Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
So, I force myself to say, “I love ice cream, and I would love to go home with you, but…” I pull in a breath, keeping my gaze on the road as I add, “But making you come was the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”
“Me, too,” she says carefully. “Why is that a problem?”
“I already want more than a night,” I say. “And I haven’t been inside you yet. Once I have been…” I trail off, not knowing what else to say except, “I’m sorry, kid.”
“I’m not a kid,” she says, softly.
“Yes, you are. And I’m an old man who has to get home in case the power goes out, my mom can’t find the flashlights, and my babies get scared.”
She sighs.
I glance over, expecting to see her frustrated, maybe even angry, but she just looks…sad.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat.
She shakes her head, her gaze fixed on the road now, too. “Don’t be. I understand. And you’re probably right. I hate that you’re right, because I want you so much it hurts, but…”
I want her so much it hurts, too. My chest—and my balls—ache like someone’s punched me, all the way to her sleek high-rise.
I pull up to the curb, grateful to see the doorman behind the lobby desk.
She’s safe. Home. Soon, I will be too.
“Well, I’ll see you around, I guess,” she says, reaching for the door. She pauses before she opens it, catching my gaze. “I’m glad we had tonight, though, Dean. I really am. It was…good.”
“Yeah.” My voice is rough. “It was. Take care, beautiful.”
“You, too.” Her eyes hold mine for another beat. “Drive safe.” Then, she slips out, grips her cane, and circles around the front of the truck, hustling up the walkway without a backward glance.
I wait until she’s through the lobby, until the doorman lifts his head with a smile as she passes his desk, then pull back out onto the road.
I drive home with the smell of her still on my fingers, my clothes, lingering in a way that makes it impossible to keep from thinking of her as I close my hand around my cock in the shower. I jerk off fast and quiet, eyes closed and visions of Clover under me flashing behind my eyes.
I come with her name on my lips, wheezing it out beneath the sting of the shower spray, then promise myself that’s it.
This…whatever it is, is over.
No more jerking off to thoughts of Clover.
No more thoughts about her. Period.
It’s a promise I intend to keep. I really do.
But turns out Fate has other fucking plans…
Five
CLOVER
The troll rebellion is over.
For now…
But if there’s one thing I know about trolls, it’s that they’re gluttons for punishment. It’s almost as if they enjoy a semiannual ass-beating from the Alrgarvian Aligned Forces. Today’s victory is simply a reprieve from the fight to keep the trolls out of our crops, chicken coops, and legendary croissant shops.
Still, it’s a victory I intend to enjoy with a flask of ale and a solid ten hours of sleep. The rest of the force will be drinking and dancing in the fields around our base until the sun comes up, but as a junior commander, I must hold myself to higher standards of decorum.
It’s no hardship, really. I don’t enjoy drinking cheap whiskey until I’m dizzy, vomiting into tick-filled grass, or falling into bed stinking of campfire smoke and fried pig skin.
I’m allergic to campfire smoke.
And cheap whiskey.
And fun.
I’m not allergic to fun, but the other junior commanders think so. They happily ignore the Decorum Manifest—at least, once they’re outside the kingdom gates—but none of them have my particular weakness.
If I stay out late to drink and dance, I know what will happen.
What always happens…
My blood will heat, my defenses will flag, and, sooner or later, I’ll find myself at Commander Kate’s quarters, sneaking between the tent flaps while his guard’s back is turned, proving his security force needs an overhaul.
And proving I have less self-restraint than a troll pillaging an Algarvian pastry shop on a Sunday morning…
But in my defense, Commander Dean Kate isn’t just any military man with a storied career. He’s the bravest, strongest, most noble commander in our force. He’s the man who developed the pit trap-and-release method of troll containment that transformed our once bloody missions into something more humane. He led the charge to domesticate the giant crows who carry us into battle with our more vicious enemies to the north and lobbied the royal family to create retirement villages for elderly soldiers.
He’s also built like one of the old gods, with shoulders broad enough to block the sun, a chest chiseled from granite, and a cock so long and thick that a girl begins to understand why human women will tumble a troll, now and then.