Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Suddenly, I’m on my back, my legs open, as he leans over and slips his finger inside of me. I whimper as I move my hand quicker, the indulgence so vivid I can see Bryson’s captivating eyes, his finger slipping deeper, his palm pushing against my clit.
“Are we forever?” I imagine moaning.
“Always.”
Then he’s on top of me, pumping his hips as his cock glides up between my legs.
I can do it, take all of him. There’s no doubt, no second-guessing, no wondering if I’m good enough.
I forget how he hinted about another woman in the car. I forget about the funeral. Terribly, guiltily, I even forget about Adam.
All I know is Bryson’s on top of me, naked, gliding his cock in and out.
I rub my clit until my body seizes up, and the orgasm bursts within. Rolling aside, I push my face into the pillow and scream. Not from the release—that was a slight whimper—but out of frustration. It doesn’t compare to the real thing, not even close. The orgasm was like a tiny ripple where the feeling of his hand on my thigh was a tidal wave.
I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling, as the light shining through the curtains creates shimmering shapes. I’m flitting in and out of a state of near sleep, the place where dreams bleed into reality.
In the ceiling’s light, I see Bryson wrapping three children in a big towel, a warm smile on his face, as I hold our fourth. I see him putting a Band-Aid on our child’s knee.
I remember going to the doctor’s office, and there was this giant man, flooded with security. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay.”
He’d puke if he knew I wanted him.
Except… he touched me.
I have to remember that or forget it since it could tear my life apart.
I jolt into full wakefulness when my cell vibrates on the bedside table.
It’s Adam.
“Hey,” I say. “What’s up?”
“Were you sleeping?”
“Not really.”
“Sorry for calling so late.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No,” he sighs. “I mean… yes.”
“Sorry.” I cringe, thinking of Eva as more guilt tears me up. “That was a stupid question.”
“It’s fine,” he says. “I wanted to check in on you.”
“On me?”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a ride earlier.”
“What?” I sit up. “Don’t even think about that. You had to be with Eva’s parents.”
“But you’re good?” he presses. “Everything’s okay? You know I’m here if you need anything.”
“Always,” I say, fighting off tears. “The same goes for you.”
“I love you, sis.”
“I love you too.”
Maybe he needed somebody to talk to, a voice in the night since he was used to Eva sleeping beside him. It must be quiet and lonely, especially since they never had kids, a medical issue they rarely discussed.
They were talking about adopting. Then the accident happened.
Maybe it’s that…
I can’t stop wondering if he somehow knows what I just did, and whom I was thinking about when I did it.
CHAPTER SIX
Bryson
It’s early morning as I drive across the city to meet with one of Adam’s suppliers. The traffic is light, so I will make good time. However, my mind absently slips to thinking of Harper while I listen to her podcast.
It’s been a week since the funeral, and I’ve done everything I can to stay as far away from Harper as possible. Even with the memory of what happened in the car hounding me from sunup to sundown, I stay away.
Adam’s grief has got him on limited duties. Since he’s a dedicated worker and likes to maintain control, he hasn’t trained a second-in-command who can take over the stuff he normally handles.
He’s got several construction units who work independently, but nobody to handle the day-to-day stuff on the top level. That’s where I come in since he trusts me.
I should turn the podcast off, but I’m hungry for the sound of my woman’s voice. For Harper’s voice. I keep doing that, thinking of her as something she can never be.
“But sometimes it’s impossible,” Harper responds, sounding clear and confident over the speaker. “If you’re in deep, sometimes it can feel like… like agony to simply say, Right now, I’m going to stop thinking about this person, stop wanting them.”
There’s emotion in her voice. I wonder who she’s talking about. Most likely a man her own age, a man who still might have acne, a man far more appropriate for her. He’s a man—this imagined person—I want to hurt just for my woman wanting him. It’s not a fair response. It might mean there’s something monstrous in me.
My protective instincts run deep, and my possessive impulses run deeper—things I have no control over.
“People can spend their whole lives wanting somebody who will never want them back,” Tiffany counters. “They’ll lose the chance at a relationship that would actually work, waiting for one they think would be perfect… but is doomed to fail.”