Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75478 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75478 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Wait a second,” I said, shooting her small eyes. “You didn’t mention that you know how to cook.”
“I like baking more than cooking,” she admitted. “Oh, that reminds me,” she said, rushing to her fridge to pull out a big glass container of some sort of thick, tan, bubbly goo. “I have to feed this,” she explained.
“You need to feed the bowl of goo?” I asked. “Is this some sort of Little Shop of Horrors thing, but with goo? Is that thing going to start killing people?”
To that, she let out a little tinkling laugh. “It’s sourdough starter. It’s ‘live,’ so you have to feed it or it dies, and I can’t use it to bake with anymore.” At my blank look as she added flour to the mix, she said, “It’s a replacement for the little packets of yeast that you use to make dough rise. And it’s good for the gut,” she added as she tucked the container back in the fridge. “It will be good for another week or so now,” she told me. “Hey, do you think I could maybe take a quick shower while we’re here?”
As much as the horny part of my brain would have preferred her showering in my bathroom, there was no reason to deny the comfort of familiarity.
“Sure. Just don’t scrub around the cut on your head,” I told her. “I’ll plant my ass in that comfy-as-fuck chair in the living room,” I said, gesturing toward it.
“Careful, it swallows you up and doesn’t want to let go,” she said as she made her way down the hall to her bedroom.
I didn’t snoop when I was alone. I mean, nothing about this woman said she had any grand secrets. Instead, I got into the chair that did, indeed, swallow me up, and reached for the book on the little drink table right beside it.
“Oh, you do have secrets,” I said with a grin as I opened to the bookmarked page. To find an explicit-as-fuck sex scene going on. “Really fucking good secrets,” I concluded as one sex scene damn near melted into another with hardly any plot in between.
“Sorry, I lost track of time in the—oh,” Bonnie said, making my gaze lift to find her standing a few feet away in a pair of black leggings and a red sweatshirt under a chunky striped cardigan I bet she’d made herself. Her hair was darker when it was wet, hanging heavy down her chest. “Oh, that’s…” she tried to speak again. The heat was high on her cheeks.
“Some really good, smutty fun?” I asked, watching her somehow go even redder. “Yes, yes it is.”
“It was, um, recommended to me,” she said, shifting her feet.
“Yeah, well, you owe whoever recommended it a thank you. Or a bill for the batteries you would need to keep up with these two’s escapades without getting carpal tunnel.”
Sure, she could be mistaken for a tomato right about then, but she let out a shocked little laugh, too.
“The cover was very deceptive,” she said as I flipped to look at it in all its cartoon character glory.
“You can say that again. Feel better after that?” I asked. I meant the shower. But the way her fading blush spread once again across her cheeks had me thinking she did things in that shower that I really didn’t need to know about. It was feat enough to keep my cock down while reading her steamy book. I couldn’t add the idea of her rubbing one out in the shower to the mix. Least of all if she was doing so because of me. “The shower,” I clarified.
“Oh, right. Yeah. I, uh, still felt kind of grimy from the basement and the stress sweat and… everything,” she said. “I will wash your sheets when we get back to the clubhouse.”
“It’s probably already being done as it is. The perks to prospects,” I said to her blank look. “They’re prospective—“
“I know,” she said. “I’ve read biker romance books before.”
“Have you? Any characters with my name, that I may or may not be real-life inspiration for?”
“Not that I know of,” she said, smile soft. “I’m just gonna pack some stuff up. Then we can get going. Nave and Perish look like they need sleep. Oh, I wanted to ask…”
“Ask me what?”
“Perish.”
“Yeah, that’s his real name,” I said, shaking my head. “Wonder what kind of parents he had,” I added, getting up. “I’ll help you pack,” I offered. “Including this. Because you bookmarked it just before some of the best parts,” I told her.
I expected her to brush me off, say she could do it herself, but she just let me follow her into her bedroom, where she grabbed a large duffle, then a weekender bag, and, finally, an extra-large purse.
“For crafts,” she said as I eyed it.