Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75478 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75478 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“I… do puzzles or… color…” she said, her hand creeping up from her heart to her throat.
“Color, huh?” I asked, popping up. “Give me one second,” I said, rushing out of the room and into the common area.
“What are you looking for?” Brooks asked, brows pinched, as I dug around in the box we stored shit for the kids in.
“This,” I declared, finding and waving the box of washable markers at him.
With that, I turned and made my way back to my bedroom, moving in and closing the door.
“Let’s color,” I said, placing the markers next to Bonnie on the bed.
“Paper,” she said, exhaling hard.
“That, I didn’t grab. But no worries. I have a canvas for you.”
Then I turned and pulled off my shirt, showing her the tattoo that covered almost my entire back. Just the outline. I’d never gotten around to filling in the color.
Now, that suddenly felt like the best decision I’d ever made.
“Work your magic on me, Monet,” I said, dropping down across the end of the bed on my stomach.
I could have found paper.
There were probably even coloring books in the same box as the markers.
But I figured that maybe having an unconventional canvas might help pull her out of her panic better than something she was accustomed to.
I was seriously starting to wonder if I’d fucked up as a minute or two passed without her moving.
Then, little by little, she unfolded from herself.
The lid of the cardboard box slid open.
A marker cap popped.
Then she was leaning over me.
One of her hands moved to press against my shoulder as the marker tip kissed my skin.
And I realized a little too late that maybe this wasn’t a great idea after all as desire fucking soared through my body.
But there was no going back now.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bonnie
I’d been prone to nightmares as long as I could remember. I used to wake up screaming as a little girl, my body unable to tell the difference between dreaming of being chased by a clown with a meat cleaver and the reality of it.
I would wake up in fight-or-flight. And without parents to give a damn—save for occasionally busting in to tell me to quit my crying or they’d give me something to cry about—I just spiraled.
Honestly, it was probably a big source of all of my anxiety as an adult.
But the nightmares persisted. Though, the older I got, the less I dreamed about things like clowns, and the more they tended to involve subliminal manifestations of my conscious fears.
Like being forced to speak in front of a crowd, or being chased through the streets, or even having someone break into my place at night.
Before right then, there’d never been a basis in reality to harp on.
I couldn’t have anticipated how strongly I would dream of the man who abducted and nearly killed me.
It was like being back there.
Except everything was heightened, dragged out, intensified.
I woke up with a cry. But the panic was already in full effect. Thundering heart, choking sensation, the cold sweat. All of it.
Then there was Sully.
He was playing it light, but I saw the concern in his bright eyes. That was… surprisingly attractive. I always thought that having a panic attack was one of the most embarrassing things possible. The idea of having one in front of a man—let alone an insanely attractive man—was horrifying.
But Sully didn’t seem to judge.
He just jumped into action.
He brought me markers.
Then offered me his back tattoo as a canvas.
I was sure I wouldn’t do it. I mean, I hardly knew this guy. It was awkward to touch him all over. Except… he wasn’t making it awkward.
So I reached for the markers and opened the top, smiling to myself as I found that every single one of the markers had the wrong colored cap on, likely placed by little hands that didn’t know better, or ones who were too impatient with their clean up to care.
I moved up onto my knees and crawled across the bed toward Sully.
My mind flashed with the memory of him reaching to pull off his shirt, showing me a surprisingly fit chest and torso for just a second before he moved to rest on his belly on the bed for me.
Heat surged through my body as I leaned over him, resting a hand on his shoulder to steady myself, then pressing the nub of the marker against his skin.
His back piece was massive, covering almost every inch of skin in an outline from shoulder to shoulder and all the way down to his waistband. It was one cohesive piece of art but featured so many different elements. Up near his shoulders were clouds and a sun setting over a town full of houses. Moving downward, there was a ship in the center, an eagle, swords, a compass, a snake, and some flowers and foliage.