Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27101 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27101 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Oreo, on the other hand, is a fucking drama queen. He meows and circles, then tries to climb my leg like a tree. I pop the tab on the can and spoon out the food, dropping a blob into his bowl. Oreo sniffs it, snorts, then starts eating with the delicacy of a food critic at a Michelin-starred restaurant.
I’m barely awake, but my hands are working on autopilot. The first time I did this, it was a disaster—I spilled kibble everywhere, got the wrong bowl, forgot to turn on the TV, which, as it turns out, is not allowed. Oh no. These two divas need The Big Bang Theory playing in the background whenever possible.
It didn’t take me long to learn how to move around the kitchen like I belong here. I know which sponge Isla likes, where she keeps the good coffee, what brand of almond milk she drinks in her morning smoothies. It’s all burned into my brain.
The remote is on the counter next to the fruit bowl. I hit the power button and The Big Bang Theory lights up the TV. Alfred shuffles over and plants himself in front of the screen, the way Isla told me he always does, while Oreo curls up on the couch, tail flicking with every punchline. I pour myself a glass of water and watch them for a minute, feeling… I don’t know what I’m feeling, but it’s something huge and weird and terrifying.
It’s domestic. That’s the word. Domestic. It should scare the shit out of me, but instead it feels like the world is finally spinning in the right direction. Maybe this is what happens when you let someone in—she brings her animals, her routines, her neurotic sticky notes, and her favorite show, and suddenly it all fits.
I lean against the counter and just watch the animals do their thing. It’s simple, and it’s messy, and I’m addicted to it.
I leave the TV running and the kitchen exactly the way Isla likes it—dishes in the dishwasher, counters wiped, food containers closed tight—and I sneak back down the hallway toward the bedroom.
Just before I open the door, I look back at the living room. The early light, the sound of the TV, the sight of a cat and a dog who have, for reasons unknown, accepted me as their provider.
I never thought I’d want this. Now I don’t know how to live without it.
I close the bedroom door behind me, careful not to make a sound.
Inside the bedroom, it’s dim and cool. The blinds cut the sunlight into thin, harmless blades across the foot of the bed. Isla’s on her stomach now, hair a shield over her face, the sheet barely covering the curve of her ass. Her body is a goddamn work of art—soft where I want it, strong where I need it, and so familiar already that it hurts. I climb into bed next to her, careful not to wake her, and just… look.
Her lips are open a little, the softest snore escaping every third breath. There’s a tiny freckle on her ear, right where it meets her jaw, and the way her hair falls, it half-hides it. I reach out and tuck the hair behind her ear, just so I can see it again. Her lashes flutter, but she doesn’t wake.
I could do this all day. Just watch her breathe. I know that makes me sound like a total stalker, but fuck it. I’m totally addicted to my girl. She’s never this peaceful when she’s awake—she’s always thinking, moving, plotting, never content to just be. But asleep? She’s vulnerable. And I’m the only one who gets to see her like this.
I lean in and press my lips to the back of her neck, soft as a whisper. Her skin is warm and still tastes like her perfume. I trail kisses down to her shoulder, then up behind her ear, nosing aside the hair to nuzzle that freckle. She hums in her sleep and stretches, rolling onto her side, the sheet dropping away from her chest. Her nipple is just visible in the shadows, and I swear it hardens when my breath ghosts over it.
She mumbles something and buries her face in the pillow. I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her close, letting my hand rest on the curve of her hip. I feel her heartbeat, slow and steady, and just lie there for a second, soaking it in.
Then I start again, a little more insistent. I kiss the line of her collarbone, the hollow at the base of her throat, the spot behind her ear that makes her shiver even when she’s asleep. She arches into me, her back pressing to my chest, her ass snug against my hard cock.
She starts to wake for real, her breath coming faster. Her eyelids twitch, and then slowly, reluctantly, she peels one eye open. She looks at me over her shoulder, her gaze unfocused, her hair half in her face.