Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 63608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Quietly.
Stupidly. All the ways a man like never should.
I won’t tell her that.
Won’t tell anyone the power she holds over me.
I let my body speak instead of my mouth. I show her in every touch, every look, everything I’m not supposed to feel. I let myself pretend, just for tonight, that this could be more than an agreement.
My cock aching, I slide inside her tight cunt. Her body molds around me like we are two pieces of some puzzle fitting together in only a way we can. Every thrust she matches my pace, my energy, my damn desire.
No strings.
Just fun.
That’s the deal.
I tell myself I can live with it.
I tell myself I don’t want more.
I tell myself I’ll walk away before it gets bad.
But with her heartbeat steady against my chest, my cock limp inside her covered in her release and my own, I fight this unseen battle inside myself.
For the first time in a long damn time, I hold her against me knowing the lie is thick between us. Because the feelings are real.
And when this blows up—and it will—it’s not going to be her left wrecked.
It will be me.
One
Kelly
We Can’t Keep Doing this
* * *
I swear the timer on the oven is mocking me.
It’s beeping in this slow, rhythmic pattern that sounds like some obnoxious angel of conscious on my shoulder telling me, “you’re avoiding your problems.”
So what if I am?
“Shut up,” I mutter, jabbing the button with more force than necessary as I yank the tray of croissants free and set them on the cooling rack.
The bakery smells like butter and sugar—my favorite scent in the world—but even that doesn’t make the tight knot in my chest loosen.
It’s been six months since the night I told Riot not to fall in love with me for the first time. Three months of reminding him of our agreement. Three months of me pretending I’m not scared because I’m the one breaking the rule.
Six months of the best sex I’ve had in my entire life. Three months of feelings growing in ways I said they wouldn’t.
Six months of hooking up, three months of letting things get complicated, and now this feeling of drifting beginning between us. It’s what I asked for.
Distance.
Who knew it would make the hours of every day without him feel like an eternity. Six days ago, I called it off. This is what I wanted. Why does it hurt so damn bad though?
I hear the front bell jingle. I’m in the back baking. Ally is up front so whoever it is she will handle and I can continue this internal war of emotions while inhaling the decadent scents of deliciousness around me.
Ally’s cheerful voice carries down the hallway. “Morning! Welcome to Frosted and Filled!”
Great. A customer is here.
I slide the tray in my hands on the rack to push out front when she calls out, “Chux is here, be right back, you have the front.”
Rolling my eyes at the pitch in her tone I mutter a quick acknowledgement as I ready to go out front. She’s falling hard for the biker, and I’m happy for her. I just don’t necessarily want it in my face right this moment.
The morning rush will be starting, which means I need to plaster on the smile that everyone swears is so bright and sweet, even though today my insides feel like a tangled ball of yarn a cat shredded.
I wipe my hands on my apron and glance in the reflection of the metal rack. Hair: wild curls contained only by the grace of God. Face: tired. Eyes: the dead giveaway—it’s been another sleepless night.
Another night waiting for a message that didn’t come. Another night knowing I told him no more. Even saying it, I look at my phone every evening anticipating.
You home?
You up?
Want company?
He used to text me almost every night.
Now?
Nothing.
Not unless I reach out first. Which I stupidly did on night two.
Not unless I make the effort. Which meant on the second night without him, he came over, I came quick on his fingers, and he left me wanting what we had. Wanting what he wouldn’t give me again. No more connection. No more hookups. He got me off, I felt the bulge in his pants, but he didn’t let me return the favor. He didn’t slide into my heat and let my body relax against him. No, he made sure I came and then without a kiss goodbye, he walked out.
I told myself I wouldn’t reach out again. I asked for the distance and I needed to stand by my word.
Six days of the barrier, four days since I have had a single touch, and not once has he even shown the slightest bit of anything.
And I’m starting to feel… pathetic.
I push open the swinging door that separates the kitchen from the lobby, ready to greet customers and pretend my life isn’t a messy emotional crime scene. But the second I step into the bakery, I freeze.