Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Once I introduce her to Griffin, she tells him she’d like something on her chest. “I was thinking a pair of dice right here would be fun.” She pulls down the neck of her shirt, exposing some cleavage. “Right above the nipple.” More giggling follows.
Of course, it’s not uncommon for people to have intimate areas tattooed, but for some reason, her request makes me feel like someone’s reached into my stomach and squeezed something.
“All right. I can set up a privacy screen,” Griffin explains. “And since your shirt doesn’t have buttons, you’ll need to take it off, but we can use a cloth to cover your other half while I’m working.”
The woman waves a hand. “No worries, I’m not shy.”
Ignoring the fact that my face is suddenly hot, I get back to work while Griffin gets Jennifer set up. What I can’t ignore is the way the woman giggles and flirts her way through the next hour. From what I can hear, the flirtations don’t cross any lines, but they’re still enough to make my blood boil.
I keep imagining his hand on her bare breast, and every time, it hits me like a physical blow.
Meanwhile, Griffin sounds like his typical charming self. I know it’s just his normal demeanor, and he’s not actually flirting with her, but it still hurts. And I have no right to be hurt.
I’m still irritated—mostly at myself—when my boss Gage comes in later that day. He visits our location once a week or so, and usually he gives advance notice, but today he walks in unexpectedly.
“I was over on this side of town to pick up a particular little something for Lexy at the jewelry store up the road, and figured I’d stop in,” he explains.
He receives nods of greeting from the three artists, who are all busy with clients, and then he asks me to follow him back to the office.
It’s a room I’ve been spending as little time in as possible, because the combination of lust and guilt that I feel whenever I’m in there is not pleasant. Walking in with Gage dials the lust way back, but amps the guilt up to a thousand.
In my mind’s eye, I’m draped bare on the desk, Griffin is poised over me, and my boss is witnessing it all. My stomach churns the whole time we review inventory and sales reports.
I can’t go on like this.
That evening, I do my usual study session at the coffee shop, and when I get home, the house is quiet.
Zeb’s in the kitchen, making something that smells amazing, and I pause for a moment, watching his practiced movements, the muscles in his arms flexing, the same quiet confidence he brings to his work at the shop. The slightest sight of any of the men’s bodies gets me hot these days, but seeing their creativity in action is especially exciting.
When I finally move away from the kitchen, I pass by the sliding glass door to the back yard. Frank is there with his shirt off, working on one of his sculptures, dappled sunlight gleaming off his muscles. He looks like a work of art himself, the personification of male beauty, his body so strong and hard, and I’m nearly knocked over by the overwhelming impulse to go out and run my hands over every inch of him.
A large pair of wings, inked in black with touches of red, span his bare chest. I’ve gotten glimpses of the top of the design when he’s worn certain shirts, but now I have the chance to admire it in all its glory. Glorious is definitely an apt description.
I stand there gaping at him for far too long, and the more I watch his hands manipulate the clay, the more I want those hands on me. I don’t know how I’m going to move beyond my attraction to these men when I’m surrounded by them almost every waking hour. I’ve been scanning the roommate ads online, thinking I might be able to find another shared situation that would let me move sooner, but so far nothing has been suitable.
In the meantime, I need to spend some more quality time with my vibrator.
But after I go to my room and lock my door, I realize my toy is nowhere to be seen. I search the bedroom and bathroom, even though I know I haven’t misplaced it. It’s just … gone.
It takes me a moment, but then I remember that I know exactly who to blame when things disappear at work. Stomach tightening, I go into Griffin’s room. His bed, with its rumpled sheets, makes me quiver deep inside. I’m glad he’s out tonight.
His acoustic guitar sits on its stand in a corner. He often plays it in the evening, sometimes for all of us, sometimes alone in his room. I love listening to him, both his playing and his voice.