Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry.” Rip frowns, easing away and off me a little at a time. “I know you like to fuck first thing in the morning and I was just—”
I shove him harder than I meant to in my haste to get out of the bed. I flip back the quilted comforter and scramble across my bedroom and into the light-filled bathroom. Nausea churns everything left in in my stomach from last night before propelling all four courses into the toilet. I curl my legs beneath me on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, resting my temple against the porcelain seat.
Rip didn’t mean to. He’s right. I do like sex in the morning, first thing. I like to wake up in the middle of an orgasm, if I can. Rip was just doing what he always does, not realizing he played into the nightmare I haven’t had in years. I can’t even remember the last time that demon visited my bed, but seeing Kyle last night stirred it all up again. Brought all the things I thought dead and dormant back to horrible life.
“You okay, Sof?” Rip asks from the bathroom door, his voice uncertain.
We aren’t that couple who discusses real shit. We don’t share real things. We’re that couple who smile for cameras and pose together and screw each other’s brains out, but don’t know each other’s birthdays or middle names. And I like it that way. Correction, I liked it that way. After seeing Kyle last night, I wasn’t in the frame of mind to deal with breaking things off with Rip. Frankly, I’m still not, but it’s coming soon.
“I’m fine, Rip.” My eyes drift over his well-conditioned body in just briefs. Maybe I’m not all right if that package doesn’t even stir me. “Sorry about that. I guess I was having a bad dream or something.”
He saunters over, stopping beside me, dick right at my mouth. His morning wood doesn’t care that I had a bad dream. He’s ready for a good blow. Typically, I’d accommodate. I give good head. I’m sure all my former lovers would write glowing letters of recommendation for me based on that skill alone, but I’m not in the mood this morning.
I don’t even acknowledge his erection, but stand up and cross over to my closet with its shelves of shoes, rows and rows of dresses and jeans, drawers and bins of accessories. I toss my nightgown into the hamper and start the shower, Rip’s eyes on my naked body doing nothing to change my mind. I’m soaping up when I feel him hard at my back, not just his muscles, but his dick.
“Sof, we could do it real quick.” His husky voice almost gets lost in the shower spray and steam. He nudges between my butt cheeks. “Come on, baby.”
I can’t. I still feel that dream like hot breath on my neck. My nipples still ache from the phantom pain. And though it’s empty, my belly twists with nausea again at the thought of anyone inside me.
“I’m late, Rip.” I turn toward him, careful to insert space between our bodies. “Maybe later.”
I start shampooing my hair without waiting for his response.
“Something wrong, Sof?” A frustrated breath huffs across his lips. “You didn’t want to last night either.”
Now he’s getting on my nerves. No one is entitled to my body. I choose who I share it with, on my terms. We just had sex yesterday morning. He can’t go twenty-four hours without making himself and his dick a nuisance?
“I said I’m running late, Rip.” Still lathering my hair, I face the shower wall and sprinkle steel shavings into my voice, warning him in the subtlest way I can to back off. “Now are you planning to shower, or are you just in here taking up my steam?”
“Sorry, Sof, I—”
“Could you close the door behind you?” I give him a semi-sweet smile over one bare, soapy shoulder, ignoring his eyes roving my naked back and over my ass. “Thanks.”
I have to end this. Anytime you’re kicking out a man who looks and fucks like Rip, it has gone too far or you have gone insane. And I know I’m not crazy.
Once I’m dressed, in slim black pants, stiletto ankle boots, and a silky mist-colored camisole under my black lambskin blazer, I feel a little more like myself. Clothes always add an expensive, protective layer to cover up whatever I need the world to overlook.
Rip’s stayed over enough that he has a few things here now, so he’s at the kitchen bar dressed in jeans and a Jets T-shirt, eating a slice of cantaloupe. I pack my iPad and essentials for today’s meetings, mentally running the schedule as much to clear my head as to make sure I don’t forget anything.
“So should I pick you up tonight?” Rip asks between juicy bites.