Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 147801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
But seeing him so comfortable and natural in my space is worth it.
“Strawberry-flavored hot chocolate?” he asks, his eyes lighting up.
“How do you like it?”
“It’s amazing. Where’d you even find this?”
“Just stumbled across it.”
“Thanks—motherfucker!”
The kitten jumps onto his lap, startling him so badly, he nearly spills the drink.
“Ah, fuck, Kayde, get her off!”
I suppress a smile. “Relax and behave while I go change.”
“No, seriously. I’ll let you choke me with your cock if you just take her away.”
My dick twitches at the offer, but I play it cool. “Tempting. I’ll think about it.”
“Kayde!”
Chuckling, I step away, pretending to leave. Behind me, Gareth mutters curses under his breath, clearly unsure how to handle the kitten.
Eventually, I hear him mumbling, “Asshole.”
I’m by the corner, my dick seriously questioning why I’m sacrificing his well-being just to help Gareth work on his issues with animals.
He lacks some empathy toward them and that’s not good. It’s textbook criminal ASPD behavior, and I need him to be different from those monsters.
“Okay, little demon, what’s your deal?”
A loud meow answers him, and he sighs begrudgingly.
“Oh, hell no. Also, Mom said milk isn’t good for cats.” He tries to push her away and she falls, but then she climbs back up on his T-shirt.
“I guess a bit won’t hurt.”
He pours a small amount of hot chocolate into his palm and lifts it toward her. She laps it up eagerly, her tiny pink tongue darting out.
For a moment, Gareth looks…soft. His shoulders relax, and he carefully strokes her head, as if testing the waters. “You won’t scratch me, right?”
I smile and disappear into the bedroom, answer some texts, especially from my nephew—while I ignore my brother’s—and then I change into PJ bottoms.
When I finally join him again, Gareth is lying on his back on the sofa with the kitten curled up on his chest, purring loudly.
He looks up and his lips part, then he swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. It’s because of the glasses he’s gawking at me. Ever since I noticed he wouldn’t stop staring at me when I wear them, I started putting them on more often.
The other day, I fucked him while wearing them, and he was extra noisy. Well, until they fogged up and I had to remove them.
“Be quiet. She’s asleep,” he mutters.
“What happened to not wanting her near you?”
“She’s okay, I guess. Purrs like an engine for such a tiny thing.”
“Should I keep her?”
His expression brightens briefly before he schools it into indifference. “I don’t care.”
“What should I name her, Mr. I Don’t Care?”
“Moka,” he says without hesitation.
“Mocha?”
“The European spelling, with a K instead of a ch. She’s black with brown eyes. It fits.”
“Moka it is, then.”
I sit on the edge of the sofa beside him, sliding my hand over his chest as I lean in. “You did well tonight.”
“It’s not that serious,” he mumbles, attempting to sound casual, but his chest hums beneath my touch. He does love my approval. It turns him into a docile kitten.
He also really hates it when I scold him.
Which is why I’m using those two edges to tame him better, balance his unhinged personality so he doesn’t commit any impulsive actions.
This wasn’t in the cards when I first got to know him, but now it’s my mission. Someone like Gareth needs a more emotionally mature and strict person by his side to keep him in check, otherwise he’d eventually spiral.
He has this calm expression when he looks at me now, almost content.
“Does that mean no choking on my cock tonight?”
“Nah, missed your chance.” His dimples flash, and I can’t stop myself from grinning as I settle in beside him.
“There’s not enough room. Just go sit on the chair,” he grumbles as I move closer.
“Scoot over.”
I push him slightly, sliding one arm beneath his nape and the other over his chest, throwing a leg over his in a sideways hug. He’s so warm, and his scent—bergamot and something uniquely Gareth—wraps around me like a drug.
He releases a low grumble, tapping my arm. “It’s hot.”
“You’re the one who’s hot.”
“Corny,” he mutters, coughing slightly to hide his smile.
“It still worked.” I study the sharp line of his jaw and the freckles scattered over his nose. My fingers find the hem of his shirt sleeve, lifting it just enough to trace the inked arrows on his arm.
“What do these mean? Is it about your love for archery?”
“Yes and no.” He stares at the ceiling, his expression clouding. “Do you know what crossed arrows symbolize?”
“Balance between opposing forces? Maybe it’s about how you balance your public and private personas?”
“Not quite. My personality bleeds into every part of my life anyway.” He lets out a small exhale. “The arrows remind me that no matter how tightly I try to hold everything in place, chaos is always lurking beneath the surface. It’s not about weakness or lack of discipline. It’s the tension and the constant pull between staying in control and being drawn to the uncontrollable. Think of it as a paradox, a memento that I’m never as in charge as I want to be.”