Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
I cock my head to the side. “Why wouldn’t they believe I’m interested in you?”
“He asked if you were the period guy. Isn’t it obvious that I’m a hot mess?”
Before I can answer, she opens the shed door. Lola is cuddled on the bed with the kitten, and he’s purring while she pets him. “Can we take him home?”
“He’s Maren’s,” I say.
“Just for one night? Like a sleepover.”
Maren sits on the edge of the bed. “Maybe you can watch him for me if I have to go out of town for a few days. If it’s okay with your dad?”
Lola’s big eyes find me. Doesn’t Maren know never to suggest something directly to a child under the premise of “if it’s okay with your dad?”
How can I say no at this point?
“We’ll see.” It’s my go-to answer that buys me time but very little peace. Lola will fixate on this until I make a promise in blood. “We should head home, Lola.”
“I need to go to the bathroom first.” She cups her hands around her lips and mouths Poop to me.
“Here. I’ll show you the restroom.” Maren stands, setting the kitten on the floor.
“I’ll wait here,” I say.
Maren takes Lola to the house and returns a minute later. “Should I have waited inside the house with her?” She pauses just inside the door.
“She’ll be a while,” I say. “There’s nothing quick about her using the bathroom. Even when she’s done, she’ll spend five minutes washing her hands and talking to herself in the mirror.”
“I love that,” Maren says, closing the door. “I used to talk to myself in the mirror when I was her age.”
I sit at the end of the bed and pick up Bandit, but he squirms out of my hands and hides under the bed.
“He knows you tried to let him die.” Maren crosses her arms over her chest. I stare at her. After a few seconds, she narrows her eyes. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m just imagining things.”
“What things?”
I shrug. “They’re a little inappropriate, so I’d rather not say.”
Her face flushes, and she fiddles with her ponytail. “Stop.”
“I’m tired of stopping. Aren’t you?” I stand.
She retreats a step, and her back hits the door.
“Don’t look at me like that when your daughter will be back any minute.”
“She’ll be a while.” I duck my head and kiss her soft lips.
Maren breaks the kiss and grips my shirt. “Is this a good idea?” she whispers before kissing my neck.
Two. Fucking. Years.
She’s killing me.
I wrap her ponytail around my hand and gently tug until her neck stretches, giving me full access to her mouth again.
We kiss harder than we have thus far; an urgency burns between us. My other hand dips down the front of her leggings and into her underwear.
She moans, tightening her grip on my shirt.
This is the wrong time. Wrong place. Hell, it’s probably the wrong life.
But I can’t bring myself to care. Clarity is never punctual.
I like to flesh out my résumé for Father of the Year. Only a man with my elite set of skills, including morally sound decisions and impeccable timing, would attempt to get a woman off while his daughter uses the restroom.
The mind is an unsupervised playground, and mine has Maren naked. It’s not my hand between her legs; it’s my mouth. That one thought sends my tongue deep into her throat.
She releases my shirt and grips my hair instead. Then she looks for something else to hold as she squirms, breaking our kiss. Labored breaths fall from her lips while her hands smack the door, and I release her hair. Her head lolls side to side, pupils dilated, face tense.
I rest my free hand on the door just above her head, and we point our gazes to my other hand in her pants, her hips jerking against my touch.
“Oh god,” she whispers while her fingernails scrape the wood, and her chest heaves over and over. “Don’t stop, Ozzy. Don’t . . . stop . . .”
She’s wet and warm around my fingers as I move them in and out of her, as her soft flesh pulses and grips me with her release.
If I sneeze or even clear my throat, I’ll come because watching her orgasm is mind blowing. So I hold my breath while slowly withdrawing my hand from her pants. Maren breathlessly slides down the door to her butt, hugging her knees to her chest.
I rest my forearms on the door and close my eyes, ruining the moment out of necessity with visions of Tia’s scowl and roadkill—anything to quickly alleviate the situation and compose myself before Lola returns.
“Thank you,” Maren says with her blue eyes pointed up at me when I open mine.
I’m speechless. Sometimes, I shock myself with this level of self-torture. Instead of words, I return a slight “Mm-hm” and offer her my hand.