Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Rather than rush to get back into my dirty clothes, I stretch out the once in a lifetime experience.
Slowly run the material along the length of my arms.
Across the tattoo of silhouette soldiers that form a feather right above the phrase “Lest we forget” on my left arm and the Spartan warrior helmet on my right shoulder.
Patting the cushiony cloth against burn marks, bruises, bullet wounds, and scars fills me with both sense of pride and gut-wrenching disgust.
My skin is a reflection of the battles I’ve fought both as a grunt and as a civilian. I wish that the blemishes were only from the former. I wish that the outside world had been fucking kinder to me than the enemy combatants. God, do I wish I received a hero’s welcome rather than being shunned for returning home a lot more broken than I left.
The full-size towel has just been secured around my waist when there’s a sudden knock at the door.
Jaye, to my surprise, doesn’t wait for an invitation to enter. She simply turns the knob and thrusts herself into the steamy room. “Hey, I-”
Whatever the end of the sentence is fails to form.
Her light brown eyes shamelessly sweep my frame from head to toes, soaking in every little inch of exposed skin it can see.
Look, I know it’s wrong to even think about how easy it would be to just drop my towel, slip my tongue past her parted lips, and pin her against the doorframe while she moans for mercy we both know by the look on her face right now she doesn’t really want, but just because it’s morally wrong doesn’t mean my dick got the memo not to twitch in excitement over the mere idea. Can you blame it? Me? Every fucking thing about this woman is fucking amazing. She’s not airbrushed. Her true face doesn’t start an inch underneath her makeup. She’s not prim and proper and overly polished. The tiny tear on the lace portion of her top is easy to spot. She’s got strands of hair springing out of the place they’re supposed to be. Her chipped nail polish on her big toe is beyond faded from the bright purple color I imagine it once was. Jaye is far from perfect and that distance from such an overrated ideal is exactly what makes her perfect to me. She rambles with full lips moving at such a rapid speed it’s fucking hypnotizing. And the craziest thing about that shit is I never want her to stop talking. I love the sound. The jokes. The questions. I love when she cringes because she’s crossed a boundary yet lingers for a moment to investigate if it really was one or if it was just a small stone in her way. And if we move away from her bubbly personality back to just her physical portion, holy fuck, did you see the way her hips swayed going up the stairs? How her gorgeous, toned legs stretched up each one, mercilessly hinting at how they would stretch around me while she clung on for dear life as she got ready to come? Fuck, would I do whatever it took to make her come. To make her scream my name. Add scratch marks to my already battered body. Huh. It’s uh…It’s been a long time since I’ve had these kinds of thoughts running through my mind. A really long time. They didn’t even appear for Maria Claire – who was quite attractive albeit a bit young – when she offered to let me crash at her place for the cost of a single dick ride. I need to reel this shit in and definitely get the fuck out of this house first thing in the morning. Like…sun hasn’t even had its fucking coffee yet first thing.
“Uh…” This time Jaye’s voice trails off while her eyes continuously help themselves to a second serving of my surprisingly well-kept figure. “Um…”
Truth? If she asked to come on my cock in exchange for a warm place to say I wouldn’t think twice about saying yes.
Her lips purse together on a whimper, summoning my shaft to swell harder under the towel.
Casually, I drop my hands to block my dick at the same time I airily chortle, “Jaye?”
The carnal trance she stumbled into seems to remain. “You have abs.”
Unsure of where the topic is going yet unafraid to succumb to a little curiosity prompts me to retort. “I do.”
“And…abs.”
“Yeah…I uh…,” clearing my throat grows difficult, “have abs.”
“And these muscles,” her hand brazenly waves back and forth in front of the tatted words “This We’ll Defend” on my upper chest.
“Pecks?”
“Yeah, those and arm muscles,” her head tilts to one side as she drinks in the Spartan tattoo, “and shoulder muscles and…neck muscles…” The feverish lick of her lips she steals threatens to become my undoing. “How do you have so many fucking muscles?”