Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“Fuck, baby. This is good.”
Baby. This isn’t the first time he’s said that tonight. My pulse beats frantically. “You keep calling me that.”
“Does it bother you when I call you that?”
“No,” I admit. “I like it.”
“Good. I like it too. Now take a bite of your food because it’s fucking incredible.”
I have no choice but to smile in response. That’s what Tripp does to me. So I taste the ziti, and can’t help letting out a moan of my own. “Jesus, this is good.”
“Fuck yes, it is.” He takes another bite, and I do the same. It’s such a simple thing, but I feel almost giddy about it all…and wish Mom could be here to taste my ziti. I’m proud that for the first time in too long, I made it.
When we’re finished, Tripp takes the dishes to the sink and begins rinsing them. I have a feeling he’s a little laxer on that when I’m not around, but it means a lot that he tries for me.
I put the ziti away, and before I know it, he’s hooking his finger in my belt loop and tugging me toward him. “So…I’m working on a new storage unit for Meadow’s sewing supplies. Did you want to help me with that?”
I grin. “That’s maybe the best question you could have asked me.”
“Perfect fucking relationship. I have a man who wants to build things with me all night. Want to go out to a romantic dinner? Nope. We’d rather sit in my shop and talk dirty to each other while we…rub wood…?”
I can’t help laughing. “Rub is definitely a better word than sand.” But then I’m stuck on another word. Relationship. Is that officially what we are? That’s what it feels like, but we talked about taking it slow. He’s got Meadow to worry about, and I’m a fucking mess.
But for tonight at least, or maybe longer, I just want to pretend.
We bundle up and head out to the shop. Tripp’s building her a large unit with drawers and cabinets, and we get busy right away.
Tripp and I work well together. We have from the start. I’ve learned a lot from him too. Everything I’ve done has been on my own, self-taught, but Tripp gives me pointers, helps me figure out better or more efficient ways to do things.
I can’t say I’ve always been good at taking constructive criticism or not being able to do things right the first time, but it feels different with carpentry, and with Tripp, maybe because I’ve never actually wanted anything as much as I want this.
We work for hours, and where this used to be something I liked to do alone, it’s nice to do it with Tripp by my side.
It’s close to midnight when Tripp yawns. “Ready to call it a night?” He must see something on my face because he lets out one of his deep, happy laughs. “Okay, so clearly, you’re not. Are you superhuman? Not require sleep?”
I chuckle at his playfulness. It’s one of my favorite things about Tripp. “We can go in.” My gaze lands on his mouth, the same mouth that had been on my dick not that long ago, the mouth that feels so good against mine.
Heat stirs in my groin. I want him again, want all of him and to feel this need that burns through me and makes me crave more.
Tonight has been perfect.
Tripp is perfect.
So many things that should matter don’t matter with him. Or maybe what I mean is, more things make sense with Tripp. I let myself see more parts of myself, like my bisexuality and this newly discovered fervent desire.
“I want to go in,” I amend, walking over to him. The way his pupils flare tells me he knows I want him, but Tripp just leans against the counter and waits for me to make the first move. “I want…” I place my hand on his stomach, feel the heat of his body through his shirt, the definition of each muscle.
“What do you want, baby?”
That. I want to hear him call me that again and again…but that’s not all. Does Tripp fuck men? Does he let them fuck him? Would I want Tripp to fuck me? I’m not sure that’s something I’m interested in, at least not now.
But when my eyes find his mouth again, I realize it’s not fucking that I specifically need, just more of him, of his touch, of the unexpected pleasure I’ve found in him, pleasure I’ve never known before.
“You. I want you.”
“I want you too.” Tripp grabs my hand. “Come on. I’m taking you to my bed this time.”
We get our coats and hurry along the snowy walkway to the house. The second we’re inside and down to our shirts and jeans, Tripp’s mouth crushes on mine again.
We kiss as we stumble to his bedroom, Tripp tasting me before giving me the chance to taste him again too. Jesus, I love kissing him, love the feel of his rough scruff, how hungry he seems for me each time we touch. I never knew what it felt like to be wanted before Tripp, not really, and I definitely never knew what it was like to truly want someone until him either.