Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 121992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
***
“I can’t believe you make sauce from scratch.” I was perched up on Colby’s kitchen counter next to the stove, watching him stir a pot of tomato sauce.
“When Saylor first came into my life, I had no idea what to do with a baby. My mom spent a lot of time at my apartment because I was a nervous wreck. I thought I was going to fuck something up and hurt her. Every time Mom came over, she brought an index card with a recipe written down and a bag of groceries. When Saylor would nap, she’d teach me how to cook. I owe a lot to her for making me a better dad.” Colby scooped up a spoonful of sauce and blew on it before lifting it to my lips.
“Oh, wow. That’s really good. Nice and garlicy, the way I like it.”
A tiny drip from the underside of the spoon fell and landed on my collarbone. Colby leaned in and licked it off before running his tongue up my neck and sucking along my pulse line.
“You had some sauce.” He grinned. “I don’t have any paper towels.”
I pointed to the full roll next to me and raised a brow.
“I meant, I’m environmentally conscious and don’t like to use too many paper towels.”
“Uh-huh.” I smiled. Plucking the spoon from his hand, I turned it over and ran the saucy back side along his neck.
Colby’s eyes darkened as I leaned up and returned the favor, dragging my tongue over the sauce and sucking along his throat.
He groaned when I pulled back. “I’m going to pour that pot all over our bodies in a minute.”
I giggled. “What’s with us and painting each other? Do you have a fetish or something?”
“I never knew I did, but it’s definitely become an issue for me. The other day I walked past a kid’s store. There was a Snoopy backpack in the window, and I started to get hard thinking about your tits. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to take my kid shopping anymore because of you.”
I couldn’t stop smiling. “Why don’t you turn that sauce off for a little while? We could go into the living room. I want to sit on your lap and suck your neck some more.”
In two seconds flat, Colby had twisted the knobs on the stove, hoisted me into the air, and carried me to the couch. I laughed the entire way. “Anxious much?”
“Sweetheart, you have no damn idea.”
It didn’t take long before our laughing and fooling around turned into some serious heavy petting. I felt Colby’s hard-on straining through two layers of clothes. It hit against just the right spot between my open legs and felt so damn good. I was seconds away from grinding myself up and down when my cell rang. The ringtone was pretty much the only thing that could have stopped me.
Colby wrenched his mouth from mine. “What is that?”
“It’s from the Wizard of Oz, when the wicked witch is riding her bike in the tornado.”
“Why?”
I sighed. “It’s my mother. Can we pretend my pocket isn’t ringing?”
Colby grinned and squeezed my neck, pulling me back to him without another word. Fifteen seconds later, I was ready to start grinding again when my phone restarted its music. I tried to ignore it, but I really couldn’t.
I pulled away. “I’m sorry. She never calls back when I don’t answer. I should probably get it.”
He nodded. “Yeah, of course.”
I dug the phone from my pocket and swiped. “It’s not a good time, Mom.”
“I was just robbed…” She gasped. “At gunpoint.”
I sat up straight and blinked myself out of the haze of lust I’d been in. “What? Where are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m at the gallery. And no, I’m not okay! He put a gun to my head!”
I jumped off Colby’s lap and looked around for my purse. “Did you call the police?”
“Yes, they’re already here.”
I breathed a small sigh of relief and nodded. “Okay, great.”
“Can you come to the gallery, please? I can use your help.”
“Yeah, of course. I’m leaving right now.”
I hadn’t even swiped my phone off, and Colby already had my purse in his hand and was opening the door to his apartment. “Where are we going?”
“To my mother’s gallery. She was just robbed.”
***
“So your mother said you recently had a showing here at the gallery?” the detective said. He had a small leather flip-up notebook in his hand.
I nodded. “Last weekend.”
Colby and I had arrived at the gallery fifteen minutes ago. My mother seemed to have already shifted from scared to bitchy, which actually brought me some comfort. The masked thief had made off with her wallet, which had less than a hundred bucks cash, but she was currently on the phone canceling all of her credit cards.
The police officer nodded. “And some of the people who came to that show were suspicious?”