Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
“Kind of sounds like you were always more of an extra son than a nephew.”
“In some ways I was.” The smile that appears is soft. “Especially after Dad died.”
“And next to the man you speak of is the whole Ninja Turtle gang eating pizza,” June happily exclaims pointing first to a photo of him and then flailing her hands around to the collection. “Everyone looks so good!”
“Thanks.”
“How old were you?”
“Six.”
“Six?!” She shrieks damn near bumping into the wall during her sharp turn. “You were six when you did these? Pretty sure I was still learning to hold a paintbrush.” Her attention swings back to the photos near the collection of artworks. “I know Dakota damn sure was.” June steals a tiny bite of the corner of her lips. “Can’t believe you convinced me to leave my phone in the car…I hope she hasn’t texted.”
“It’s okay if she has,” I immediately reassure. “She’s gotta learn to figure out some life shit on her own and you, June Bug, have got to learn to have a life of your own.”
Instead of agreeing with me or arguing, she chooses to girlishly squeak a second time. “OhmyVanGogh, could you get any cuter?!” June taps the open space near the photo of me in my Ninja Turtle Halloween costume. “You and your dad dressed up like Michelangelo and Master Splinter has to the be the most adorable shit to ever exist!”
“We did it three years in a row.” I lean back onto my open palms. “We would’ve done it four but my mother – the heartless wench that she is – begged for us to do something different.”
Sidestepping my insult is accompanied by her tossing a new question my way, “Do you have any Ninja Turtle tattoos?”
“Yeah. I’ve got Michelangelo’s shell with an orange band wrapped around it and dog tags dangling off it.”
Her entire frame melts over the description. “Can I see?”
Deciding to use the moment to my advantage, wanting – no needing to forget about the disaster downstairs – I playfully bargain, “Only if you come over and find it for yourself.”
Redness spreads through her face as she raises her eyebrows. “You can’t be serious.”
“Like an art museum entrance fee.”
“You gonna give me a clue where it is?”
“Torso.”
“That’s a large area to cover!”
“Like a bigger, more fun Where’s Waldo?.”
Amusement replaces embarrassment prior to the inner goddess side I love to see revealing itself. “Okay. When I find it, I want permission to touch it.”
“Is that supposed to be a threat for me or an incentive for you, June Bug?”
“Yes,” she snickers and struts in my direction. “Now, shirt off.”
“Oh no. No. No. No, beautiful. That’s part of the gig.”
“You want me to undress you in parent’s house?”
If I have it my way, she’s gonna be doing a lot more than that.
“The sand in the hourglass is moving, baby. Might wanna speed that great ass of yours up if you’d like to see it before Byron knocks on that door to check if we need anything.”
June shoots me a small glare, tips her chin defiantly higher, tosses her hat to the side of me as if it’s obstructing her view, and slowly begins unbuttoning my purple shirt the second she’s stationed between my parted thighs.
Her fumbling fingers are anticipated which is why gentle encouragement is already ready to go. “There’s no reason to be nervous when you’re this close to me, baby.” June briefly lets our gazes lock. “I want you here.” Leaning slightly forward, I quietly reiterate, “I want you period.”
She whimpers in surrender yet gains the confidence in her actions I’ve learned she will when given a little recognition.
Praise.
And my goddess, do I fucking love to be the one to praise her.
One by one, the buttons to my dress shirt separate from their respective slits until the fabric can easily be slipped off. While I expect her to start in the front my chest, I’m pleasantly surprised when she begins visually searching my right side, wordlessly informing me she’s more than acquainted herself with the front of my chest during our time together.
Not that it’s hard.
I spend the majority of my time shirtless.
Especially when I’m working on art.
Which I typically am.
Although, I have been allowing for momentary breaks to appreciate the fun transition of Manga from the page to the screen with her.
The tip of June’s index suddenly drags itself upwards along my ribcage. “Find the tags,” she casually announces during its ascent, “find the shell.” Her finger slowly traces the outline of the tattoo, combination of her touch and pressure summoning my cock to complete attention. “It’s incredibly detailed.” She allows the digit to dip downward again, following the full length of the dangling chain. “The shadowing is stunning.”
“Yeah,” I airily retort at the same time my eyes mindlessly shut. “I uh…it was uh…this…place…that the…um,” her finger softly strokes upward again prompting my hips to lift in hopes of my dick being next, “the n-n-nomad biker took me to.”