Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Her body tightens around mine. The fucked flush of her coming undone without waking. Clit swells, cunt pulses, and I’m buried to the hilt as she milks me like a damn masterpiece. My release hits hard, thick ropes of cum spurting into her with each ragged thrust until my vision whites out.
When it fades, she’s still asleep—peaceful, limbs tangled in sheets and my sweat-damp chest. I linger there, forehead pressed to hers, breathing her in like this might be the only way I’ll ever have her completely.
Mine, all fucking mine, even when she doesn’t know it.
Outside the window, dawn bleeds light through the blinds. I drag myself off the bed—a ghost of a grin on my lips—as reality slaps back in. She stirs beneath me, murmuring something about still tired and nuzzling deeper into the pillow.
I don’t correct her…
“Hello?” Tabby breaks into my fantasy as I put the truck in park, dragging in a hollow breath and trying to keep from blowing my load in my pants again.
“Yes, kitten. Sorry. I have a lot on my mind.” I turn to assess her shabby accommodations. She'll be out of here the moment I can manage it without her bolting. As for watching her sleep?
And more… She can count on it—whether she knows it or not.
She looks impossibly small beside me. My truck is built for someone of my proportions, making her nothing but a bite-sized morsel with an oversized attitude. She should be curled on my lap, not sitting in her own seat.
I realize I've been staring too long by the way she’s tugging her lips back and forth, doing this little thumb to fingertip nervous touching.
She slow blinks those feline green eyes, then licks her lips. "You want to come in? Meet Nana?"
"Yes." I'm out in an instant, reaching her door before she can open it herself. I understand those old movies now—where men lay their coats over puddles. I'd throw my body across broken glass if it meant keeping her safe.
"Wow, you move fast for a big guy," she grins as I open her door.
I offer my hand. Her fingers are delicate against my rough palm, shooting electricity through my body. I help her down, but don't release her, keeping her connected to me as we cross the sidewalk and move toward the door.
Every cell in me screams to protect her. I need to know everything—what she eats, what she wears to bed, when she's happy or upset. And if anything makes her cry, it better start running, because I'll burn the world to ash to give her what she needs.
She pauses at her door, key in hand. "Look, my Nana, she's..."
I nod. "Worried I'll make a bad impression?"
"What?" Her eyes widen, then she stifles a laugh that makes me want to devour her mouth. "No, it's just Nana can be—"
The door swings open, revealing a tiny woman with Tabby's green eyes, narrowed with suspicion, her face furrowed with time.
"Who's this?" she demands, skipping pleasantries.
Before I can answer, a ginger-colored fluff-ball darts between the old woman's legs and climbs Tabby's body to her shoulder. A larger gray cat follows, weaving between her legs with loud purrs and open-mouthed mewls.
Tabby cuddles the ginger and bends to scratch the gray one on the back of the neck. My chest aches watching her like this—a mixture of adoration, protectiveness, and raw jealousy at how those cats took her attention from me. I can't help running a finger along her nape, making her shiver. Reminding her I’m here and she best not fucking forget it.
"I said, who's this?" The old woman plants fists on her narrow hips, glaring. I don't scare easily, but Christ, this lady has balls. I don’t have to see them to know.
"Oh, Nana," Tabby giggles, nuzzling her kitten. "This is Duffield. Duffield, this is my nana. And this," she presents the cat, "is Butterbean, and that's Misty."
I cautiously offer my hand to the gray cat, surprised when she rises to nuzzle my knuckles. Seymour is grey and he took weeks to totally accept me, probably due to my size. Misty doesn't seem concerned.
I straighten and extend my hand to Nana, who leaves it hanging.
"And who exactly is Duffield?" she huffs. "I hope he's not expecting dinner, because there's not enough food in this house or neighborhood to fill a gut that size."
"Nana!" Tabby blushes, offering me an apologetic shrug. "I warned you—"
I squeeze her shoulder. "It's fine.” I bow my head respectfully, a gesture from my street days. I usually demand respect now, but I haven't forgotten my manners. I’m stepping onto this lady’s territory, and her word is law. "Do I address you as Ms. Burrows or...?”
She nods, her eyes softening slightly. "Yes, I’m Miss Burrows. Single. Have been for five decades. Don’t need a man. Never did."
Noted. I’m not receiving a warm welcome, but I’d rather she give me an honest hard time than a fake smile. "I'm Tabby's new boss. I drove her home. She won’t be taking the bus ever again."