Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 17988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 90(@200wpm)___ 72(@250wpm)___ 60(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 90(@200wpm)___ 72(@250wpm)___ 60(@300wpm)
"Tom, I-I'm coming. Tom!"
His curled finger pressing inside me while his tongue flicks and circles my clit makes my entire world narrow to this moment, this sensation, and this man on his knees making me fall apart. He sucks lightly on my clit, again and again, and I lose it — then taps rapidly with two fingers until I'm shaking.
"Oh God, oh God. Yes!"
I come so hard my legs wobble, limp and boneless. My chest heaves, and I smile as the orgasm recedes. My head falls backward. Eyes see the ceiling but hardly register where I am. Tom's hands catch me, hold me up, keep me exactly where I am.
Maybe where I belong.
5
TOM
Three hours since I left her apartment, and I can still taste her. That's the problem. Not that it happened—though that's also a problem—but that I can't stop running my tongue over my bottom lip trying to find the ghost of it.
Tate kicked me out. Literally pushed me toward the door with her hands still shaking and her face still flushed. She said she had a delivery coming, which was the worst lie I've ever heard, and I've heard a lot of lies. I let her kick me out because I was still slightly dazed myself.
So I left, came back to Sullivan's, and poured whiskey for breakfast.
Jason takes one look at me and starts laughing.
"Shut the fuck up, Jason."
"I didn't say anything."
"You're thinking it."
Jason wipes down the bar, smirking. "I'm thinking a lot of things right now, man."
I drain the whiskey and pour another. The burn doesn't help.
"So." Jason waggles his eyebrows. "Want to tell me what happened, or should I just keep guessing?"
"Nothing happened."
"Right. That's why you've been staring at her window more than usual."
"I haven't—"
"Man, if you're gonna lie, at least make it believable."
I'm going to kill him. Slowly. But I think about Sarah and their baby and decide to let it go … for now. "Maybe I'm just watching the construction."
"The construction stopped an hour ago, and it was just a carpenter fixing the shelves." Jason's grin widens. "But nice try."
I turn back to the bottles behind the bar, reorganizing them even though they're already organized.
"Something happened to her window?"
My hand stops on a bottle of Jack. "Yeah, Marianne happened."
"Wait, what? What the fuck? Is that why you're drinking this early, and you look like someone kicked your dog?" Jason goes quiet as I recall the events earlier. That's worse than the teasing—when Jason goes quiet, it means he's genuinely pissed. "She did what?"
"You heard me."
"And you told her to leave Tate alone?"
"I told her a lot of things. Not like she has ever listened to me."
Jason runs his hand over his face. "Jesus Christ. I knew Marianne was a piece of work, but that's … Did you call the cops?"
"Tate didn't want to."
"Tate, huh? First name basis now?"
"Shut up."
"What did you tell her?
"Everything." I pour a third whiskey, realize what I'm doing, and put the bottle away. "Marianne. Why she's doing this. What happened between us."
Jason whistles low. "And then?"
"And then nothing."
"Tom."
"Marianne left."
"After?"
My skin prickles hot from collar to chin, probably even the tips of my ears. Jason's gaze flicks down my neck then back to my face, and his eyes widen, the slow, dawning realization, the pieces locking together.
"Holy shit, my brother in Christ."
"Fuck off."
"You didn't."
"Jason—"
"You absolutely did." He's laughing now, full-on laughing. "You kissed her! Is that why—"
"If you finish that sentence, you're fired or dead. Maybe even in that order."
"You can't fire me. I'm the only person who puts up with your grumpy ass. So what now?"
"Now nothing."
"That's not gonna work."
"It has to work."
"Why?"
Because I don't know how to do this. Because everyone leaves eventually. Because the last time I let someone in, she tried to destroy everything I built.
Jason watches me for a long moment and sighs. "Sarah's gonna love this story."
"Don't you dare."
"Too late. I'm already texting her." He holds up his phone, grinning. "I bet she'll say you're an idiot, but she'll be rooting for you."
"Your wife has terrible taste."
"She married me, didn't she? Look, man. I don't actually need the details, and I'm not gonna push. But Marianne crossed a line. A big one. And if Tate knows about it and didn't run screaming, she's a keeper."
"Or it means she feels sorry for me."
"Have you met Tate?" Jason shakes his head. "That woman doesn't do pity. She does spite. I mean, she did frame that form."
He's not wrong.
My gaze snags at Tate's window and sees men carrying the display case from the back room. The industrial coffee machine comes next, and yeah, it's bigger than mine. Shinier. More expensive. State-of-the-art espresso maker.
Tate walks out to meet the delivery guys. She's changed clothes—jeans, Vans slip-ons, hair with a bright pink headband that's so aggressively cheerful it makes my teeth hurt.