Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
He got up and left, disappearing into his bedroom to, my guess, use his bathroom.
I worried my lip as I thought about my next step, and I knew that I was going to do it.
I just had to get undrunk first.
Why?
Because Coke was just too good of a man to allow me to do this when I was drunk—he’d insist on that.
But it was okay.
I knew I’d be able to do it—drunk or not.
Tomorrow I was going to make Coke one happy man—and in the process, I’d give him something that both of us had been dying for.
***
Coke
I walked into my room after using the restroom and came to a stop next to my rumpled bed, eyebrows wrinkling in shock.
I knew for a fact that I hadn’t left it like that. I’d meticulously made it that morning and knew for a fact that there hadn’t been a single wrinkle.
Then I saw the foot that was poking out of the sheets and realized that on the opposite side of the bed, where I didn’t ever sleep, was Cora’s drunken form.
I smiled.
Then I got into the bed just drunk enough not to see the problem with this scenario.
Chapter 18
Grocery list: 1. Eggs. 2. Don’t run into your psycho ex-wife.
-Note from Cora to Coke
Coke
I groaned as I rolled over in bed.
Not because I was hungover, but because I was horny as fucking hell.
And it had everything to do with the damn woman that was now getting up and walking to the bathroom.
I opened my eyes and allowed my gaze to roam around the room.
My eyes hit the clock first and realized quickly that it was about an hour past when I normally got up.
The toilet flushed in the bathroom, and I turned my gaze to stare at the semi-closed door.
Moments later, I heard the sink running, and contemplated getting up.
But I couldn’t.
Not yet, anyway. Not with this erection that I was currently sporting.
I’d have to wait until she left the room before I did anything.
I looked down at my dick, which was tenting the sheets, and reached over to grab for the comforter just as the water shut off.
I momentarily forgot what I was doing when the door opened, and Cora stepped out in only my shirt.
The dick that I’d thought was just hard a few moments earlier was well and truly rigid now.
She had on a white ‘Coke Salvage’ shirt that hung off one shoulder.
The shirt hit her at about mid-thigh, and I mentally thanked God that I’d given her the smaller one that no longer fit me anymore.
If I’d given her the one that did fit, it would’ve been much longer on her.
Which would have been a shame since I wouldn’t have seen the brown mole on the inside of one of her thighs.
She walked straight to my side of the bed and stared down at me with something I couldn’t quite decipher on her face. “Are you awake?”
I found myself grinning. “Yeah.”
In the morning, my voice was always a lot rougher than it was at any other time during the day. It’s like my voice took a while to warm up or something, thanks to my vocal cord injury.
Her eyes warmed.
“Do you remember what we talked about yesterday?” she asked. “Last night to be specific?”
I thought back to everything that we talked about last night—which had been a lot.
“Yes,” I paused. “We talked about a lot of stuff, though. Mainly about you wanting to go home.”
“No,” she said. “After that.”
She gathered the hem of her shirt up with one fist, and my eyes were automatically drawn there.
That’s when I realized that I’d never actually covered my cock.
I looked down, and yep, it was still tenting the sheet.
There was no way that she’d missed it. None.
“Ummm,” I hesitated, once again reaching for the blanket.
“No.” She stopped me by reaching over and grabbing my wrist.
To do that, she’d had to partially straddle my thighs, and my cock rubbed deliciously along the inside of one of her shapely thighs.
I felt everything inside me stiffen.
“Cora…”
“You said you’d never had a blow job before.”
I felt everything inside of me still.
“Well…I’ve never given one.”
My heart started to pound.
“And I want to.”
Then she was gently tugging the sheet down, and I couldn’t find it in me to say a goddamn thing.
The arguments forming in my head were all jumbled. They kept coursing through my mind, though, ticking off each bad idea as if it was on a time lapse.
She was too young.
I was too old.
She had been kidnapped.
I’d said those things when I’d been drinking.
She was innocent—there was no doubt about that.
I had a young kid who was eight years younger than her.
She had problems—problems that I didn’t want to exacerbate.
But her mouth. And those eyes.
She tugged the sheet all the way down, and I made one last ditch effort to stop this.