Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 48017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
“I love you too, Brandon. I always will.”
We lie in silence for what might be hours before we finally drift off into a deep sleep.
Both sharing the same dream.
A time in the not too distant future, where we sleep like this every night.
A cool breeze blowing through a large window.
The delicate sounds of tiny babies breathing softly in their crib right next to our bed.
Chapter Seventeen
Ashlee
I waited too long. I should have given myself to him sooner.
It’s the only thing I can tell myself in between shivering aftershocks from the most incredible shared climax with Brandon.
Hearing him tell me he loves me. Telling him the same, it’s a pact we make.
I know nobody’s told him they love him, and it’s the first time in my life I’ve heard those three words just for me.
It’s as powerful as what we’ve both just experienced, maybe even more so.
I nestle back into his warmth. His huge body flush against mine, neither of us minding the carpeted floor of my tiny room, we’re both exhausted. Spent as he pulls the covers over us both.
I could try to fight off sleep, but feeling him still inside me, as hard as ever, it’s like a medicine that’s healed every hurt.
Righted every wrong.
It’s the safest and sexiest I’ve ever felt and I tumble into a sleep that’s as deep as I’ve fallen for him.
With everything that’s happened. Losing my virginity, being with Brandon, as well as the last minute alteration.
I forgot to set my alarm, and with Brandon not budging an inch now that he has what he wanted, he sleeps in the same way I did, deeply.
The sound of my cell phone blaring wakes me, but only makes Brandon grunt and shift in his sleep, gripping me tighter so I almost can’t reach it.
“Hello?” I croak, my voice full of sleep and my throat a little hoarse from all my moaning and now that I think about it, actually screaming Brandon’s name.
“Ash? Where are you? I forgot the dam keys, can you open up? It’s past nine already…”
I sit up with a start, even freeing myself from Brandon’s iron grip.
Crap. It’s Mark.
He sounds terrible still, but he’s right.
We’re supposed to be open.
I’m supposed to be in charge.
“I’ll be right down,” I stammer, hanging up and using both hands I heave at Brandon’s shoulder trying to rouse him from his deep sleep.
The first decent sleep he’s had in ages by the looks.
“Mark’s here,” I hiss. “We’ve slept in. I’ve slept in… Fuck!”
I get up, naked, and almost fall over straight away. My legs are like jelly, but there is a very satisfying ache that lingers between them as I fumble for some clothes.
Before I even dress I can hear Mark rapping on the glass doors downstairs.
Not a friendly tippy-tap ‘open up.’
An angry banging that starts to frighten me as I nearly tumble down the stairs, pulling on my hoodie back to front over my naked chest before he can see me.
Unlocking the door, I look past him, expecting to see Cynthia as well. But it’s just one boss I have to deal with, fortunately.
Mark’s usually so mild-mannered and calm, but this morning he looks genuinely pissed.
He brushes past me, covering his mouth with a tissue and sneezing before he scans the store.
His eyes move straight to the couch with blankets on it, Brandon’s bed from last night.
Well. Some of last night.
“What’s going on, Ash?” Mark challenges me, looking woozier than angry now that he’s in the store.
Now we’re officially open for business.
“I… I slept down here last night,” I lie. “There was a storm and it…”
He waves away my commentary, mumbling something about me cleaning the place up as he walks back to the groom’s section, his workshop.
I can still smell the Italian food from last night, but lucky for me, Mark’s sinuses are about as stuffed as I was last night with Brandon balls deep inside of me.
The memory makes me want to smile. Almost giggle at the thought of it.
Already wondering how soon Brandon and I can do it all over again.
“How’s Cynthia?” I ask, offering him a hot lemon tea. Wondering if we even have that sort of thing.
“She’s terrible,” he barks, shaking his head at the offer of tea, and taking a small bottle of aspirin from his coat pocket, he takes a couple.
“We’re in a mess, Ash,” he continues, calming down just a little. “And the last thing I wanted was to come here and find you hadn’t even opened the store. You said we could count on you,” he says, sounding more hurt than angry.
Glancing at the clock it’s like ten minutes past nine. Not the end of the world, but I don’t feel sassy enough yet to start mouthing off to my boss.
Ten grand is ten grand, but my wedding dress commission won’t support me for the rest of my days.