Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Motherfucking asshole,” I snarl, even as I can still feel tiny pulses of pleasure between my legs when I move.
I put on my shoe, look at the bird feeders I’ve taken down, the ones still in the trees, and the salt licks in a pile.
“Fuck him.” I decide that I’m not doing another damn thing to clean up this mess. He can call the police for all I care.
I stomp over to the cooler he left behind, snatch a cold beer, and twist off the cap. As I take a drink, I vow that I’m going to do everything in my power to win this lawsuit. I’m going to cut down every damn tree and wipe that smirk off his face, then I’m going to pursue my dreams and forget about my awful neighbor.
CHAPTER 9
Coen
My dick is so fucking hard it hurts. I don’t know what in the hell I was thinking out there, but Tilden Marshall is one lucky girl. If I’d had my wallet on me with a trusty condom tucked inside, I would have taken her down to the ground and fucked her brains out.
Kissing her to shut her up.
Putting my hand in her pants to shock her.
Eating her pussy because I wanted to own her with an orgasm.
That may have been the hottest thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve done some seriously kinky things.
It wasn’t just about control. What made it beyond hot was who she is. A slightly weird, completely annoying woman who’s not my type and who should be intimidated by me but isn’t. She’s got a fire deep within her that I enjoy provoking, and as I walk into my house, I don’t know that I’ve ever been more disappointed in my life not to be able to bury myself deep inside a woman.
The second the sliding glass door closes behind me, I head straight into the master bathroom. When the shower is steaming hot, I step in naked and grip my aching cock.
I stroke it slowly, pressing my other palm against the tile as water beats down on my neck. I replay that entire scene in my head. I relive every single detail within my memory as I fuck my fist.
As I’m envisioning the way Tilden orgasmed, hips bucking, her hoarse cries of pleasure, I come long and hard with a piteous groan of relief.
“Fuck,” I gasp.
Christ, that felt good.
Since the crash, I haven’t been with a woman. Only me and my trusty hand whipping out pitifully dull orgasms and feeling like shit about it after.
But that?
That left my legs shaky and my body feeling a satisfaction I’d long forgotten. I’m not sure I could have handled fucking her out in the yard. Probably would have come the moment I sank into her.
I release my spent dick and turn around to face the spray. I let it hit my face, washing her essence away, although I can still taste her on my tongue.
God, she tasted good.
I want to do that again, but it’s the sudden realization that to do so would imply there’s something between us.
And there’s not.
There can’t be.
She’s not only my opponent in a legal battle, but I’m not interested in any type of relationship. Not interested in friends, lovers, or even family. Certainly not interested in a fuck buddy.
Not really.
I mean… she’s as close as I’d consider.
Mentally chastising myself, I step out of the shower. After I’m dressed, I head onto the back deck.
Tilden is gone, and I see she’s left the bird feeders and stakes behind. I know without a doubt she’s not coming back for them.
With a sigh, I resolve to finish the cleanup. I won’t call the cops. Never would have, to be honest. And truthfully, it was a little shitty the way I’d just walked away, so I’ll give her a pass.
A chipmunk sits on the deck railing and when I walk out, he makes no move to scamper away. I walk by him slowly, and he just watches me.
At the bottom of the steps, I see plastic bags of birdseed and nuts. I expect Tilden meant to take them home, but she’s not coming back for them.
I glance at the chipmunk watching me, his little tail aflutter.
My eyes fall to the bag of peanuts still in their shells.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Chiding my weakness, I bend over and open the bag. I grab a handful and place them on the railing at the top of the steps. I move down to the ground and watch as the chipmunk darts forward and stuffs two in his mouth, one in each cheek pocket. Without an ounce of fear, he scampers down the sloping rail that runs along the steps, straight at me. Then he leaps to the ground, hangs a sharp left, and darts under bushes twenty yards away.