Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 38149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
“And why Bowie?”
Joe furrowed his brow. “Is that a real question? Bowie was a fucking maestro.”
“I’ve always been more of a Mick Jagger fan myself,” I purred, tapping his entrance.
He pushed out of my arms and climbed over me so fast I let out an undignified “oomph” as he straddled my thighs.
“Jagger is cool, but Bowie…c’mon, man,” he chided, nipping my bottom lip as he swayed his ass over my suddenly interested cock. “Tell me I’m right.”
“Mmm. No, I—what are you doing?”
It was a stupid question. He leaned sideways and held up a condom. Ripping it open with his teeth, he rolled it over my length, added lube, and slowly lowered himself. His expression was a gorgeous contortion of wanton pleasure with a touch of pain.
“I’m gonna take you for a ride.”
And he did.
He dug his knees into the mattress, gripped the headboard, and bounced like a champ while I stroked him. It was fast and dirty and sexy as fuck.
Sometime later, we showered, redressed, and raided the kitchen pantry for dinner or a midnight snack. I’d lost track of time. I only knew it was dark and probably snowing, and I didn’t want him to leave. It felt sweeter than it should have to cuddle up next to him with my arm draped over his hip and my knees tucked into his in bed. Joe must have agreed, because he stayed.
One night.
We ate breakfast in bed, chomping bacon while watching the snow fall and accumulate in wicked drifts in my yard.
Two nights.
We put on boots and shoveled snow. I’d relished the physical labor after days indoors. The pewter skies and three feet of snow did nothing to diminish my inexplicable joy. I blamed it on Joe. Hot sex with a gorgeous man…sign me up.
When the driveway and the path to my front door were cleared, he’d launched into a spiel about the importance of trimming the hedges and staying on top of home repairs. I’d nodded on cue, bending to grab a hunk of soft snow and fashion it into a perfect snowball.
I nailed him in the cheek and laughed like a hyena as he stoically swiped snow from his beard and sighed. “Game on.”
We’d raced around the front yard, hidden from the street by those huge hedges, and pummeled each other in an epic snow fight that ended with us naked in front of the fireplace in my office. The tree lights twinkled on his face and torso as I moved inside him till we were both warm and deliciously spent.
Three nights.
His favorite color was blue. Indigo blue.
“Like the deepest part of the ocean or the darkest strip of blue at twilight. If color was a tipping point, indigo is where truth is hidden or revealed.”
I’d stared after him when he gave me a thumbs-up and headed to the basement to sand the new casing…equal parts dumbfounded and enchanted.
Ten days later, I think it was clear to both of us that something new had begun. What exactly, I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t overthink it. This wasn’t a big deal. I just…liked him.
A lot.
Maybe it had something to do with the amazing sex. We were voracious. The fire between us grew with every passing day. No kidding…it was hard to be in the same room with him and not want to tug those apron strings and rip his clothes off.
Funny enough, we treated each day like a new start, as though we intended to be on our best behavior. We shared a cup of coffee, whether or not he spent the night—and reset, discussing our respective plans for the day before going our separate ways. I wrote and he did repairs. I stayed out of his way, and he stayed out of mine.
But damn, we gravitated to each other like a couple of rogue magnets in a careful dance of manufactured excuses.
I’d claim to be thirsty or hungry or simply interested in his project du jour. Or Joe would stop by my office with a pitcher of water, claiming to worry about me letting the Christmas tree go bone-dry. He’d hum the opening refrain from “O Christmas Tree,” then turn on the lights and back out of the room like some kind of cheesy elf. And yes, that charmed the hell out of me.
“You left the lights on…again,” I groused without heat, glancing up from my computer screen.
Joe put his hands in the air and chuckled. “You love the lights. Admit it.”
I pulled my reading glasses from my nose as I rounded my desk and met him in front of the tree. Love was a strong word, but I didn’t hate it. That should have been vaguely concerning to me—however, my appreciation for the tree had more to do with it providing him with a daily excuse to interrupt me. At least that was my story, and I was sticking to it.