Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 72154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
My nipples were scraping against the inside of my bra, and then he let my hands go and thrust them into my hair, pulling until my neck was arched, and my face was off the carpet.
I cried out, and everything inside of me went white hot.
My vision dimmed, rolling to black, as the orgasm hit me. This one much stronger than the first.
Then his hands were on my hips, dragging them up into the air as he went up to his knees and really started to show his strength.
Four thrusts later, his entire body stiffened, and he started to come.
But he didn’t do it inside of me. Nope. This time he pulled out and stroked his cock against my ass, shooting his come all the way up the length of my back. He came so hard that it was probably in my hair.
I didn’t care.
Not one. Single. Bit.
And when he collapsed partially on top of me, I couldn’t complain about the lack of oxygen, either.
My mind was trying to recover from being blown.
His touch was a whole lot gentler, though, as he pulled my head to rest against his.
“It’s not my fault you thought I was normal. That’s on you.” I nudged him with my ass.
He grunted in reply but rolled over so that he was no longer on top of me, taking me with him.
I settled on his chest and went completely limp. There was zero fight left inside of me.
When our breathing was back to normal, and his head was resting against my collarbone, I rested my cheek on his head.
“I was scared, you asshole,” I whispered. “You’re all I have.”
I covered my mouth with the palm of my hand.
I hadn’t meant to say that. Not even a little bit.
Shit.
“I’m all you’ll ever need.”
Chapter 22
Do you ever look at a kid and think, ‘that one’s going to be an asshole in a few years?’
-Parker to Kayla
Kayla
“Where are you?” Parker asked.
I looked around me. “Carmen and I are having some bonding time.”
He grunted in my ear. “Not that I have a problem with you taking her, but since she’s registered to me as a service dog, sometimes I’m the one who should be taking her out.”
I laughed.
“You were sleeping on the couch with the man flu. Are you really going to tell me that you were going to be able to take her out today?” I asked, genuinely curious of the answer.
“No,” he paused. “But you’re not even in the apartment’s neighborhood. Your car is gone. Normally when one takes someone else’s dog, they at least leave a note.”
I grinned. “I decided that your new place needed some blinds and curtains for certain…things that we do.”
He sighed. “And did you get blinds?”
“No,” I admitted. “I had to measure first. I was going to buy the blinds next. But I got caught off guard by the prettiness of your road, and I decided to take Carmen on a wee walk. We ended up walking a little farther than I intended. Did you know you have a neighbor about a mile past your house? The house is adorable and well maintained, and it looks like yours could look after you did a little landscaping and maintenance on the outside. You should ask them if they restored it like you’re going to do.”
Parker made a nose in his throat.
“Are you even listening to me?” I asked.
His answer was to throw up. Again.
Poor Peter Parker Penn had strep throat. And, when Parker had strep throat, he threw up. Why did he throw up? Because the beast refused to take Tylenol and Motrin until it was absolutely necessary. Which was after his fever had spiked so high that he’d throw up the medicine and wouldn’t be able to get any more down.
It was a vicious cycle, and honestly, I was tired of dealing with him and his man flu.
His stubborn, pig-headed, never-going-to-change self.
God, I loved him.
Also, he was a loud puker. Like, really loud. I was sure he’d left the phone on the bed where I’d left him an hour ago. His bathroom was in the hallway outside his room, meaning there was at least a room and wall between the phone and him, and I could still hear him.
I grimaced, thought about hanging up, but then the house that we passed when we started this walk came back into view again.
This time, there was a man standing outside.
Something about him made me look away.
I continued to look at him out of my peripheral vision.
Was he wearing a rain jacket?
It wasn’t even raining.
Yet, he looked like he was dressed to go crab fishing on the TV show Deadliest Catch. Long raincoat. Rain boots. He even had rain pants.
What the hell?
I walked faster and noticed how he started walking to a later model black Suburban. I was guessing it was a late nineties model, and the only reason I knew that was because Cheyenne, Janie’s aunt, had one with the same body style.