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)
“Hey, Lili.” I meet her halfway. My hands move to her shapely hips, my head dips, and I skate my lips across hers. She doesn’t reply. Instead, I feel her fingers graze along the dips of my stomach, slowly inching upwards until her palms are flat against my chest. A soft sigh escapes her, and I can either pull her into my arms or step back. I’ve got half a mind to pick her up, walk us inside, slam the door, and take her against the nearest wall.
“Wow.” She takes the decision out of my hands.
“Yeah, that about sums it up. You want to show me what all we need to move inside?” I ask, clearing my throat.
“All of the boxes in the truck. The big box in the living room needs to be put together, but I can do that.” Her hands drop to her dress, clasping the fabric in her fists. I can see the nervousness setting in. It makes me smirk to know I get to her as much as she gets to me.
“I’ll put it together, though it’ll cost you.” I made the call to Dean Johnson the day after I found Shadow. He handed the phone to Tully immediately when I said a cat wandered up to my house. Of course, he made it clear that their funny farm was closed and they would not be driving down to Florida to cart an animal home when his wife does that enough. I knew the man was lying through his teeth. He can’t say no to Tully, and I did mention if his wife really wanted my cat, they could always bring it home when they come down for the birth of Lennie and Asher’s baby. He grunted his response and left it at that.
Tully told me what all I should get faster than I could write it down. Then she said never mind, that she would text me the list, especially the brand of cat food I should feed her. She then proceeded to say the vet appointment could wait a bit but to at least deworm her, adding the best place to get it to the list that became more like a paragraph. I’ve since gotten the cute furball food, treats, toys, catnip, a scratching post, a litter box, cat litter, and she’s been dewormed. The cat bed I bought for her has sat vacant from what I could tell. I always find her curled in a ball on top my clothes or, like the other night when I scooped her up to lie with me on the couch, she ended up sleeping on the pillow I’d been resting my head on.
“Is it worse than putting furniture together? Because if so, no thanks. I’ll take my chances.” Yeah, I can tell she won’t be putting shit together.
“It’s not nearly as bad,” I reply.
“Okay, fine, I’ll do it.” She smiles, and I’m lost for a moment in time. Jesus, I’m worse than Johnny. I could have found her a fuck of a long time ago. Maybe not right out of high school, but by the time Jude started his business, it would have been easy. Hell, even Trent could have looked her up in his database if she had a record of some kind. I’d been hardheaded, too damn stubborn for my own good. That shit stops right fucking now.
“You’re not going to ask what it is first?” I tease. It seems a lot of things never change. She’s still easy to pull one over on, and now I’m wondering if she’s still easy to rile up.
“Fine, what is said barter?” She relaxes, leaning her shoulder against the porch post, propping herself up, and my eyes zero in on when she crosses her arms over her chest. Except it’s more beneath, pushing her tits up and showing even more cleavage. My tongue slides along my upper lip. Lyric’s eyes zero in on the movement, and my own locks on hers. She’s breathing heavier, tits rising and falling, nipples puckered into tight tips. I’d love nothing more than to wrap my lips around them, sucking on each one until she’s writhing in pleasure, trying to use my body to ease the ache between her pretty thighs. I’d have one heck of a time keeping my hands to myself.
The dress she’s wearing would make it mighty easy to be pulled up, and now I’m wondering what she’s got going on beneath. Is she bare, slick with desire, or is she wearing panties, and if so, what kind? Cotton, lace, thong, bikini? Not like it matters, but damn, it’s making my thoughts run rampant and my dick harder than it’s ever been before.
My nostrils flare, my breathing takes on a life of its own, and now I’m thinking about what she’d do if I dropped to my knees right in this very spot. The need to bury my head beneath her dress, to breathe in her scent, to taste her, whether she’s naked or it’s through the fabric of her underwear; I give not one single fuck, and I’d demand her to play with her pretty tits while I’m at it.