Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Follow through is everything.
Whether you’re dealing with children or grown ass folk who are behaving like children, follow through is the most important thing to act on.
One swipe reveals to me a text from an unexpected source.
Berks: Hey you! I’ll be in Dalvegan after turkey day to check out a job offer. Lunch is happening. Don’t even THINK about leaving town before then.
Huh.
Why would I consider that?
Didn’t I come here specifically for this assignment?
My fingers go to type a response when another set of questions Rudolph rushes to the front of my mind.
Should I ask Berkeley for more details about what caused my episode now since I still have no idea and enough time has probably passed?
Or should I not?
Wouldn’t she have brought it up by now if she thought I was ready or it could be helpful?
Ugh.
Why is my brain like this?
And why does it have to complicate the already complicated thing we call existing?!
Contemplative head bounces are attached to my swift reply.
Me: Fuck yeah. Let’s get it on the calendar.
Pleased with my response, I tuck my device back in my pocket and resume the trek past the stairs for Igor’s bedroom.
Maybe the memory will come before she gets here, so I won’t even have to bother asking about it. Or maybe seeing her will trigger something? Or I don’t know…maybe I’ll run the chance of asking her about it face to face that way she can provide more context or clarification than a text rundown probably would.
Arriving in front of the cracked bedroom door unexpectedly stops me in my tracks.
Did he mean to close it and didn’t make sure that it actually did?
Did he mean to leave it open to let me know he was still home?
All of a sudden, unfamiliar, deep, gruff, hums float around the blockade calling to me to slightly push it.
Peek into the more exposed space.
Get a good glimpse of what I can immediately see was not intended for me.
Igor’s enormous, tattooed, naked frame is sprawled out in the center of his bed with one hand tucked behind his head and other slowly stroking his cock.
Or more accurately…a third leg because it feels like a misnomer calling something that long and that thick a dick.
I mean…how does that shit even fit in his boxer briefs?!
Oh! Oh!
How does that shit even fit into the cup he has to wear?!
Knowing that I’m violating his personal space as much as our boss, employee boundaries, leads to me logically commanding myself to leave the situation, yet my bare feet remain planted in place along with every ounce of my attention.
My lifted eyebrows.
My lowered jaw.
In fact, the only thing that’s even bothering to move is my half-hooded gaze that’s diligently studying every movement of his frame like how his bicep is bulging, and the colorful markings on his torso are dancing, and the way his hand is gripping his shaft until the moment it reaches his balls, which is when it smoothly glides down to deliver a delicious pull.
And then another.
And then another that conjures him to make the same delectable, low noise that summoned me here to begin with.
Watching the salacious sound slip past his parted lips to hit my hungry ears results in having to chomp on my inner cheek in order to keep a whimper from escaping into the room.
Igor nonchalantly drags his palm back to his cock and starts jerking, steadily increasing the speed, using the precum that’s leaking from his tip to coat every inch of the territory I wish I was claiming.
Doesn’t matter that I shouldn’t wish it.
I do.
I really fucking do.
And after watching exactly how he does it, my vibrator’s going to feel my frustration too.
Once more, a tiny little niggling occurs in the back of my mind, listing all the things wrong with what I’m doing, demanding I shield my eyes, cover my ears and moonwalk away; however, the second I actually consider creeping backwards, something even more unexpected happens. Igor’s entire body flexes on a throaty whisper, “Joeski…”
“Yeah?” airily leaves my mouth without care or consideration of the consequence prompting my boss’s eyes to snap open at the same time he whips his head to the side.
Oh shit.
Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!
All two hundred plus pounds of muscle are aggressively flung upward along with his dark gray towel – which I didn’t spot earlier during my gawking – to cover his crotch.
Shame swiftly spins me on my heels just as he barks out, “What the f-”
The abrupt, heavy thump of my forehead colliding with the doorframe simultaneously cuts off his haranguing and literally knocks some additional humiliation into me.
Well, Christmas cookies on a platter! If I wasn’t fucking embarrassed before about my behavior, I definitely am now!
Agony filled groans have me shutting one eye, holding the throbbing area with my left hand, and stretching the other out like a walking stick to assist in what has to be the world’s worst criminal escape.