Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
It’s almost hard to process.
This need to see my woman, my son—fuck, my son—just to know they’re alive and well and thriving.
What’s harder is keeping a lid on my urge to march them out of that beat-up shoebox apartment and into my home that’s ten times larger.
Too fast, I know.
This shit takes time.
The trouble is, time has fucked me over enough, thieving away years when I should’ve been in their lives.
Then there are the evenings when she’s free, an hour or so before leaving the office, where I lock the door and throw her against the wall.
My hands, my mouth, they take.
They lay down the law.
My teeth catch her bottom lip while she moans delight into my mouth, my fingers working rough, brisk orgasms out of her clit.
I need to be inside her very soon.
Especially when it’s goddamned impossible to keep my hands off her, though she stops short of letting me sweep everything off her desk and bend her over it. Always the same excuse.
“What if someone hears? The cleaners?” she whispers, like I couldn’t snap my fingers and make them hold off on making the rounds with some contrived excuse.
Instead, we wait for the weekends, those rare slivers of time carved out between our busy lives when I can finally turn into a sheet-ripping animal.
Waiting for pussy this good is driving me mad.
I’m not used to anticipation.
Hell, I’m not used to any of this.
Usually, when I’m into a girl, I can bed her at will and I’m done in a matter of weeks, after I’ve worked it out of my system.
But Salem broke the old, familiar pattern.
She’s broken me.
Yet the sex just keeps getting better as I learn her body and she explores mine.
Yesterday, before I could shove her panties aside and go to work, she dropped down and started opening my trousers.
I’ve never been more awestruck in my life, watching her hazel eyes flashing pure lust as her velvet lips engulfed my cock.
She has a few surprises, like taking me down her throat, so eager she gladly choked on my last round of thrusts.
And she still didn’t stop, not until I exploded, fighting and failing to swallow my come before it poured out of her mouth, staining her collar.
This is the part where I make a fist and hit myself.
Instead, I rub my eyes, trying to focus on the mundane revenue projections in front of me.
It’s only midday, too early to wonder if this is the day she’ll leave this office leaking my come.
Any second now, Archer and Dex will show up for a meeting about the Minnesota expansion scheme. With any luck, Salem will come, too.
I dropped by The Cardinal this morning to suggest she attend.
Not because I’m hopelessly obsessed.
We agreed we weren’t cut out for secrets. The sooner we fess up, the better, and there’s no time like the present to assess what my brothers will really think of her being more than our star talent.
In a burst of madness, I suggested we figure out what this is soon, so we won’t have to manage these secrets for long.
So now I’m due for another dinner where I’ll watch Arlo, noticing all the little things I never caught before. He’s inherited my hair and my eyes and my focus. Sure, it’s all invested in drawing right now, but I used to be like him as a kid.
Razor-sharp. Always bouncing from one thing to the next. How the fuck did I miss it?
A handful, that’s what Mom called me. And Arlo, he’s growing up just like me despite the fact that I haven’t raised him.
Genetics are crazy.
Mrs. Potter, our receptionist who’s pushing sixty and also one of the most organized people I know, pops her head through the door.
“Archer called to say he’d be late,” she tells me. “And Dexter should be here any second. I’m just heading out and thought I’d let you know since it’s my half day.”
I wave at her and check my phone just as it vibrates with a message from Salem.
Running late and traffic sucks but I’ll be there.
I shuffle in my seat, trying not to fixate on her and failing for the dozenth time today, until Dexter finally shows up with a scowl.
“I figured I’d be late, coming from the bakery,” he said. “One bad bout of freezing rain and every road in this city goes to shit.”
“You are late, Dex, freezing rain aside.”
“Whatever. I thought I’d be the last one in.”
“Everyone else is flakier than you today, I guess,” I say, watching as he sits down and checks the time on his phone like the OCD control freak he is.
Honestly, ever since he married Junie, his timekeeping has gotten worse—but at least he’s also started apologizing like a real human.
Apparently, you can teach a grumpy old dog new tricks.
“Where’s Archer?” I ask.