Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Once the door’s unlocked, she ushers me in.
Her house is small, a little cramped with books everywhere and scented candles lining small shelves in the living room. I spy a Kindle on top of a small stack of books next to the sofa—all romance paperbacks—and smile a little.
Some of these books look filthy. I’ve known enough girls to figure out that the dirtiest books hide under the covers with pretty flowers and mountain sunsets.
“Want a beer?” she asks a little nervously, gesturing to her kitchen.
“Sure. We just survived death by Mom, and that’s reason to celebrate.” I sink down on the sofa, sensing she wants to do this shit herself. “She does like you, you know.”
“I still can’t believe you didn’t warn me. Jackwagon.” She gives me a dirty look.
“But you’ll forgive me, won’t you? You’re sugar and spice, Sass. Not a vengeful bone in your body.”
“I’ll show you vengeful, stupid man.” She rolls her eyes, but I see the corner of her cheek curve. “Don’t be so cocky.”
“Am I wrong?” I nudge a book with my toe. “This is some interesting reading material, by the way.”
“What can I say? I like smut.” She shrugs so nonchalantly it takes a second to sink into my head.
And when it does, I laugh.
Then I think about her in bed, some toy buzzing between her legs, biting her lip as she comes like a dream.
I also get pissed that I’m not there to push the toy away, to replace it with a dick that brings her off leagues better than any vibrator.
Shit, maybe I need to start reading more.
She smirks as she hands me a beer. “What’s wrong? You look like I knocked you over the head with a mallet.”
“Just imagining what makes you tingle in those books,” I tell her.
“Oh, you know. The usual. Fun times with firefighters and lumberjacks and guys who are really good with their hands.” There’s no hint of shame in her gaze as it meets mine.
I laugh, and she smiles, too, her earlier embarrassment gone as she sips her beer.
I raise my bottle in a toast and say, “Here’s to everyone loving you as much as my mom did.”
“Pffft, you’re exaggerating. She wasn’t that impressed.”
“I don’t exaggerate. She said you’re perfect for me, which is basically the best compliment my mother can give.”
Lena smiles again, her lips curving, stealing my attention. My bottle taps my teeth. “Only because she thinks her son is perfect. How well does she know you?”
“Your implication wounds me.”
“You’re the one who keeps coming back to expectations.”
“Yeah. Guess she’s happy I’m finally settling down with someone who isn’t made of drama,” I admit. “But she has standards. My mother wouldn’t be happy if it was just anyone.”
“Minus the fact that she was pulling for Nancy, you mean?”
“Nancy was a political choice, and an old family friend. They never put much thought into it.”
“Hmm.” Lena traces the rim of the bottle with her lips, thinking. “Do they really not see it? The entitlement on that bitch?”
“It’s complicated.” I sigh, because thinking about Nancy never puts me in a good mood. “They’re just concerned about appearances over everything. They saw an easy solution and ran with it.”
“That’s a fancy way of saying they either don’t notice or don’t care.”
“Can’t argue with that. My parents will never be normal, and I think you know that.” I lean over, my lips close to hers. “Happy now?”
“Brady.” She eyes me thoughtfully, heat staining her cheeks red.
“Yes?”
“You kept talking about safety first and precautions.”
“What about them?” If she’s going to fight me on this, she’s about to lose.
“What do they involve?”
Spending every second of every day in your company. Preferably with empty balls.
Unhealthy. Stupid.
Yet tempting just the same.
“Why?” I ask carefully.
“Because I thought, if you wanted to—and there’s no pressure—maybe you’d want to spend the night here.” Her blush strays down her neck. “I know my place isn’t fancy, and the bed isn’t like imported Egyptian cotton, but—”
Before she can finish the sentence, she’s over my shoulder.
If she wants a lumberjack, I will give her one tonight.
“Brady! Are you serious?” she squeals.
“So serious, I waited for this all day,” I growl.
“Even after this morning?”
“Especially after this morning. You think I didn’t want to follow you into the bathroom at Wendy’s house and clean you up with my tongue?”
Her laugh turns into a gasp as I throw her on the bed.
In contrast to the living room, which is filled with books, her bedroom is small and neat, which makes me smile. For all her bluster about being a hot mess, she’s well organized.
I barely give the environment a second glance before I turn my attention back to her.
“I hope you know how beautiful you are.” I kiss the skin of her collarbone, pulling down her shirt, and she shivers. “I want to take my time with you.”