Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
It touches me in the deepest of places that she wants that connection when I’m gone.
Her neck twists, and she smiles at me over her shoulder. “You’re home.”
“I’m home,” I reply, setting my duffel on the floor and closing the door. I immediately start for her, the only thing between us the damn kitchen island.
“Wait!” she exclaims, holding out a hand as she faces me. She glances back, clicks off the flame under whatever she’s cooking—which smells delicious, by the way, but I’m not interested in food. When she turns back, her fingers go to the top button on my flannel shirt. “I have something to show you.”
“If it’s under that flannel,” I reply, my eyes pinned on her hands, “don’t bother with the strip tease. I can’t handle it.”
Harlow laughs and works at the buttons, quickly as asked. My pulse hammers, and when she pulls open the shirt, I’m disappointed to see another shirt underneath. It appears to be the exact white T-shirt I’d worn under it, and I think it’s sweet and sexy she wanted to wear that too.
Shrugging out of the flannel, she tosses it aside. That’s good enough for me. I start once again toward her.
“Wait,” she commands, rolling her eyes. “So impatient.”
“I haven’t seen you in two days,” I grumble. “I’m more than impatient.”
“Oh, you’ll thank me later for making you wait,” she says mysteriously.
Then turning once again toward the stove, she grabs something from the counter. It’s a large, glass pitcher filled with ice water. “This is for you.”
“Not thirsty,” I say with a pointed look at it.
“You will be,” she promises, and then I’m stunned when she tips her head back, holds the pitcher above her chest, and slowly pours the ice water over herself. Ice hits the hollow of her throat, water pours down her chest, and the white T-shirt becomes translucent, molding to the outline of her breasts. The freezing water causes her nipples to pucker and pop against the thin cotton.
My dick swells to rock-hard proportions, and I remember… the gay bar wet T-shirt contest Brooks wrote about. I’d teased her about it once, told her I wanted to hear more about that story.
And now, here she is, showing me.
“God, if I’m dreaming… nobody better fucking wake me up.” There’s no stopping me now. I stride through the kitchen, around the counter, and come toe-to-toe with her. Once around the counter, I can see she’s wearing nothing else other than the wet T-shirt. It’s contoured to her front, and she might as well not be wearing it because I can see every inch of her body through the soaked fabric.
What a fucking homecoming.
But she’s not finished as her hands work fast at my belt, button, and zipper, and before I can process her intention, she’s on her knees with my length in her mouth.
“Jesus, Harlow,” I bark, my hands going to the side of her head. She sucks and licks and I’m so crazed with lust, I’m about to embarrass myself.
I’ll probably hate myself later, but I gently push her off and lift her up from kneeling so I can kiss her. I pull her into me, the wet material soaking my shirt, but I don’t care. Her tongue in my mouth is exactly what I need. My hands move to her ass and press her pelvis tight against my aching cock.
“I missed you,” I mumble against her mouth.
“Missed you more.”
Just as I’m about to pick Harlow up and carry her into the bedroom, something cold and wet brushes against me, and then Odin is pushing his way in between us with that big block head of his.
This dog is ridiculous, but I’m strangely not irritated with him. In fact, I find myself laughing as Harlow and I break apart.
“Odin,” Harlow says in a chastising tone, but I hold up my hand.
“I got this.”
Harlow cocks an eyebrow and smirks at me.
Feeling stupid with my dick hanging out, I tuck it back in before squatting down before Odin. I put my hands to the sides of his head, much the way I do with Harlow when I want to hold her captive for a kiss.
I have no intention of kissing Odin, but I do look him straight in the eye, hoping he won’t eat my face if he doesn’t like what I have to say.
“Listen, buddy,” I say, rubbing his fur. “I love your mom. And I need alone time with her. You get far more time with her than I do, so how about giving me this one?”
Odin stares at me, as if requiring more.
“I promise to take you on an extra-long walk later, and I’ll sneak you some food when your mom isn’t watching.”
Apparently, the dog understands English, because his tongue lolls out, and before I can move, he slurps the front of my face from chin, across my lips, over my nose, and right to my forehead.