bedcovers into some kind of order before I flick the bedroom lights down low.
I’m already in my en-suite shower as I hear Michael and Carrie reach the bedroom. The bathroom door is open in invitation.
Carrie has her hand in Michael’s. She tugs him along after her as she heads in my direction.
I slide open the shower door and she steps inside, turning back to face him as he ditches his boxers on the tiles.
I’m glad I’m a man who prefers opulence over budget, because it’s just as well I opted for a shower big enough for three. Carrie grins as she joins me under the water, tipping her head back and closing her eyes as the warmth lands on her face. Mike presses up behind her, his arms around her waist as I grab the body wash from the rack. I squeeze a load into my palm and slap it over my chest, lathering it up before I offer the bottle to Carrie.
She laughs as she dribbles it over her tits, the filthy little minx making quite a spectacle of soaping her nipples. I brush her hands away and take over the job, soaping her nice and good before dipping my fingers between her legs. I lather up that delicious little pussy, washing our stickiness off her as she rests her head back against Michael’s shoulder. His hands palm her tits, his hair nearly as dark as hers under the showerhead. He kisses her wet hair and I browse the bottles on the rack for the fancy shampoo one of my last female guests left here.
I hand it to him and he gets to work. Her expression is one of wonder as his fingers work her scalp, and under all this, under all the dirtiness and the sex and the come-ons she’s been giving us, I’m reminded again that this girl hasn’t really known tenderness before. She’s never been looked after before.