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He runs at full speed toward the pond.
The snow has finally stopped, but the wind still feels like sharp blades cutting against my skin. However, Dasher loves it outside and still needs his exercise.
Plus, it gives me a moment away from Fallon's delicious death glare and gorgeous face. And those lips that I so desperately want to see form a smile, preferably around my cock.
Every time I'm around her, I prepare for a verbal punch in the gut, and she hasn't disappointed me yet.
Whatever her problem is, I'm determined to find out why this holiday puts her in such a sour mood. Still, her pouting and dislike for it amuse the hell out of me. She's trying so hard to be upset, which I know isn't an ideal situation for either of us, but she's succeeded at taking it to the next level. The difference is I'm making the best out of it while I can.
Before I stepped outside, I got fully dressed and put on my winter boots. Now that I've been running around with Dasher and throwing his ball, I'm sweating.
When I finally coax Dasher to come inside, I refill his water bowl, then head upstairs to shower.
As soon as I walk into the bathroom and see Fallon soaking in my tub, I come to a stop.
“Enjoying yourself?”
Her eyes blink open as she sinks deeper under the suds. But I already saw the tops of her breasts before I spoke.
“I thought you'd be outside for longer. Just wanted to relax and warm up.”
“That costs extra. Should I add it to your tab?”
She groans with an eye-roll. “Very funny.”
I shrug, yanking my shirt over my head and kicking off my boots. Then I unbutton my jeans.
“What are you doing?” Her voice wavers as her gaze lowers down my body.
“I came to take a shower. Dasher made me chase him around the yard before he'd come to the door.”
“You can't wait until I'm done?”
“It's my house. Don't look if you're shy.”
“I'm not...” She stops herself as I lower my pants, then my boxers.
As I turn on the water, I glance over and catch her staring. She quickly averts her eyes, but I see the way she is looking.
For someone dead set on being miserable, she's not as good at acting as she thinks. I've had my fair share of women in my thirty-five years and can typically read them quite well.
Figuring out Fallon has become a fun new challenge.
“Can you at least turn around soIcan get out, then?” she asks, draining the tub.
“Trust me, sweetheart. Nothing I haven't seen before.”
She scoffs as I focus on her every step. Once she wraps a towel around her, she eagerly walks out, slamming the bathroom door behind her. Chuckling to myself, I lather soap over my body, then rinse off.
Fallon opted to skip lunch by ignoring me when I knocked on her door, so by the time it's dark out, she was starving.
She looks pitiful in her triple layers of clothes even though the roaring fire has heated the entire floor. So much that I'm sweating in athletic shorts and a T-shirt.
“Do you eat chicken?” I call out from the kitchen while she sits on the couch. She found a few books in my office and has been reading next to the kerosene lamp for the past few hours.
Though, I assume out of pure boredom because they’re all historical fiction. Fallon doesn't seem like the type to read anything that isn't about modern-day fashion or celebrity memoirs.
“Yes,” she answers wearily.
