Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
When we’re dressed again and ready for the day, we head next door. Ollie grins when he opens the door.
“Hey, Ol.” I kiss his cheek.
“Hey, Bunny.” Rory does the same, and we slip inside.
“Cillian is almost ready,” he says, just as his husband walks down the stairs.
Cillian hugs me, then Rory, the four of us chatting as we head out to their car.
“How’s your hand?” I ask Cillian.
“Because of course he can’t stop himself from punching people,” Ollie complains.
“It wasn’t my fault, Kitten. It was Rory’s.”
“What the fuck did I do?” Rory asks, the four of us playfully arguing on the drive over to Aislin’s. She and Zuri live on the same street as Fia in Boston. Zuri just started as an ER doctor in the city, so they wanted to be close to the hospital. Aislin does a lot of work for her mom’s nonprofit.
Dean and T are already there when we arrive. Aislin is good about planning times for the eight of us to get together, just us, this family we have formed and fed over the years. We’re close to the others too, of course, we’re all a family, but it’s different with the eight of us. It always has been, and it always will be.
We spend the day together, laughing, cooking, eating. It’s still amazing to me sometimes that this is my life.
It’s late when we ride back home with Cil and Ollie, saying our goodbyes in their driveway. We still have the occasional foursome, growing that bond and solidifying the connection between us. Rory will always be my heart and soul, though. The man I am in love with, the one I can’t live without.
“Have a good night,” Cillian says.
“Love you, guys,” Ollie adds.
“We love you too,” Rory tells him before taking my hand, the two of us walking in the dark back to our house.
We climb into bed naked, Rory fucking me tonight—which he does from time to time, but he still prefers to bottom.
I lie on top of him afterward, forehead pressed to his. “Thank you.”
“What are you thanking me for?”
“Being mine.”
“You’re my obsession.” He runs his fingers through my hair. “My world. My anchor. I should be the one thanking you.”
“We can thank each other.” I kiss him, my sweet, sweet obsession.