Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
I want to throw every fucking piece of furniture in my house at him and maybe use the bat on his sparkly fucking bike parked in front of my house. But also… he’s right. As if realizing the weight of his words, his expression softens ever so slightly, and he seems lost, as if unsure how to comfort someone.
“Posie, who was that kid?” Dutton asks suddenly, immediately ripping me away from my spiraling emotions. I just needed a night to sleep on it and process it so I can get my shit together.
“My son,” I tell him.
“You never mentioned you had a child,” he says quickly, and I don’t know how to take that. It’s not like I have to answer to him. And, frankly, it’s none of his business.
“You never asked. And to be honest, you and I are nothing serious, Dutton. You’re my boss, and we have sexual chemistry. The sex was good, so let’s leave it at that, and we’ll continue working like nothing ever happened.” He looks like I’ve slapped him. “Okay, cool. Now that we’ve discussed that, I should go inside.” I turn to slip through the door, but his front slams into my back, his hand barricading me in and preventing me from opening the door any farther.
“Are you telling me you don’t want me to fuck you again?” His lips brush my ear lobe, and I immediately sink into him. Fuck, I could do with a release after today. He bites the lobe before he sucks it into his mouth, and warmth floods my core as I lean back against him, my body constantly betraying me around this man.
“No,” I say, not sure what I’m answering. Because now I’m flustered.
How can this man so easily make me melt this way? I hate that he can do this to me.
“Mommy!” Bentley calls: I can tell he’s coming toward the door. I freeze, then shove backward, but Dutton doesn’t budge.
“So help me God, Dutton, if you don’t move, I will get that bat and shove it so deeply up your ass it might actually reach farther than the pole you already have up there.”
“I might like it,” he says, then kisses the side of my neck and backs away. I pull open the door to find Bentley standing there.
“Are we having dessert?” he asks me. I scoop him up into my arms. “Do you like dessert?” he aims this question at Dutton.
“Dutton was just leaving,” I say, then slam the door in his face without so much as another glance at him. Bentley asks why I did that, and I tell him to finish his food. I sit next to him, staring at my own meal, unsure how to manage this non-relationship with my very dominating and possessive boss.
And that should be the least of my worries, considering what happened at the cemetery. Though I’m certain Bobbi has nothing to go off of to find me. But maybe I should reconsider everything I’ve done recently. Maybe I should delete the social media accounts I created. I didn’t use my real name, and he shouldn’t be able to find me, but I didn’t think he’d have someone watching my parents’ graves just in case I appeared, for fuck’s sake.
I was stupid. I’d been wary all this time, and I gave into a moment of weakness, hoping that I could have this small moment of peace to visit their graves. But Bobbi ruins even that.
We eat in silence, and I’m thankful Bentley doesn’t ask any more questions. Taking our plates to the sink, I start to wash them when there’s another knock at the door. Bentley runs to it, and that immediate fear spikes again as I call out and chase after him. When he pulls the door open, Dutton stands there, holding a bag in his hand. I narrow my gaze on the insufferable man who can’t take a hint.
“Ice cream,” Dutton says to Bentley.
“Oh, I love ice cream.” Bentley reaches for it, but I grab it before he can, shooting an accusing glare at Dutton.
“Dessert,” Dutton reiterates as if I’m the one being unreasonable.
“Bentley is allergic to nuts. Did you check if there are nuts in this?” I ask, making a point because he knows nothing about me or my son.
“Yeah, I could die,” Bentley adds, and Dutton’s blue gaze flicks to him.
“Well, that got dark really quick.”
I sigh as Bentley gives me puppy dog eyes. Opening the bag, I see Dutton grabbed five different tubs of ice cream. One has nuts, made evident by its name, so I scan the ingredients of the others.
“You can have this one.” I pull the tub out of the bag and hand it to Bentley. “What do you say?”
Bentley looks to Dutton. “Thank you. Want to come in and watch Transformers?”