Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Wait. Not sex. Love making. Because Sam Bookman didn’t fuck or screw or have sex, some item on a weekend to-do list. No, Sam made love, a whole body, fully orchestrated event. Each kiss, touch, and emotion was etched into my memory bank in perfect detail.
I’d taken a marketing class for my MBA that talked about core memories and how they shape us, and making love with Sam for the first time was one of those core memories I’d spend the rest of my life drawing on. Everything from this moment onward would be shaped by what we’d shared.
I stretched, more unfamiliar aches rumbling. I wasn’t being dramatic. I legitimately felt turned inside out, transformed. And I wasn’t one to assign sex that sort of importance. Yes, it felt good. Yes, I’d purposefully sought it out in the past, particularly as a source of stress relief and escape, but I’d never seen it as something with the power to fundamentally change everything from how I saw Sam to how I saw myself to my place in the world.
“Doing okay?” Sam grinned sleepily up at me, reaching over to smack his alarm before sitting up. He was so darn sweet. Caring. Considerate. The perfect Dom, and in some circles, he could charge a premium, but he was all mine, freely given and gratefully accepted.
“Yeah. Just not used to certain sensations. Gonna feel last night all day.” I smiled back to show him that was a good thing.
“Not used to…” His forehead creased as he trailed off. “Wait. Was that your first time too?”
“Not exactly.” Heat crept up my face. I didn’t want to scandalize Sam, but I also wouldn’t lie. “Depends on whether pegging and other prostate play counts. But first time with a man, yes.”
“Oh.” Sam’s mouth made a perfect circle. “You seemed so…good at it.”
“Well, thanks.” My cheeks were flaming at this point. Pizza ovens had nothing on me. I couldn’t deny loving prostate play, and that knowledge undoubtedly had made things easier. But most of the magic had been Sam, not me. “And you come across as the world’s most experienced virgin, so we’re even.”
“Reading. A lot of reading. And a healthy imagination.” Now he was the one to blush, a pretty light pink sweeping across his high cheekbones. “It was good? Truly?”
“Truly. So good I may not move the rest of the day.” I flopped back against my pillow with an exaggerated groan.
“You could take the day off.” He patted my chest and then frowned. “Oh wait. Your depression group starts today.”
“Don’t remind me.” I groaned and put a spare pillow over my face. “Now I really do want to stay in bed all day.”
“You need to go.” Sam gently removed the pillow.
“Yes, Mo—Sam.” I bit back my initial flip response. Mom jokes were simply never going to fly for me. “I know. It will help. Coping skills. Etcetera, etcetera. If I tell you the talking yesterday and the sex helped more, will you take it as a compliment?”
“No.” Sam gave me a stony glare, managing to look rather imposing despite being naked and surrounded by puffy white bedding. “I can’t be your therapist. Don’t ask me to be.”
“I’m not.” Sitting back up, I held up my hands. “But you do help. A lot. More than talking to a group of strangers, for sure.”
“I want to be your partner, Worth.” He said the words simply, like he hadn’t hurled a live grenade into the middle of this conversation. Partner was a terrifying reminder that he wanted permanent, and I had nothing to offer.
“I—”
“Yes, I know, big scary word and all that.” He waved a hand. “Put aside all your objections to the role. That’s what I want. A healthy relationship is one where we each have resources beyond the other. This isn’t some nineties romance. I can’t be your everything. And you need to take responsibility for managing your health. I can help. Absolutely. But I’m not the cure.”
“Your dick did seem pretty magical.” My chuckle came out forced, and Sam didn’t grace me with as much as a smile. “Sorry. I get what you’re saying. And I’m trying. I’m taking the medications. I’m reading the materials the doctor recommended. I’m only waffling on the group because everyone there will know who I am.”
“Wow. Um. You’re not a celebrity.” Eyes wide, Sam managed to look both genuinely concerned and skeptical.
“Around here I am.”
“Are there people who might connect you with the recently-solved cold case? Sure.” He shrugged, way too casual about the thing that plagued my thoughts all day, every day. “But you’ve been at Blessed Bean for over a week now. How many people have recognized to the point of commenting?”
Oh. Holden had, of course, and a few other acquaintances from high school, but no one had mentioned the case. Or my recent legal troubles, for that matter. My worries that someone would force me into an uncomfortable conversation weren’t particularly logical.