Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Because he’s clearly not getting undressed, even though the bulge in his jeans is enough to stretch them tight.
“I’ll go toast the bagels,” he says. Right before he bolts.
Nine
Dex
There’s a slight tremor in my hand as I saw the knife through a sesame bagel. I grip the handle tighter when, really, I want to chuck it, bagel and all, across the kitchen.
Because I left Fi—gorgeous, delicious Fi—alone in the bedroom.
Jesus Christ, I’m an idiot. She’d been lying there, flushed and panting, the rosy tips of her nipples glistening from my mouth. And I left her like that.
The sweet sounds of her coming, those breathy whimpers, ring through my head. The bagel splits in two, and I set the knife down, take a slow breath.
I made Fiona Mackenzie come. Hard.
She doesn’t know hers is the first pussy I’ve fingered. I had no idea she’d be so slick and warm, so tight. My teeth grind at the memory.
I want to fuck her so bad it hurts. My dick fucking aches. And though I’m familiar with repressed need, this is a new level. I’m so jacked up now, my hips push against the edge of the counter like they have a mind of their own.
“Fuck.”
But that’s the problem, isn’t it? She was ready for me to fuck her, practically panting for it. And so was I. Only I can’t do it. So, I left her like a coward.
I don’t expect Fi to come down. She’s probably pissed. Maybe even disgusted with me. And for good reason.
My eyes squeeze shut, and I draw another slow breath through my clenched teeth.
Such a fuckup.
“What kind of bagels did you get?”
I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of her cheerful voice. She breezes into the kitchen, her hips swaying. She’s dressed in tight black jeans and a fitted gray sweater that reaches midthigh and looks soft, touchable.
It’s all I can do not to stare at her pink, kiss-swollen lips. I’ve completely lost my voice.
Fi stops at my side and picks up the halved bagel before moving away to pop it into the toaster. “You get any good cream cheese?”
She looks up at me with wide eyes the color of new leaves. No judgment, no anger.
Waiting, it seems, for me to hand her cream cheese.
“Fi . . .” My voice cracks, and I swallow hard. “I . . . uh . . .”
The front door opens. Gray and Ivy are home.
“Hey,” Ivy calls as she sets the baby car seat down on the kitchen table. “Did you get bagels? Thank God. I’m starving.” She leans down to unhook Leo. “A certain evil husband thinks it’s cool to hike at freaking 7:00 a.m.”
Gray ambles in looking better rested than I’ve seen him since before the baby. “We were up anyway, and I was going stir-crazy in this house. Ooh . . . is that poppy seed?”
I try to catch Fi’s eye over Gray’s head, but she’s already taking her nephew from Ivy’s hands and kissing the top of his fuzzy little head.
A weight settles on my chest. I feel like I’ve lost my chance. Like she’s slipping away.
But then her head lifts. Bright eyes look straight at me. “Let’s go for a ride after we eat.”
I take her to Point Reyes, find a spot where we can park, and we walk along the cliffs. The mountainside, covered in a blanket of browns, greens and soft purples, rolls toward the Pacific. Sunlight glints off the deep blue ocean. Yet all I can focus on is the girl at my side.
She’s taking it all in with wide eyes, the sea breeze whipping at her hair. The top of her head reaches my shoulder. And even though we’re nowhere near the edge of the cliffs, I have the overwhelming urge to haul her close and hold on tight—to protect her from any potential harm.
Shit, didn’t a hiker die in a landslide a few years ago? Has it been raining? I’m ready to tell her we should go when she gives a happy little sigh.
“God, it’s beautiful here.”
“Yep.” I keep a sharp eye on the path.
She turns, and the soft California sunlight sets her skin aglow. “You’ve been to San Francisco many times before?”
I snap a sage leaf off a nearby patch, rubbing the velvety leaf between my fingers. “Grew up in Santa Cruz.”
“Really?” She smiles. “California, huh? Were you one of those dudes who hung out under the boardwalk and surfed all day?” She’s grinning as if the idea amuses her.
“Well, not all day. Mostly before practice or when I had some free time.”
Her green eyes go round with surprise. I’m guessing I don’t really look like a surfer. I silently laugh at what she’d make of my dread-wearing phase.
I tap the tip of her little nose. “It’s great for balance, strength, focus and stamina. Kind of like football training. Only more fun.”