Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
I wrap my arms around his legs and lean my cheek against his knee. Head wounds make me demonstrative, apparently. He’s so big and warm, and he smells so good. And I may not be tearing myself in two over ending the lackey, but it doesn’t mean I am not in need of comfort.
Here’s the thing: within the privacy of my own skull, I can admit Dean has become my person. Not exactly sure what the job title “person” entails at this point in time. However, it’s important and multilayered and detail-oriented and stuff. Very him-specific. I should probably just keep it to myself for now.
Which is why I open my mouth and say, “You’re my person.”
“I’m your person?”
“Oops. Didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
He pauses. “How high are you right now?”
“Yeah. Sort of.” So many thoughts spinning around inside my mind. “I always wanted a person. It’s just a game of luck, right? There are a lot of people out there. Or there were a lot of people out there. What are the chances that you meet the right person for you, though? Not good.”
“Define the right person.”
I shrug. “No can do. You just know that they’re right.”
“Okay,” he says, sounding mildly freaked out for some reason.
“What’s with the tone of voice?”
“Nothing. Just not used to not having to talk you into us. This is a whole new level, even above having sex and sleeping together.”
“Oh.”
“Also not sure anyone has ever known me well enough to call me their person before.”
I blow a raspberry. “You’ve hardly told me any of your stories.”
“And you’ve hardly told me any of yours,” he returns. “But we’ll get around to it.”
“I know you.”
He laughs softly. “That’s my point. We already know what each other is capable of. Who needs the rest?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I wouldn’t kill anyone who didn’t need killing.”
“That makes me feel so much better.”
“Shut up. What I mean is, I’d be happy to never have to do it again. To never be in that position.” I hold on to him tighter. “Say the thing.”
“What thing?”
“You know what thing.”
“But you just told me to shut up. So how can I say the thing?” he asks. “Besides which, need I remind you that the last time I said it, you were very unhappy at me. And in case you haven’t noticed, that is the opposite of how I like you to be.”
And enough of his bullshit. Seriously. Seems I was right the first time. He should stop talking. I shrug off the towel and rise up on my knees, all the better to turn and face him.
He takes one look at my face and says, “You’re supposed to be resting. ‘Get her home, get her cleaned up, and get her to bed’ were the orders.”
“And here we are on the bed. I’ll have you know, I am excellent at following orders.”
“You’re the worst at being told what to do. Avan didn’t mean ‘bed’ like this, and you know it.”
For all of his fine words, Dean doesn’t fight me when I push him back onto the bed. Nope. His back meets the mattress without much of a fuss at all. I undo the buckle on his belt and he watches me all the while. As conflicted as he might be about going against medical orders, he doesn’t make any move to slow things down or stop my hands. I can’t remember the last time I undressed someone. Though I am thoroughly enjoying this experience.
It’s like each time I touch him, I give him more of myself and take more of him for me. The button on his jeans and then the zipper. I push up his tee to expose more of his body. Such a handsome bastard. Naomi was right about me wanting to write him bad poetry. His beauty outshines the sparkling night sky. Yeah. Emphasis on the “bad” in bad poetry.
He’s wearing another pair of dark gray boxer briefs. I slide the palms of my hands over his stomach. Just reveling in touching his skin, so hot and smooth. He’s so very alive and vital to me in ways I am still trying to understand.
There’s a treasure trail of dark hair leading down from his belly button. I grab the waistband of his underwear and his jeans and shuffle them down some. Give myself room to work.
“Fine. Whatever,” he says. “Be irresponsible. Disregard medical advice and distract yourself with my dick. See if I care.”
I just give him an amused glance. “You called me your wife again.”
Nothing from him.
Seems as if his cock is thicker and longer this time than the last. Not sure how he’s doing that. Man magic or something. But the veins are engorged and almost angry looking. And raised up on his elbows, Dean watches what I am doing with such interest. With so much hunger in his gaze.