Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Fuck yes.” He moaned as I took him in hand. I knew how he liked it by now, tight and fast. He had a bottle of lotion on the bedside table, so I used that to slick up my grip. “Oh, I like that. Why does your hand feel so good?”
“Because it’s not yours?” I chuckled.
“It’s more than that.” Declan turned rather serious for someone on the verge of orgasm. “And more than you being fucking amazing at jerking me off. You’re…different.”
“Thanks.” My chest pinched deep inside, and I had to bite my lower lip to stop the tide of emotions. “You’re special too.”
“Say that again.” He gasped as I kept stroking his cock.
“You’re special? You are, baby.” I jacked him faster. “You’re so special to me.”
I wasn’t simply spewing sex words to get him off. He was special to me, more than he’d ever know. I looked forward to seeing him at the end of the day, loved his eagerness and vulnerability in equal measure, loved how he made me feel hot and wanted.
“Oh fuck, coming.” His back bowed, cock fucking up into my fist, as come jetted out of his tip. We were both a mess, and I retrieved the towel from my shower to clean us up.
“I’m tired.” Declan yawned and tried to cuddle into my side. “I didn’t calculate how tired I’d be after getting you off.”
“You did work hard,” I teased.
“I did.” Declan managed to yawn and preen at the same time.
“You sleep.” I dodged his questing hands even though I wanted nothing more than to stay cuddled up with him. “I’ll sneak back downstairs.”
“Soon, I want to sleep the whole night with you.”
Well, now I had a new goal in life. I smiled at him as I made my way to the bathroom to retrieve my clothes, rather glad the basement door was mere steps from his. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Chapter Eighteen
Declan
“Don’t ask me how the doctor went.” I slid into the front seat of my dad’s truck at the Portland medical complex he’d given me a ride to. Between my healing right leg and the TBI, the doctors continued to advise against me driving, which was a pain in the neck. Dad had actually asked off from work for the occasion, which was one of the reasons I was in a foul mood at this complete waste of time. I’d much rather he use a day off for something productive.
“That good?” Dad asked, mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to smile as he teased. While I was in my appointments, he’d gone to one of those big warehouse stores Mount Hope didn’t have, and the backseat was piled high with paper goods, pet food, and assorted snack items.
“The doctor—the neurology specialist worth driving all this fucking way for—refuses to sign off me being able to ride again. As of now, I’m still in the tour’s concussion protocol and unable to ride or race. And because it was a TBI, they are being even more strict than usual about deciding whether I’m healed enough.” I thumped my head against the seat back. “Also, the doctor has had how many years of school? And yet no ability to predict when I might be cleared, nor does he have a clue what might work on these motherfucking headaches.”
“Wow.” Dad shook his head as he stopped for a busy pedestrian crosswalk. Unlike Mount Hope, Portland in February was cold and rainy with no trace of snow. “I thought we weren’t talking about your appointments?”
“I’ll shut up.” I clamped my lips shut.
“That’s not what I meant.” Dad released a sigh like my drama was taxing, which it likely was. “Rant away.”
“Fine.” Talking to my dad wasn’t at all like the easy comfort I enjoyed with Jonas. With him, I could complain and feel better because of Jonas’s calm presence and judgment-free attitude. But my dad was right here, and we had a long-ass drive back to Mount Hope. “It’s February. Everyone is gearing up for the start of the season. The racing team is asking when I’ll be ready, and I don’t have a clue. At least the orthopedist is better than the neurologist. She graduated me to the cane and more intense PT. Treadmill time. Woo-hoo.”
“That’s great.” Dad completely missed my sarcasm. “You need to celebrate each bit of progress.”
“Why?” I threw up my hands as we merged onto I-84, heading east to Mount Hope. And to Jonas, who was at work but, with any luck, would be back in time to help me not think about any of this for a little while. However, I couldn’t think about future make-out sessions and how they made me feel while in the truck with my dad, so I resumed complaining. “I’m not any closer to getting back out there. I’m stuck in Mount Hope—”