Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 132437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Just her dark eyes and her lush mouth, her beautiful black cloud of hair and her voice—
His arousal kicked under the layers of flannel and blanket, like it was looking for that handshake in the dark, and the sensation that shot into his pelvic floor was a revelation. Actually, screw his hips. His entire blood volume seemed to be replaced with delicious purpose, all kinds of anticipation, energy, and feel-great endorphins taking over from the dread that usually coursed through his veins.
He lifted his head and looked down himself again. He was probably the only male in Caldwell who needed an instruction manual to jerk off—nah, that wasn’t it. He was the only one who, when in this state in the privacy of his own bedroom, had no intention of taking things to their normal, messy conclusion. It just seemed disrespectful to that female, even if she didn’t know what he was doing.
He was a gentle-male, after all. In spite of his current circumstances. And even if he didn’t know anything about her, not even her name, he knew that she was a female of worth.
She must have had a really good reason to kill that human.
On that note, he checked the clock and saw that it was past six. On those rare occasions he slept in, Vishous usually played alarm clock. Not tonight, apparently. Guess the whole you’ve-been-benched thing was going to stick, at least until he proved that he was functioning just fine.
Or some kind of emergency required an all-hands-on-deck.
Probably was going to be the latter.
Gritting his teeth, he tossed the sheet and blanket off and shifted his legs to the floor. As he got to his feet, the visual presentation down south was tent-pole absurd, and he supposed that, in a parallel universe where he had any prospects with any female, he might have been impressed with himself.
But that was not where things were going. Not at all.
Nothing was getting stroked. Not his ego, and certainly not his… you know.
As he headed into the en suite bathroom, he thanked Lassiter that he didn’t have to walk down the hall, leading with this obscene, 3-D dick-pic, and when he got to the loo, he pulled the waistband waaaaaay out and—
Jesus.
Shaking himself back to attention, he got his PJs past the erection and hesitated with his hand next to the shaft. Touching it was not going to be a good idea. After doing some logistics modeling, he decided to squat into his thighs and tilt over the bowl. With one hand braced on the wall, and the other waving off to the side for balance, he did what he could to get the aim right.
Again, there was no way he was touching that thing. He was afraid it was liable to explode and take the rest of him along for the—
Nothing.
Clearing his throat like he was about to launch into a stern talking-to, he concentrated on getting things started. Still nothing.
“Are you even kidding me.”
Glancing around, as if the showerhead or the sink faucet could help the situation given that both were channels for water, he gritted his teeth and squeezed his internal organs.
When that also failed, he straightened and flushed the toilet. Then he rolled his eyes at the stupidity of habit and hobbled over to open the shower door—
Wha-BAM!
“Ow! Fuck! Fuck… fuck!”
It took him a couple rounds of dancing around and loosely cupping the area to figure out that he’d caught the arousal with the chrome edge of the glass panel. The ringing pain was enough to back him up against the sink, and as his ass hit the counter edge, the hard-on bounced around like it was spring-loaded.
And what do you know. He felt every swing, each bob, all the weaves. Even caught the brushing of the air over the hypersensitive skin. It was awful.
Well… until he imagined how it would feel to have that female’s hand be what was creating the friction. That would be really fucking nice—
He cut that shit off real quick. For one, it felt just as skeevy as the way he’d woken up, and secondly, that took things in an even more concrete direction. Where what he was looking for was a deflation.
When he reapproached the shower door, he made sure he kept the length out of range as he turned on the hot water.
“Baseball,” he told himself.
Wasn’t that what men or males were supposed to think about? To, you know… distract themselves? Crap. He didn’t know a damn thing about America’s favorite pastime.
C++ coding did it.
By time the water was running warm and he stepped in, he’d created a user interface for banking transactions running between encrypted vendor prompts and Bitcoin wallets not on regulated exchanges. Just a little light programming.
And possibly something he could sell to some human financial speculator when his grim work was finally done.