Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 55395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
“Lyric.” My voice goes hoarse as I picture me behind her, my fingers pressing into her fleshy hips, watching as she pushes her ass out even more, and the only thing I can do is fist my cock. I rub the head along the lips of her cunt, feeling her saturate me, and it damn sure isn’t water from the shower.
My fist pounds on the tile, wishing like fuck Lyric were right here in front of me. I look down. The head of my dick is red and angry, tired of holding back, and when I picture sinking into her with a force so solid there’s no holding myself back, my head tips back and I come on a solid roar with one woman in mind. I’m done playing it safe. There’s no more holding a grudge. Lyric Skye will be mine one way or another.
Any and all energy I had is zapped. My thoughts of going a second round have long since left. Clearly, I’ve been holding back entirely too long, going weeks, maybe even closer to months, without giving in to my basic need. I finish my shower, washing away the evidence of today and the cum I’ve painted the wall and floor with, then turn the water off. If I stay in much longer, I’ll turn into a damn prune. I open the door, step out onto the rug in order not to bust my ass on the tile floor, and grab a towel. A few swipes across my face, head, and chest, and I call it good before wrapping it around my waist.
I walk out of the bathroom, hearing a soft trill in my bedroom. My eyes lock on the little bundle of black fur, bright eyes staring back at me, and it’s clear she’s looking for attention.
“Find yourself a makeshift bed, huh?” I move toward her, bending down to stroke her belly because she’s lying on her side, using my shirt to burrow into. “I’m going to have to name you, and then we’re going to have to somehow convince Lyric that I’m not an asshole. You think you can help me with that?” She doesn’t respond. Instead, I’m given a meow, a clear sign she wants more rubs. I do her bidding, coming up with a plan while I’m at it, one that involves Lyric.
10
LYRIC
It’s been three days since I’ve seen Jagger, or his parents for that matter. I received the estimate the same day he came to look at my house, and I signed the contract after my eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. It seems Eleanor talking about giving me a discount well and truly succeeded. At first, I felt terrible, then I called Naomi. She assured me from what I told her about Jagger that he wouldn’t do anything he didn’t want to. She also told me to sign on the dotted line, write the check, or in this case pay the first half through the attached invoice, and to stop worrying over nothing. Naturally, I did what she suggested, then, because I worried myself sick, I went for a walk with my trusty notebook in hand.
I went to the coffee shop, Oak & Brew, and grabbed their signature drink of the week, a hazelnut and chocolate iced coffee. I also grabbed a cheese Danish, asking them to warm it up before I headed to a park bench beneath a mature tree along the red-bricked road. When I was finished with my pastry, I let my feet do the walking, navigating through the streets while I looked at shops and kept my eyes peeled for a ‘Help Wanted’ sign. There were two, one at a thrift shop looking for a cashier and the other at an accounting firm looking for a receptionist. I jotted down their numbers and made a mental note to check in on them when they were open.
When I was finished perusing, I wrote in my journal, and this time, there were no tears. Thank goodness. Plus, there haven’t been any since I sobbed on Jagger like the loser I am. Yay me.
Sunday, I put on my glad rags, went back to my house, and tackled the backyard. Another day of working in the heat, using muscles that haven’t been worked in a very long time, and a headache the size of Texas formed. A clear sign of dehydration that had me ready to throw in the towel.
Nevertheless, I persevered, much like I always do.
The yard is completely mowed, the hedges are trimmed back, the weed eating is done, and I even pulled the overgrown vines off the detached garage. By the time I finished, hunger had set in. Running off coffee and a breakfast from the Inn had long since vanished. My clothes were too dirty, and I was too sweaty to go inside. A quick drive to a fast food joint on the edge of town only to scarf it down on the drive helped me in not delaying my shower. I conked out, phone uncharged, lamp illuminating the room, and the television playing softly in the background. I woke up disoriented, needing another shower because my hair looked similar to a cockatoo’s, and I had to run errands, like to the local water company, calling the power company, and having another conversation with Naomi. The boxes she shipped should be here tomorrow, and I’m wondering where I’ll be storing them since my house will still be a construction zone.