Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Ozzy x
I keep my gaze on the note. “Oswald, the problem with men like you is that you make it impossible for the average Joe to stand a chance. There are so many Joes out there buying clearance bouquets tied with rubber bands and packets of flower food. Do you see what you’re doing to me?” I stand and fold the note, sliding it into my back pocket because I’m keeping everything he gives me. “You’re ruining me. You’ve set the bar impossibly high.”
He lumbers to his feet, studying me. The hint of a grin touches his lips as he gathers my hair and pulls it over one shoulder so he can kiss my bare neck. “In that case, I’ve never wanted to ruin someone so much in my life.”
“How much time do we have before Lola looks for us?” I ask.
“A while. Why?”
I hold a finger to my lips. “Shh.”
He tracks my hands as I unbutton his jeans and pull at his zipper.
I smirk, eyeing his intense expression while I slide his jeans partway down his muscly thighs.
“Maren,” he says in exhalation before wetting his lips.
When I free him from his briefs, his eyes leaden. I drop to my knees and tease him with my tongue.
“Fuck . . . Maren . . .” He blinks heavily, grabbing the base of his cock and guiding it past my lips.
Ozzy’s abs tighten, and I focus on his tattoos. I thought they were random tools, but they’re in the shape of Lola’s name. For some reason, his love for her only turns me on more.
He buries his fingers in my hair, breaths gaining momentum, each one ripping from his chest a little harsher than the previous one. When our gazes meet, I feel an odd jolt of emotion. My body does its own thing while my thoughts wrap around the sadness on his face, like he feels undeserving of this.
Of intimacy.
Of an escape.
Of life.
Is it the sacrificial burden that seems to come naturally to parents? Or is it about Brynn? Will every intimate moment remind him of her?
These questions swirl in my head while he closes his eyes and tips his head back. Is he thinking of her?
His body curls inward, abs rock hard, and he drops his chin, lips parted to release each shallow breath. As hard as he tries to stifle every sound, a few grunts and groans slide past his throat. They feed my desire. A desire that will not be satisfied tonight, and that’s okay.
Tonight, it’s about him.
I take his warm release and swallow it.
Ozzy’s expression softens into pure gratitude. He relaxes as I continue to slide my tongue along his length.
He feathers his knuckles across my cheek, and when I completely release him, the pad of his thumb traces my bottom lip. “Is this the wrong time to tell you how beautiful you are?”
I stand, pulling up his jeans as he tucks himself back into his briefs. “A good orgasm makes everything look better,” I say, zipping and buttoning his jeans the way he dressed me the previous night.
“Good? That was beyond good.” He claims my face.
I press my lips together for a beat before he tries to kiss me. “It wouldn’t be wrong of you to let me use your bathroom and tell me where you keep your mouthwash.”
Ozzy chuckles before releasing me.
I think he might be blushing, and I love it.
Chapter Nineteen
Ozzy
“It’s us, Grandma,” Lola says when we step into my mom’s light-green house with a white door and weed-infested yard. I need to spend a day here giving it some TLC.
“Sweetheart, come here.” Mom stands from her rocking chair and slides on her thick glasses. She’s lost most of her vision, which explains why her chin-length brown-and-gray hair is always ratted in the back and her button-down blouse is usually off by one or two buttons. She’s not the put-together Gina “Perfectionist” Laster she used to be.
Lola hugs her.
“How is school?”
“Almost over,” Lola says.
“Where’s Ruth?” I ask about her sister, who moved in to help my mom after my dad died.
“She had a hair appointment.” Mom holds out her arms to me, and I embrace her.
“I have a kitten,” Lola says with her eyes alight. “Well, he’s not really mine, but I found him, and sometimes I get to watch him. His name is Bandit Mouse Bernabe.”
Mom eases back into her chair and turns down the volume on the TV. “That’s a nice name.”
“Where’s Paxton?” Lola pokes her head into the kitchen, searching for Aunt Ruth’s parrot.
“He’s in the bedroom,” Mom says.
Lola skips down the small hallway to the bedroom.
“How’s she doing?” Mom asks.
I sit on the faded green-and-white striped sofa. “She’s good. Great, actually, now that she gets to have a part-time pet.”
“And therapy?”
“The same.”
“How are you? How’s work?”
“I’m good. Work’s good,” I say, leaning back and craning my neck to look for any sign of Lola. “I’ve met someone.”