Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
And when Ky moved inside me later, it felt like he was trying to tell me something. He tempered his raw intensity with tender kisses, playing my body like an instrument. He was quieter than usual too. He didn’t praise my ass or my cock or tell me to beg him for his. He spoke with his talented hands, the roll of his hips, soft sighs, and a burning look of desire. Somewhere in the sensual push and pull, we found a quiet place for just the two of us. No music, no words, no past, no secrets, or lies or half-truths. Just us in our most primal form.
He roared when he came inside me. And he stayed until I stopped shaking. Then he gathered me close and held me. We must have cleaned up at some point, but it was a blur. I didn’t really surface again till sunlight streamed through the blinds in his bedroom.
No…it probably wasn’t until Ky handed me a thermos containing my third cup of coffee and asked if I wanted to ride bikes down to the skate park in Venice.
He cracked up when I fixed him with a blank stare. “Is that a no?”
“I’m not sure how to put this delicately, but my ass is sore. I’m not riding a bike.”
“How about a skateboard?”
“You’re funny this morning,” I snarked, curling into his side when he put his arm around my waist and pulled me close. “I don’t know how to skateboard, and I’d rather not go to the ER today, but I’ll walk with you.”
“Deal. You can borrow one of my T-shirts, so you don’t look like a shoobie strollin’ the boardwalk in those fancy duds. Don’t argue. I gotta think of my reputation.”
“Your reputation?” I huffed, following him into his room. I caught the huge white T-shirt and sniffed it, chuckling when he rolled his eyes.
“It’s clean. And yeah, I don’t want anyone thinking my boyfr—that you’re a dork,” he corrected quickly before heading into the next room and grabbing one of the skateboards leaning against the wall. “Come on, Char. I’m gonna show you around my ’hood.”
“Wait. Am I your boyfriend?” I asked in a low voice.
Ky cocked his head thoughtfully. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t—”
“Like labels,” I intercepted. “I know.”
He kissed me softly before pulling a beanie over his head, instantly catapulting him into another realm of sexy. “Yeah, but I like the sentiment behind the word. You’re mine. That’s all that matters. Let’s go. See if you can keep up, baby.”
I couldn’t. I tried, but I couldn’t master speed walking while drinking coffee. When I slowed to a snail’s pace, Ky shook his head in mock exasperation and tucked his board under his right arm and wrapped his left arm over my shoulders. The public display of affection caught me by surprise. Of course, not as much as the “boyfriend” bomb did. Don’t get me wrong, I loved it and it fit. It didn’t matter who knew about us or what they thought. We were the ones who counted. But a couple of months ago, I assumed Ky was straight and had a girlfriend. Fluid sexuality was a concept I admired but didn’t fully get. It’s not that I didn’t trust him. I knew he felt the same things I did…lust, need, respect, friendship, and more lust. I just wanted him to always feel this way and to always look at me the way he did last night.
Forever was a dangerous word, I mused as I sipped my coffee and took in the scenery. It was partly cloudy and kind of chilly, but the boardwalk between Santa Monica and Venice Beach was packed. Joggers, bike riders, skateboarders, and rollerbladers outnumbered pedestrians. But the beach was mostly deserted. I spotted a family huddled together under a blanket and umbrella near the pier and smiled.
“They must be disappointed that it’s not Speedo weather,” I commented idly.
“California dreamin’. I bet it’s still warmer than wherever they’re from.”
“Do you ever want to live anywhere else?”
Ky cast a “What the fuck?” look my way and shook his head. “No way. I love it here. It’s home. I don’t even know why I feel that way sometimes. For all the good memories, there are twenty bad ones. Every time I try to leave, I end up within five miles of where I started. I guess it was meant to be.”
“Hmm. Was your high school close to the beach?”
“About a mile or two away. Close enough. And our house was in between. Some days I’d walk outside, look left and then right and decide if I was going to the beach or school.”
I chuckled. “Don’t tell me…the beach won.”
“Every time. I hated school. I had to anesthetize myself to get through it and deal with my fucked-up family,” he grumbled.