Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
I love our size difference. I don’t have to be strong with him, emotionally or physically. He’ll take care of all my needs. He’s already proven to be a man I can depend on—in and out of the bedroom.
My mind, body, and soul embrace this feeling, all of them. Wholly.
This is love in its purest form.
My head spins from the emotional strings attached to this man, my body spiraling toward a sensual end . . . and then darkness comes too fast and shrouds my thoughts. I sink into the mattress, lying still other than the rise and lowering of my chest. I just want to feel, to live here in this moment for a bit longer.
When I exhale, my breathing evens with his as he moves to my side and kisses my shoulder, back to how it all began. “I’m so in—” He stops himself, and the heaviness of the exhale has me turning to look at him. With his eyes still closed, he rubs his fingers across his forehead. A deal gone wrong. His puppy was stolen. Got a late notice from the electric company? Those reasons seem more fitting for his reaction than the aftermath of having sex with me.
“You’re so in what?”
His eyes are closed, his troubles clenching them shut. He finally opens them to see me watching him. “Nothing, babe. I’m just tired.”
I keep staring at him until I realize he’s not going to say more. If he wanted to tell me, he would. “I’m going to the bathroom,” I announce as if I must. Flipping the covers back, I climb out to slink into the en suite. I use the toilet, then wash my hands while catching a glimpse of my appearance in the mirror.
My skin looks washed out and in need of reviving. I’m used to the humidity and heat of Texas. It feels slightly drier here. It’s kind of BS that I’m not all glowy after having the best sex of my life with the man of my dreams multiple times over the past twelve hours, and the day has barely gotten started.
When I turn, my muscles ache between my legs. No surprise. He’s discovering new unchartered territory every time he goes exploring. Cracking the door open, I poke my head out. “Do you mind if I take a bath?”
He peeks his eyes open. “You don’t have to ask.”
I smile, though it feels more fake than genuine, and I don’t know why. “Thanks.” I close the door and run the water. After twisting my hair up, I take the soap from the shower because I like the smell. It’s not feminine or masculine. It’s just clean and fresh. Perks of being in a building—instant hot water. I wait forever for it to heat up at home. I’m going to be so spoiled I won’t be able to stand myself after this trip.
I pour the liquid shower wash under the running water, letting it bubble in the bath before I dip one foot and then the other. As soon as the water touches my inner thighs, I flinch, holding myself by the sides of the tub until I get used to it. I slowly lower my body under the water and lean my head back against the porcelain.
Running my hand over my body, I take careful inventory of each muscle that aches. I shouldn’t be so happy about something like pain, but I do find myself amused with the soreness I’m discovering, and I wouldn’t trade the activities that created the issue for anything.
A light knock on the door has me look over my shoulder. “Come in.” When Tagger enters, I smile at the sight of him. Sleep still shapes his expression; his eyelids hang a bit lower and broodier, his lips freshly licked, which I get to enjoy at the tail end, and his hair a reckless mess on top of his head. It’s grown out a little since I last saw him. It’s not so tamed these days. I approve of this look on him. Very much. “It’s your apartment, you know?”
“I didn’t want to intrude if you wanted time alone.” Dressed in boxer briefs, he sits on the floor next to me.
I rest my arm over the side of the tub. He takes it as the offering it’s meant to be and holds my hand between both of his. “I can ride a horse all day long, and nothing is tender. I ride a cowboy, and I’m sore for days. Make it make sense.”
“I think we’re using different muscles.”
“I think you’re right.” I roll to the side, resting my arm on the edge of the tub to pillow my chin as a heaviness comes over me. Exhaustion? The lying to everyone back home weighing on me? Or . . .
He runs his hand over my neck to my shoulder and massages. It feels so good that I close my eyes, enjoying the distraction from the aches and pains, but it doesn’t clear my head. “How are you feeling, babe?” His voice is lower, befitting the early morning hour.