Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
The woman riding my dick like her life depended on it threw her head back and cried out, her bright red hair flying through the air as she arched her back and sank down on me one last time. Now I could follow, and one thing was for fucking sure—the train was probably going to derail from the force of it.
A ringing sound roused me from the best dream I’d had in a long time. I groaned and shoved away the pillow that was covering half of my face. When I grabbed my phone to turn off the alarm, there was no Stop button.
“The fuck?” I muttered, the ringing sound still going strong and my erection tenting the bedsheet.
Finally, it registered. It wasn’t my phone’s alarm; it was my doorbell. My downtown twelfth-floor condo had a doorbell that sounded like a gong through every inch of the apartment. And whoever was ringing it every two seconds seemed determined to wake me up from my epic dream.
I got up and pulled on the jeans I’d left on the floor, preparing myself to fight whoever was on the other side of the door. It was probably Lars, wanting to work out and go get breakfast on our only morning off in a while. We’d just returned from a long road trip, and I’d stayed up late last night playing video games because I wanted to sleep in today.
Just in case it was one of my neighbors, I put on a T-shirt right before heading out of my bedroom. The doorbell kept ringing.
Every. Two. Seconds. Someone had a death wish.
“Fuck, I’m coming,” I grumbled.
I unlocked my door and opened it, not finding anyone there to scowl at.
“Hi,” a small voice said.
I looked down and there was a little boy staring up at me, a stuffed elephant clutched under his arm.
“Oh, thank god,” a female voice said.
When I focused on the speaker, who was getting up from her position sitting on the floor against the hallway wall, my jaw dropped.
It was my sister, Emma. Her hair was lighter and her face was thinner, and even though I was pissed at her for being out of contact with the family for so long, I was also relieved to see she was okay.
“Can we come in?” she asked.
“Uh…” I shook myself from the daze I was in. “Yeah, come in.”
The boy walked inside, but I stepped in front of Emma before she could enter.
“Who is that?” I whispered. “Is that your kid?”
“Yeah, he’s my son, Joey.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “How the fuck do you not tell your family you have a kid, Em? Do you have any idea how devastated Mom”
“Mikey, don’t.” Her hazel eyes swam with emotion. “I can’t do this right now. I need help.”
I assumed the help she needed could come by cash or check. And now that I knew she had a kid to support, everything had changed. I couldn’t tell her to come back when she had her shit together.
“Okay.” I stepped aside. “Come in.”
Her face was etched with guilt and fatigue. Emma liked to say she had wanderlust, but what she really had was an inability to stick. When a job got stressful, or a relationship got tough, she moved on. My parents had tried to send her to college, but during first semester, Emma took off with a guy to travel the country in his van.
I didn’t have to know anything about Joey to know he probably hadn’t had an easy life.
“Joey, this is your Uncle Mikey,” Emma said to him, getting down on her knees to help him take off his lined hoodie. “Should we see if he has snacks?”
“Can I have breakfast?” he asked.
It was after ten in the morning and the poor kid hadn’t had breakfast. I swallowed my frustration for his sake.
“I can make you some bacon and eggs,” I said. “Or pancakes.”
“All of it,” he said, his eyes brightening.
“You got it.”
Emma led her son to the couch in my living room.
“Baby, Uncle Mikey and I are going to make breakfast while you watch a show, okay?”
He nodded. Emma grabbed my remote and looked up at me.
“How do you work this thing?”
“You want to watch a show or play a video game?” I asked Joey. “I have Mario Brothers.”
“He’s only four. He doesn’t play video games,” Emma said.
“Mario,” Joey said.
I turned on the game and passed him a controller. His face lit up as he settled into the back of the couch and pushed buttons.
Emma followed me into the kitchen, where I started a pot of coffee before saying anything.
“I’m sorry to just drop in on you like this,” she said.
I opened the fridge and got out bacon, eggs, butter, and milk, possible responses flying through my mind. Much as I wanted to, I couldn’t dismiss my anger. She’d hurt our entire family.