Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 48632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
9
LETTY
Why do the weekends always seem to fly by when the work week goes by at a snail’s pace? Especially with only having one full day off, when all you want to do is laze around all day. That’s been my question on repeat since I woke up this morning. Last night at Twisted Oak was a doozy, busier than normal, a rowdier crowd, and most of us were looking at the clock any chance we got to hurry the time away.
It didn’t help that a few customers decided to stay through last call, took their sweet time settling the bill, and made snide remarks about our establishment closing at one o’clock instead of two. Sorry, dude, this is Whispering Oaks. You’re lucky we have a twenty-four-hour gas station. If he wanted the city life, then maybe he should have kept moving along. I’d had that lifestyle, in the rich and poor side of town. I’d keep the latter any day of the week in order to still have my mom around.
I fling the sheet and quilt off my body, and the brisk coolness in the room hits my skin and causes me to shiver. My hibernation period needs to come to an end. Today is the last day before my roommates are back home, which means I can hammer out laundry, clean up my bedroom, get some grocery shopping done, albeit very minimal given the rent hike, and even straighten up the living areas.
I’m starting my morning stretches, pointing my toes, rolling my ankles, lifting my arms above my head, and then rotating my neck, when my phone dances across the wooden nightstand, alerting me that I’m receiving some type of notification.
As much as I’d like to ignore it and go about my day, I don’t. There are too many variables left unknown, and while last night, I didn’t get that tingling sensation, allowing myself to get lost in a world where my past won’t meet my future isn’t a realistic thought. Then again, what happened with Matthew Friday night and again in the early hours of this morning isn’t helping matters, either. When I came home, I showered, bypassed wine or food, and chose my bed for comfort. It was then that I noticed Matthew had texted, so I replied. One thing led to another, and I decided to make the phone call this time around, which turned into another round of phone sex.
When he guided me again to slipping two fingers inside of my wet depths this time, Matthew was vocal about not going too deep. That’s for him and only him. I agreed willingly. I also needed zero coaching when calling him daddy as I orgasmed even harder than the night before. My thighs close, and I shuffle back and forth, remembering every single moment, especially when Matthew groaned my name unashamedly.
I roll over to my stomach, slithering closer to the edge, and reach for my phone. At this point, there’s only a handful of people who could be trying to reach me: my roomies, Matthew, Ophelia, or someone at Twisted Oak, the latter of which I’ll be refusing, especially if they need me to work a shift. I’m too tired and have too much to do.
My hand wraps around the cold rubber phone case, which I splurged on in order to save it from being damaged. I’m on a month-to-month pay-as-you-go plan, which also means you buy the phone outright, and it’s a whack of change from your wallet. You also don’t get the option of adding insurance, meaning if the screen cracks or anything else happens, you’re shit out of luck and have to buy a whole new phone. No, thank you.
The screen is so bright that it makes me close one eye, which negates the facial recognition completely. I type in my six-digit passcode and finally see the alert. A smile crosses my face, and I kick my feet in excitement, giggling like a teenager with her first crush.
Matthew: Good morning, kitten. I hope you slept well.
The timestamp shows the message was sent an hour ago, and while I’m most excited about his text, it also means there’s something else I’m missing.
Me: Good morning, Daddy. I slept great. Did you?
I send a quick response, back out of the thread, and look for the reason my phone decided to vibrate. There aren’t any other texts or missed calls, and my e-mails are always silenced. Maybe it’s a reminder for how many days I have left to finish an audiobook before it’s returned. With that out of the way, I crawl out of bed, sliding off the mattress on my stomach, stretching more of my tired muscles and using my hands to guide me until my knees leave the mattress. I pull them to my chest, moving until I’m sitting on my ass, and cross my legs. I’d like to say I’m this healthy person who eats right, consistently works out, or exercises in some sort of way, except I’m not. My work keeps me moving, and stretching is about the one thing I can manage with the limited time I have.