Total pages in book: 181
Estimated words: 177690 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 888(@200wpm)___ 711(@250wpm)___ 592(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177690 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 888(@200wpm)___ 711(@250wpm)___ 592(@300wpm)
The first is that I’m not getting near Aden Smith again, so discussing all of this is a moot point really. The second, and perhaps the scariest, is that Aden didn’t just give me a tune up. I think he probably overhauled my whole engine…
And I may never recover from it.
twelve
aden
Hope didn’t come back last night. I know because I watched for her. I don’t know why I did—but I did. I didn’t change my sheets either. For whatever reason I liked the smell of them, so I kept them. I refuse to believe it’s because they smelled like her. I just like the vanilla scent. If I was going to stay past this week, I’d go get some air fresheners. That’s all there is to the story.
There’s only a few days left now before I leave and I’ve yet to write one word. Which is why I’m staring at the computer, staring at the blank Word screen, trying to think of what to type. Well, that’s not exactly true. I’ve written a hundred-and-one opening lines.
It happened on a cold dark night.
I just had a couple problems. I had no idea what had happened on a cold, dark night and I had no idea where the brilliant stories I had always kept in my mind disappeared to, but they were gone. Just gone.
Fuck.
What if I had thrown away a career and was unable to do anything else? Admittedly it was a career that I had begun to hate in more ways than the English dictionary had words to describe. Still… it was a career, it was income…
I lean back against the headboard and look around the motel. I’ve been a dick. The room really isn’t that bad. I’ve stayed in a lot worse. Hell, some of the shit rooms I stayed in on location make this place look like a palace. I don’t know what it is about White’s cousin… Hope… that makes me act like an asshole, but it’s there.
The night I had her in my bed is kind of a whiskey-filled haze. I can remember parts of it very clearly, however. I remember the taste of her skin, the feel of her hands on my body, the sound of my name on her lips… And definitely the way it felt sliding into her hot, tight depths. You would think I’ve gone years without a woman. It’s been awhile sure, but it has not been so long that I should be jacking off in the shower to the memory of her—which I did just this morning. I should not be wanting her back in my bed—which I do—kind of. I’d probably want her gagged so she couldn’t say shit to piss me off. Or I could feed my dick to her, and fill her mouth up so much that she couldn’t say anything. All she would be able to do is moan around my cock…
My head jerks around when I hear the sound of a vehicle pulling into the graveled parking lot of the hotel. I get up and look out of the window, hiding behind the curtain. Hope gets out, she’s wearing cut off jean shorts that caress her ass, her hair is pulled up on the top of her head and she’s got on a bright orange top. She looks thrown together, but her legs are tanned, her ass curved and she’s packing some serious tits. Tits I’ve held and sucked…
She’s real.
Those are the words that come to mind. She’s real. She’s unlike any other woman I’ve dealt with. That’s proved further when she helps her son out of the backseat of her small car. Almost her whole body leans into the car to unbuckle him, leaving her ass sticking out; and I’m so far under some kind of spell with her that all I can imagine is fucking her in that position, slamming into her over and over so that her breasts sway with each thrust. Immediately, the semi-hard-on that I’ve kept since she left my bed goes full-on hard. So hard it’s physically painful.
Jesus. What the hell did she do to me? Is her pussy laced with drugs? Something to make me crave it? I don’t know what the hell is going on, but it has to stop. I step away from the window, letting the curtain fall back, just as she emerges from the car holding her son close to her body. Her hand goes up to brush through his hair and that’s the last thing I see. It was a sweet touch. A good touch. One that proves she’s probably a good mother.
A good mother who climbed into my bed so she could bag the Hollywood star… I can’t forget that.
There’s just one problem with that line of thinking….
Hope doesn’t know who I am.