Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
I couldn’t sleep.
That wasn’t anything new, of course, but normally it was because every time I closed my eyes, I was standing in my old bedroom, blood dripping down my hands and the knife there, the knife that had never been found, just like blood was never on me either. That didn’t stop my subconscious from imagining those things that never happened or that I never saw.
Daniel was in our bed.
Twenty-two stab wounds.
Crime of passion.
Why, Bent? Why did you kill me?
I never had an answer for him. Nothing but tears and apologies, but that wasn’t why I couldn’t sleep tonight. No, that was because of the man down the hallway.
Sam.
I was thinking about him. About our ride. About lying in the dirt after he’d kicked my ass in our race. About laughing with him, and the stupid jokes he told me. About how sometimes, when I got quiet and pensive, he just let me linger in my sadness, while other times, he found ways to pull me out of it.
We’d taken the horses at a slow pace back to the house. We’d showered, barbecued some chicken for dinner, and ate outside together. I fucked him out there too. He’d said he wanted it at least one more time before the weekend was over, so I gave it to him, Sam’s work-beaten hands wrapped around the wooden railing while I’d taken him hard from behind. And when I’d come, when I’d shot deep inside him, he’d turned and looked at me over his shoulder, a grin on his face that made me forget my past.
I thought maybe those moments, those times he made me let go of it all, were why I couldn’t sleep tonight; why it wasn’t because I had nightmares about Daniel. Why I was thinking of Sam instead, and how hard it was not to hate myself for it. Because I shouldn’t forget. I shouldn’t move on. Not when Daniel was dead.
So I didn’t let myself go to him. Didn’t wake him up and put my mouth on his cock or feed him mine. Didn’t go to his room, through the door he always left open for me. Wouldn’t allow myself to see him naked and waiting for me.
I lay there and let myself suffer until it was time to get up for my morning routine.
I wasn’t surprised to find Sam already in the kitchen, making coffee.
“Mornin’,” he said when I came around the corner.
“The weekends are your days off. You should sleep in.”
“You’re not the boss of me,” Sam teased, and I grumbled under my breath. I was used to getting up early, but he shouldn’t have to. Yet like always, Sam smiled and was in a good mood, like he’d never seen or known any hurt in his life, like it had been all sunshine when I knew he had his own storms. How did he do it? How could he just be…happy? “You didn’t sleep last night. You look even more tired than normal. Why didn’t you come to me?”
Because I have no right to feel good. I cleared my throat, and as I brushed past him toward the coffeepot, I inhaled his scent, an open field in summertime mixed with that smell right before the rain. “Figured my dick could use a break,” I lied.
“That a problem at your age?” Sam cocked a brow, and fuck, I was smiling again.
“He’s never had a problem rising to the challenge before.”
He grinned, and I rolled my eyes. It wasn’t until I’d poured and doctored my morning coffee that I realized I felt lighter than I had before talking to him.
We went out together and took care of the animals. It all got done more quickly with someone else there helping me. Afterward, Sam insisted on making omelets for breakfast. I didn’t argue because it seemed like he always got his way regardless.
The day was quieter than the one before. He seemed to be able to tell that I needed a little more space, and gave it to me. But just before it was time for him to leave, I pushed him against the door, dropped to my knees, and savored the feel of his heavy erection on my tongue. I sucked him until he spurted a load down my throat.
“God, you’re good at that. Here, let me take care of you too.”
He reached for me, but I shook my head. “I’m good.”
“Oh…okay.”
Sam watched as I walked to the counter, plucked my wallet off it, and pulled the money out. My stomach got heavier with each step I took back toward him, to the point that I almost wasn’t sure I could carry it. When I reached Sam, my arm suddenly felt like it was made of stone, a boulder that nearly killed me to lift as I handed him the cash. It felt wrong giving it to him and I didn’t want Sam to go.