Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Even as the climax eased, my body seemed to be struggling to find composure, making little shudders course through me.
Alaric’s chin rested on the apex above my sex, his eyes heavy-lidded, a warmth in them that made my heart melt.
And it was precisely then that Frida jumped up on the side of the bed, pushing her cold, wet nose into Alaric’s bare side, making him shoot upward onto his knees.
“Fuck,” he hissed, shaking his head. “The dog,” he added, putting it together.
“She does that when she needs to go out,” I explained, suddenly acutely aware of my boobs out and my legs spread.
I snapped them together as I yanked my top back up.
Alaric’s head tipped to the side, disappointment shooting across his face before he tamped it down.
“I’ll take her,” he offered, already climbing off the bed to do so.
The magic of that beautiful moment, though, was gone after that. Replaced by the monotony of a morning routine.
Taking out Frida.
Feeding her.
Making coffee—for him—and tea—for me.
Getting dressed.
Then making a plan for the day.
First stop, phone replacement. And I lucked out in that I could get a new one with my service at the local chain electronic store. Which would also allow me to grab a new camera.
“Do you want to stop home to get Frida?” Alaric asked afterward as I programmed my phone. “Or do you think she’s going to be freaked by all of the mess?”
“I think we should leave her. Hopefully, we won’t be too long. You said there was glass all around,” I added, tucking my phone in its ugly, but protective, case into the cupholder, and reaching for the box with the camera instead.
It was a nicer one than the one I had previously, and I was excited to play with it. Sure, I primarily used my last one to take feet pictures and videos, but I also snapped some awesome pictures of the very photogenic Frida, the beach, various birds or lizards if I wasn’t actively trying to calm Frida down from attacking or running away from them.
“Are you nervous?” he asked, glancing over at me. “About having to call the police,” he clarified.
“I’m a little worried I won’t be hysterical enough with having time to come to terms with it,” I admitted, picking a setting, then lifting the camera up, turning to Alaric, looking through the viewfinder, then snapping a picture. Then another one when he turned and shot me a smile. “I needed to try it out on someone,” I told him. “And Frida’s not here.”
“I’ll try not to be offended that I take second fiddle to your dog. She is much prettier than I am,” he admitted.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I said as I clicked back through the images, finding myself glad that I had pictures of him. For when I was back to my life, and he was back to his, and I never got to see him anymore.
That thought was so sad that I found myself having to force it away when I felt my eyes get all glassy.
Was it crazy that I was emotional about a guy I barely knew? One I hadn’t even had sex with yet?
Yeah, probably.
But this little connection I had with Alaric was the most intimate I’d been emotionally—and physically—with another human being in years.
I guess I could give myself some slack for getting attached quickly. So what if I was upset and lonely when he was gone? No one would know I was mourning save for me. And Frida.
It would be okay.
Nerves jangled as I made my way up toward the door of my building.
Either sensing it, or simply being a sort of hands-on guy, Alaric moved in at my side, pressing a hand to my lower back. It stayed there. As we rode the elevator, then made our way to my door, then inside.
He’d explained in explicit detail what had been done, but I don’t think my mind had conjured up a very good mental image of it. Because it felt like someone had sucker-punched me as I looked at the disaster all around me.
So many hours spent planning, pinning ideas to interest boards, shopping for just the right thing, painting, building furniture, and, yes, even reading the books, then lovingly arranging them onto my shelves.
Someone had taken all that time, all that attention, all that care… and just… destroyed it.
My heart was pounding in my chest as I reached for my phone, finding the number on the card in my wallet, and walking away from Alaric who had stooped to inspect one of my books.
I was surprised how quickly the detective had shown up, taking in the damage with a sigh and a head shake.
“I’m glad you weren’t home for this,” he said, toeing some glass out of his way, so he could step further inside.