Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
I scrambled to stand and whipped out my dick, using my cum-slick hand to jack myself over him. It took a pitiful number of strokes before I was busting a nut all over his stomach and chest while he lay there panting.
The sight of him naked and flushed, covered in our combined fluids, made my orgasm last even longer.
My feelings for him were stronger than ever, and I felt incredible relief knowing he wouldn’t leave me because of his father’s media concerns. I’d come out a long time ago for a reason, and I wasn’t going back in the closet now for anyone.
“Let me grab a towel,” I said roughly before leaning down to run a finger through the mess. “Before this makes me hard again and I flip you over and take your ass.”
His eyes heated, and his dick tried to rally against his thigh. “Jesus,” he muttered. “You’re going to kill me.”
I stood up with a chuckle and made my way to the nearest bathroom where I wet the hand towel and brought it back. Once I had us both cleaned up, I lay down on the sofa and pulled him on top of me for a cuddle. I wanted to hold him for a little while.
SportsCenter continued playing softly in the background as I tried to muster up the energy to reach for the remote to change it. The orgasm, mixed with the relief that Mikey hadn’t stormed out or broken up with me, made me relaxed to the point of dozing.
Just as I drifted off, I heard his soft voice muffled against my chest. “I have feelings for you, too.”
I fell asleep with a giant smile on my face and Mikey V. exactly where I wanted him. In my arms.
Everything was going to be okay.
20
Mikey
I didn’t sleep well, despite pressing myself closer to Tiller than the small Super Bowl tattoo he had on his calf. Usually, sleeping against him was as good as being knocked out with hard drugs, but I couldn’t stop the anger welling inside me. I was almost thirty years old, well beyond the age when my parents should have a say in who I dated or slept with.
At first, I’d wondered if I was making too much of it. I certainly didn’t want to get into World War Three with my father over a temporary hookup with Tiller. But after the way the gentle giant had claimed me in front of Sam the other night and talked about enjoying the double date as a couple with Winter and Gent, I thought maybe it was okay for me to assume this was more than a temporary fling.
He’d told my father he had feelings.
So I waited until he’d downed his breakfast and headed out to a doctor’s appointment before I started trying to come up with a plan. Meanwhile, Gary Civetti called to arrange a meeting in Aster Valley on Monday. They were still in the area and were excited to hear from me. I went ahead with my plans to fly out in the morning so I wouldn’t be tempted to go to the game on Sunday. Even if my parents knew about Tiller and me, I still wasn’t ready to see him put himself in the line of fire against the Steelers.
Once I made my travel arrangements, I grabbed my keys and set off for my parents’ house. I wanted to get it out in the open, tell Mom and Dad that things were real this time. Tiller wasn’t a fling like Nelson had been. He was the real deal. This wasn’t a crush or a lark. This was someone I had true feelings for. I didn’t just like Tiller Raine. I loved him.
I jerked to a stop in the back hallway just as I was reaching for the door to the garage.
My stomach tumbled in crazy loops as the knowledge of my certainty hit me all at once. It was true. I loved Tiller. Desperately.
The breaths came quick and sharp. Oh fucking hell, I’m in love with Tiller Raine.
I reached out and grabbed the wall next to me as my head spun. Why was this such a surprise? I’d had a crush on him for a long time. Even though I’d been in denial most of the five years I’d worked for him, there was no denying how close we’d become in that time.
What if he didn’t feel the same way? I knew he cared about me. He was a kind man, and we were close friends if nothing else. But what if… what if he didn’t care about me like that?
I entered this little janky mental cycle in which I had to remind myself he’d told my father he had feelings for me, and then my brain countered the reminder with all the reasons that probably hadn’t meant what I’d thought it had meant.