Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Nah.” I paused in adjusting the bed’s position to shake my head at him. “I’m just a guy handy with a drill and a paintbrush.”
“If this were one of those complete a remodel in a weekend shows, you’d win every time.” He continued to glance around, taking in the now sky-blue walls, gleaming white trim, new ceiling fan that replaced the decades-old dusty fixture, and refreshed furnishings. He’d made the barest of protests over my color choices, but the small smile he got every time he stepped through the door was worth the fight.
“Ha. I could have my own show. Knox Knocks it Down. I could be a star.”
“You could.” Walking into the room, he carried the lamp I’d sent him to fetch from downstairs. By cobbling together unused items from various rooms in the house, I’d created a whole new look with very little cash outlay.
“Your belief in me is admirable. And sexy.” Being able to openly flirt with Monroe while we worked was a new pleasure, and his blushes were almost as good as his compliments.
“I’d call you a praise whore, but most of it is well-earned.”
“Most of?” I adjusted the lamp from where he’d set it, centering it on a small end table I’d repurposed as a nightstand. A quick ten-minute touch-up with turquoise spray paint had given it a more modern look, and the art deco lamp completed the mix of old and new that gave the whole space a fresh vibe.
“Okay, okay. All of you is worthy of praise.” He gave me a heated look that made my bare toes curl against the fluffy rug I’d found lurking in the spare bathroom’s closet. “And don’t make me think about sex right now.”
“There’s a bad time to think about sex?” I located the bags of bedding waiting to make up the bed. We’d cut more costs by adding a premium mattress topper to the existing older bed in the room and swapped out the eighteen hundreds-looking brass headboard for a more modern blue fabric padded number I’d spotted in the clearance aisle of the discount place.
“We’re almost done, right, boss? Then we can break and have all the sexy thoughts you want.” Without being asked, Monroe joined me in opening the sheets, mattress pad, and pillows packages.
“I do love being the boss.” My smug tone had him laughing with me.
“You’re good at that too.” Monroe’s expression went from heated to more thoughtful. “You’d make a good boss of a small business.”
“I would.” I liked how he’d stated it as a fact, not a question about my intentions regarding my dilemma over my future. So far, Monroe was the only person I’d truly opened up to about my decision, and he reinforced my trust by the way he seemed to have complete faith in me to work things out. “I’m leaning in that direction for sure.”
“Follow your heart with open eyes. Listen to your intuition, then back it up with clear facts and supporting reasons.”
“Good advice.” I fluffed a pillow that had been vacuum-packed. Dreams were kind of like that. Stuffed tightly down, covered in layers of plastic, but when they escaped, they tended to expand and expand, changing from abstract potential to a seductive landing spot. But like with pillows, some dreams were firm and supportive while others were cheap, easily squashed cotton.
“I do have well-earned wisdom.” Monroe groaned like he was eighty, and I rolled my eyes at him.
“Don’t act all old, Mr. Threepeat yesterday.” Saturday, we’d spent most of the day painting. There had also been some well-timed orgasm breaks in there, more fun with hands and mouths, and Monroe had been more than eager for each round.
“That’s because I know how to pace myself,” he said archly.
“And pace yourself, you did.” I gave him an appreciative glance. He liked to heap praise on my mouth, but I was quickly becoming addicted to his large hand and how perfectly it fit my dick. And speaking of pacing, the man was an absolute edging master, capable of bringing me close over and over before finally letting me come.
“I needed to prepare for the shopping marathon with you. Remind me again why I need piles of bedding?” Monroe shook out the hotel-quality puffy white comforter we’d chosen at the discount place.
“Staging.” I adopted a superior tone, but actually, a number of the purchases had been for Monroe’s comfort. Like, sure, we could have each settled for scratchy twin blankets all summer and made do with an ancient mattress, but I couldn’t deny my urge to pamper Monroe, treat him to colors and textures he’d otherwise deny himself.
“I’m not sure buyers will notice the thread count of the sheet set.”
“No, but they’ll notice the overall ambiance of a seductive retreat and look beyond the older bathroom fixtures.” I gestured toward the attached bath. We’d scrubbed the cream tile until it gleamed, painted a darker aqua on the walls to complement the bedroom color scheme, swapped out ancient fixtures for new stainless ones, and replaced the plastic shower curtain with a glass door. But the overall layout had remained unchanged, the sort of big refresh rather than full-on remodel I loved doing for those on a budget and time crunch. “Now help me make this bed.”