Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Fuck no,” he said, shaking his head at me as he walked into the en suite bathroom, closing the door.
I was still stark naked when he returned, climbing onto the bed, and sitting against the headboard, the pillows positioned to keep his shoulder from touching it.
“How’re the stitches?” I asked, eyeing his hoodie.
“Dunno. If we pulled them, it was worth it,” he said as I reached to push the material to the side to check for myself.
“They’re okay.”
“So, what I’m hearing is you can ride me as much as we want while I heal,” he said.
“We should probably—“
“If that sentence doesn’t end in Fuck as much as we damn well please I don’t want to hear it,” he said, shooting me a lazy, tired smile.
“We can talk about it after we sleep,” I decided, scooting in close to him.
“Saylor?” Anthony asked a while later, when I was sure he must have passed out while I just sat there, listening to his heartbeat.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for carjacking me,” he said, making a laugh escape me.
“Thanks for being stupid enough to not have your doors locked,” I shot back as his arm curled around me, holding me close.
As we drifted off to sleep, I realized that I’d never been happier that I was, right there, with him.
And, suddenly, that wasn’t quite so scary anymore.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Anthony - 4 days
“I’m fine,” I said for what had to be the tenth time already that morning. Still, Saylor cast dubious glances at me. “Salvatore just said I’m healing well yesterday,” I added. Even though I’d been fucking Saylor literally every chance I got between drop-ins from my family.
Sometimes her riding me.
Other times, me standing off the side of the bed.
Once, with her bent over the kitchen island as we waited for a baked ziti to heat in the oven.
“I’m not worried about the stitches,” she said, and there was a telltale twitch at the corners of her mouth that said she was about to tease the fuck out of me about something. “I’m worried you’re gonna miss the step up from the living room, fall, and crack your head open when no one is here to watch you.”
To that, I let out a little snort.
“I will stay on the couch,” I said.
“The whole time?” she asked, brows raised.
“How the fuck long is it going to take?” I asked as the intercom buzzed, prompting Saylor to walk over and let Keith and Fury up.
“This is Keith we’re talking about here,” she reminded me.
“Fair,” I agreed.
“I mean, the guy probably wants to know all the dogs’ astrological charts before he makes a decision,” she added, making a chuckle escape me.
“At least they all come with names,” I reasoned as we heard the ding of the elevator.
“Unless he decides that their names don’t suit them. Giving the poor fucking dog an identity crisis because he’s a whack job. Speak of the devil,” she said, swinging the door open to let him in.
Fury was on the end of a leash that definitely didn’t belong to Saylor, given it was hot fucking pink, and she was wearing matching booties on her feet. Feet that tip-tapped as soon as she caught sight of Saylor. I swear her ass was about to pop off with how hard her tail was wiggling.
As Fury pulled the leash free from his grasp to fly at Saylor, Keith’s face fell.
“Oh, stop,” Saylor said, shaking her head at him. “We are literally about to go get you your own dog who will love you like this,” she added as she rubbed Fury’s belly with both hands.
“I bonded with her,” Keith said, still pouting.
“Just think how much a dog that you literally rescued is going to love you,” Saylor reasoned. “We’re going to go pick you out your new best friend, so stop looking so fucking glum,” she demanded as Fury bounced over toward me, jumping effortlessly up onto the couch to sniff at my chest, smelling the wound even through my shirt.
“Can I see the bullet hole?” Keith asked.
“Depends,” Saylor said.
“On what?”
“If you’re the kind who throws up easily or not. I’m not in the mood to clean up your puke.”
Giving the poor kid a break, I pulled the material to the side, and realized real quick that Saylor was right in asking that question. Because the fucking kid went white as a sheet.
“Okay, enough show-and-tell,” Saylor said, pushing Keith back a few steps. “Let’s go get you a new friend. You,” she said, walking backward up the step to the sunken living room without so much as a stumble, “stay your ass on the fucking couch. I mean it.”
“What if there’s a fire?” I asked, smirking.
“Then you keep your ass on that couch and wait for the tall, hunky fireman to come, whisk you off your feet, and carry you to safety,” she said. “Oh, thank God,” she said as she was walking out into the hallway to find my mother coming in with another tray of food. “Keep an eye on him. I’ll be back in an hour or two,” she said.