Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
He tilts his head with a pop, the attitude equivalent to that of a teenage girl with a hand on her hip. I cave immediately.
“Okay, okay, I knowwww. I’m really sorry. I locked you out for your own good, okay? Sometimes what’s good for mommies is traumatizing for their babies.”
He groans and jerks his chin toward the door. It’s, I think, both an act of dismissal and a plea to go potty all in one, but I’m currently, as a reminder, butt-ass nekkid. I don’t think I can take Benji out for a walk like this.
“Okay, buddy, just one second. Let me cover my vageen, okay? I don’t think the good campers of Los Angeles Wilderness LLC paid enough in admission for the full monty.”
Quietly, I move back to the bedroom in a hurry and start searching the still slightly dark room for any form of clothing. The first thing I come to is Chase’s shirt from last night, so I pull it on over my head and wriggle around looking for my underwear.
I bend down and up and basically wallow on the floor, but it’s only when I pop back up empty-handed to Chase’s open eyes watching me avidly, that I remember my underwear from last night no longer exists.
No, the happy-go-lucky, easygoing, considerate, kind, thoughtful man of my dreams…vaporized them with a single rip and pull.
He tore my panties. To shreds. And fuck, if that wasn’t beyond sexy.
Goodness, just the thought of how hot he was last night gives me a tingle all over.
He was controlling but gentle. He was generous but demanding. He was eighteen inches long.
Okay, not really, but I had a serious existential crisis in the moments before slipping him inside me about whether he’d fit without an episiotomy. In some weird way, the first time seeing his dick is the only time I’ve actually considered his inability to decode his role as Clive’s muse as credible. Because I way undersold fictional him.
Regardless, he did fit—thankfully—and I can officially say that all my fuckups have culminated in a successful ending.
Or at least, a successful climax. In a traditional story arc, there’s usually a bumpy road ahead before we can call it good and done.
“Brooke,” Chase finally says with a laugh. A laugh that tells me perfectly that as much as I like to think my inner monologues run on some other space-time continuum that’s faster, they don’t.
And he’s been sitting here staring at my nearly naked, crouching ass the whole time.
I drop my head into my hands on the edge of the bed, right next to his chest, and groan. “Oh God, I’m being really weird, aren’t I?”
“Strangely, it doesn’t really feel that way. I think I’m getting used to you,” he teases. I smack at his chest in response, and he grabs my wrist. All the air leaves my lungs as he laces his other hand into the back of my hair and pulls my lips to his for a kiss.
It’s moment-halting and earth-shattering all at once, and I can feel all the tension in my shoulders I didn’t know I was holding leave them.
“Good morning,” he whispers when he’s done, right there against the ridge of my lips.
I nod, making our foreheads bump just a little. “Good morning.”
Benji woofs at the door, practically making a show of crossing his legs, and I jump into action once more. “Sorry,” I say to my dog before turning back to Chase and repeating the sentiment. “Sorry!”
He laughs and pushes me back out of the way as he climbs to standing. He’s still naked, and my eyes nearly bug out of my head at the sight. He notices and turns me toward Benji with a shove. “Go. Take Benji out, and I’ll start getting everything ready to get us on the road.”
I nod three times without moving, and it’s only then that Chase lifts me over the bed and sets me by the door with another laugh and a pat on the butt. “Go.”
I finally follow orders, grabbing Benji’s leash from the counter just in case, and then leading him out the door with a scowl on his handsome face.
When he gets down the stairs, he takes off for the grass on the other side of the site, over by a desolate tree, and lifts his leg immediately. He pees like I peed the day the squirrel attacked, and at the sight of it, my guilt is renewed.
I have to make it up to him, the poor guy. He’s such a sport for putting up with me all the time.
When he comes back to me by the door, I stop him from climbing the steps and jerk my head toward the picnic table. He looks at the table and then back at me, and then he just stands there.