Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 34166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Locke let me take over. He watched, he waited, and he played the entire time, his thumb pressing into my mouth for me to suck on before dragging it down my body and landing on my clit, his other hand cupping my breast, squeezing it hard enough to leave marks, his marks.
I kept at it, lifting up and dropping down, swiveling my hips, moving my hands to the tops of his thighs, arching my back, and when I came, it was long, it was explosive, and it didn’t come as a shock to me when Locke took over, hammering into my body before coming deep inside me. It also didn’t come as a surprise to me when he laid me on my back and slowly left my body, watching our combined cum leak from between my spread thighs, then thoroughly cleaned me before climbing into bed beside me.
I’m so lost in thought, I don’t remember finishing my tasks. I’m in a daze, going through the motions, and while I’m usually a coffee-before-anything morning type of person, the thought of eating or drinking makes my stomach queasy. I slide my feet into a pair of shoes I keep near the door, not the ones I wear at the bar but a clog style. The beeping of the horn reminds me that the gate is closed, and I need to grab the extra remote Locke leaves on the small entry table.
“Shit,” I mutter, forgetting I need my purse and the keys to lock the house. I fumble with my things, nearly dropping half the shit I have in my hands, refusing to let go of my phone, which is dumb. I know it’s dumb. The person who called me, who hasn’t shared what’s going on, is waiting only two hundred feet away. I take a deep breath, hit the button on the remote, and when I hear the machine whir to life, I toss it in my big satchel. With one less thing in my hand, I’m able to close and lock the door. Still, I keep my phone in my hand, waiting for Locke to call or text me, and the longer I don’t hear from him, the more I worry.
“Mom, please tell me what’s going on.” I booked it from the front porch to her car once she pulled in. I’m barely inside when she puts the car in Reverse and backs out.
“It’s Locke. He’s in the hospital. There’s was an accident. I don’t know the logistics, only that I saw on the news there was a big pile-up, Locke’s truck was struck, and when I called Vanessa, she told me he was heading into surgery. They were at the hospital and waiting for the doctor to give them an update.” Mom white-knuckles the steering wheel. I press the pretend gas pedal and stay completely silent. I don’t ask questions. I don’t cry. What I do is think about how much Locke means to me and how I haven’t said what I should have all along, what we both should have said. Fuck, this should not be happening, not to the greatest man I’ve ever known.
14
Locke
The beeping noise is the first thing I wake up to; the smell of antiseptic is the second, and it’s cluing me in on the fact that I’m in bed at the hospital.
“Fucking shit,” I grumble, attempting to move into a more comfortable position, an impossible undertaking given the situation. The last thing I remember is the blaring of a horn and the screeching of tires. I knew the possibilities of risk involved with my job but never thought it’d touch me like it did today. Like most people or men, I thought I was invincible. Apparently, I’m not, and today, it showed me exactly how fucking lucky I am. I’d been rigging up the car I’d been taking care of, a wreck due to poor visibility with dense fog. When I got onto the scene, it was mass chaos, not out of the ordinary considering how many cars were involved.
The screaming and shouting from others had me moving with a fierceness, and still, it wasn’t enough. I’d been on the ground and barely got out of the way before a box truck came careening toward me. My side took the brunt of it, or so I thought.
“I better go get your mother. She went to grab a cup of coffee. Couldn’t stand to sit still while waiting for you to wake up. That woman has zero patience, never has and probably never will,” Dad says, standing up from his chair.
“Need my phone and for you to tell me what all this is about first.”
“Clearly, you’ve been in surgery. You got lucky, really fucking lucky. No punctured lungs or organs. You were able to move all of your limbs, another fucking thing to be thankful for. The impact, well, that fractured a fuck of a lot. The concrete barrier is what your body hit, and why you’re all fucked up.” That would explain the pain I’m feeling. I shift the sheets off, move the hospital gown out of the way, and see not only the bruising but also the road rash. “Your proximal humerus—the bone that’s in the upper part near the shoulder—was displaced. You needed what the doctor called an open reduction and internal fixation. In simple terms, they put a titanium plate in to hold the bone together.” Dad swallows, glancing at me before he continues. “Your elbow is worse than they first thought. An olecranon fracture. The bone was pulled apart by the tendon. For that, you needed surgical screws to stabilize the joint.”