Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 108242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“That’s awesome.” I pull up one leg and rest my chin on my knee as we sit at the dining-room table. “I know my therapist will help me process everything, but I also think there are some basics I need to get back to that will help me heal.”
“Like what?” Mena asks, sipping her freshly squeezed juice.
“Running.” I drag my fork through the maple syrup on my plate. “I dreamt of Mama when I was there, Auntie.”
“You dream of her often, though, right?”
“Yes, but in this dream she told me to run. Remember when I was a water protector in high school? The marathons I organized and all the running I did to preserve our culture and fight for what I believed in.”
“You’re still fighting. Just in a different way. Politics is a complex path to get our people what they need. Not everyone can do what you and Jim do—can navigate this cutthroat world so well. You’re doing good work.”
“Thanks, Auntie, but I do think running may help me. Not just physically, but in other ways, too. It made me feel connected to the land, to our struggle in a way that nothing else does.”
“All the training you did for your Sunrise Dance? Running was probably one of the hardest parts of the ceremony.”
“For sure.” A sad smile settles on my lips. “That night, when it was over, I was so relieved, and Mama was so happy.”
“She was proud of you. Even if you hadn’t gone through the rite, she would have been proud, but that meant so much to her. I’m glad she got to see you become a woman before she crossed to the next world.”
“God, I thought she’d never stop taking pictures,” I say, laughing even though tears well in my eyes. My emotions are so close to the surface, it feels like anything could make me cry, but I don’t fight the tears right now. Giving in to this memory of Mama, even though it stings my heart, makes me feel closer to her.
My bedroom door opens, and Maxim enters the living room. He’s on the phone, speaking what sounds like Chinese or Japanese. He strides into every room like he owns it—like there’s no one in it he can’t persuade, convince, or recruit. The force of his charisma is a tangible thing, a hook that lures you before you even feel it in your mouth.
Dark hair is brushed back from his handsome face, but one lock falls over his forehead like he got ready in a hurry because he usually does. He wears a navy-blue three-piece suit with a silvery-gray shirt that’s open and tieless.
Lord above, he looks delicious.
The vest molds to his broad chest and flat stomach, and the impeccably tailored trousers pull and flow with each step, emphasizing the powerful muscles of his thighs. I take a sip of my tea, watching over the rim of my glass, eating him up with my stare. He flashes us a smile, still talking on the phone in a language I don’t understand, before disappearing into the kitchen.
After that first time last night, I woke him before sunrise and fucked him again. Putting my knee down, I squirm in my seat, pulsing between my legs at the sight of him, at the memory of our bodies locking, grinding.
Is this trauma horniness? I can’t get enough.
He was worried about being too rough so soon after I returned from such a harrowing ordeal, but I wanted that physical reunion as much as he did. Maybe more. It feels like I’ve been pardoned from an execution. I felt the chilly breath of death, saw my gory end through the barrel of a gun, but was spared at the last second. And I want to take life by the balls, by the horns, by anything I can grab and make the most of it.
Maxim is definitely the most.
“Get a room if you’re going to look at your boyfriend like that,” Mena says, a twist of humor to her lips.
I look at her, my eyes wide and my cheeks burning. Am I that obvious? “Excuse me?” I ask, trying to play it off.
“Oh, honey, don’t even.” Mena chuckles and pushes her empty plate away. “You’re lit up like the Vegas Strip. I know that look. I give it to my own husband every day.”
At that, we both let out throaty laughs and sit back in our seats. I enjoy her company the way I do few others’. She and Senator Nighthorse have a place here in DC, but she splits her time between being here in town and Oklahoma, the state Jim represents.
Maxim comes through the swinging door separating my kitchen and dining room, holding a glass of the orange juice Mena squeezed. “What’s so funny, ladies?”
“Just some girl talk,” Mena says with a smile. “Morning, Mr. Cade.”