Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
I grabbed one can from the pantry, and I swore Cowboy growled. “I’m not overfeeding you,” I said, dumping the food into his bowl.
By the time I’d washed my hands, he’d scarfed it down, burped, then started up the stairs. When I opened the door to my bedroom, he shot inside and hopped onto the bed.
It had been nearly ten years since I’d moved out to attend college, and Grandma had kept my room just the way I’d left it. Same dresser. Same clothes hamper. The weird-ass tapestry of a female minotaur Theo had given me for my fifteenth birthday still hung over my headboard.
Every time I’d visited, I’d offered to make the room over into a guest room, but Grandma had refused to let me. She said she always wanted me to feel like I was coming home when I visited and that she didn’t give a “diddly squat” about anyone else staying the night.
I undressed, got into bed, and scrolled through my phone’s photo album. Pictures of the Arc de Triomphe, of clothes hung out to dry from wrought-iron balconies. When I came to the one I’d taken of Blake in front of the Eiffel Tower, I stopped. She really was stunning. Her dark hair was a little wild in the photo, and that smile… I was pretty sure that smile could talk me into damn near anything.
Blake felt like the real thing. Like someone I could wake up with and never tire of saying good morning to. As crazy as it sounded, I couldn’t remember what my life was like before Blake because I couldn’t think about it without her.
She was the one.
I swiped off the photo, then texted it to her along with the message: You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Bubbles floated across the screen.
You’re not so bad yourself.
A candid picture of me wearing that damn Avo-Cato bandage followed.
Did you have a good day?
And here I was hoping you were going to ask me what I was wearing.
I was saving that for after the niceties.
Aren’t you at Margot’s?
She went on a date with the Rent-a-Poo guy.
Seconds later, a photo of Blake in what I could only describe as a cat onesie popped up. And like a true man, I found the one sexually appealing thing about that outfit—her erect nipples pointing through the thin, white fabric.
Your tits look good.
You mean bosom.
Bosom is not a sexy word
Oh, you’re wanting this to be dirty?
I haven’t seen you in over forty-eight hours. Yes, I want it to be dirty.
I’m wearing a thong underneath it…
I thought about how great her ass looked, my blood flow shifting.
If I were there, I’d unzipped that onesie, revealing one tit at a time while my hand sank between your warm thighs.
Possibly a minute passed before dots appeared on the screen.
I’m supposed to respond now, right?
Yes.
You would suck on my nipples.
No. Tell me what you would do, Blake.
I would moan when you sucked on my nipples.
I kind of loved that she was so bad at this.
I’d pull your onesie over your hips and let it pool around the floor before I sank to my knees and swept my hand over your damp pussy while I peppered kisses to your stomach.
That’s a run-on sentence.
That has nothing to do with sex…
Okay. Even with your run-on sentence, I would fist your hair and moan while you swept your hand over my damp pussy.
You’re not just supposed to repeat what I say.
When you touched my pussy, I’d say, “Oh, Ohhh, Ahhh.”
?
Laughing, I dropped my head to the headboard.
Was that supposed to be you moaning?
My phone rang with a FaceTime call. Blake’s perfect image filled the screen when I answered. “It’ll just be easier like this,” she said before stepping back from the camera and slowly unzipping her cat onesie.
My dick went rock hard. Never had an adult onesie been so hot. “Yeah, this is much fucking better…”
Chapter Twenty-Five
BLAKE
Monday had been the most boring day of my life.
Coming back to work after a week away was always hard.
When five o’clock had rolled around, I was more than ready to go back to Margot’s, order greasy takeout, and fall asleep on the couch. But halfway down the office elevator, she had thrown a wrench into those plans when she said she needed me to accompany her to the other side of town for “moral support.”
Moral support could mean one hundred things, most of which I was too afraid to ask about.
By the time we’d gotten off the subway, I had convinced myself she was going in for test results. Although, if she were going to a doctor’s office, her making a pit stop at one of the dirty subway restrooms to change into a skintight red dress and heels would have made zero sense.
“Okay. We’re here.” Margot stopped by an overfilled trashcan, placed a hand to her stomach, then took a deep breath. “I just need a minute to compose myself.”