Behind the Pines (The Gass County Series Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page B

of an athlete’s so long as he wasn’t asked to pull down his pants. Last he checked, that cheek looked like something Jaws would had devoured, just to spit it back out and sew it back in place with a dull needle.
    His large hand grabbed the cheek and massaged it deeply, pushing in his fingers until pain pushed back and told him to back off. With the other hand, he braced against the wall and a groan escaped his lungs. Tonight would be the same as any other night when he knew tomorrow didn’t have to be a workday and he’d found a substitute to take his job: two Vicodin and chamomile tea. On that dose he’d be able to get in a good night’s sleep without interruptions of walking through the house, trying to get away from the tenderness of his bottom or sweating through stabbing pain that left him breathless and grabbing hold of his pillow.
    The last thing he remembered as his head fell heavily onto the pillow, the empty teacup resting on the nightstand, was the fierce woman with the long blonde hair that kept interrupting his days and his thoughts. “Damn you, Sunshine. I wish you were behind the clouds and not right in my face.” Fantasizing of her face and what may hide beneath her clothes put a smile on his face. He’d couldn’t believe he’d been fortunate enough to catch her on a day when she wasn’t wearing a bra. He thought fondly of that. Had the jacket just been a bit more open he’d have been able to see the contour of her hard nipples through the fabric of her shirt. He bet they were perfect: perky yet soft, though hardening if his hand were to caress her skin. Unfortunately, the dose of medicine put an end to his hand traveling down his stomach, grabbing his cock inside his boxers, when all pleasurable thoughts vanished, as did the rest of his world.
     
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    Something loud came into his dream, as if Thor’s hammer were dropping repeatedly in anger onto dark clouds. Louder and longer the hammer worked. Worked him away from his sleep, from his bed, until he noticed himself sitting up at its side, looking with drowsy eyes down at his feet that used to be two, but now resembled the amount on a caterpillar. Inside his brain, his mind cursed. Cursed the banging that had woken him, though he unable to place its location. On shaky legs he stood up, envisioning the room rotating less, and before taking another step, turned to the hamper along the wall and chucked a nasty vomit into it. His hand kept him from falling headfirst into the bedroom wall while the other searched the immediate area for fabric with which he could wipe his mouth.
    His eyes focused on the bedroom door until his hand reached its handle and pulled it open. The hallway seemed narrower than he remembered and with the use of both hands he bobbed like a buoy down the middle until he reached the foyer: dark and empty, the only light helping him see how to place his feet, one in front of the other, was his grandmother’s metal porch lamp outside the front door.
    He’d found Asgaard; it was here Thor threw his hammer. The sound alone made him watch the door as it moved in sync with every punch to its guts.
    In an attempt to find the door knob, he missed and flicked on the switch to the dim light in the ceiling of the foyer. The second try was a success and he watched as his hand grabbed ahold of the door handle and pulled it in.
    “Wow, so you are home? Gosh, you’d think a stamping herd of cattle would have been needed to get your attention. What took you so long, Smarty-pants?”
    She was only one but looked more like two or three sharing synchronized mouths, speaking excessively inside a bubble. His eyes caressed the length of her body, witnessing the movement of her plump lips, but not knowing what words they spoke.
    Suddenly he heard the word “sorry” and cleared slightly from his state of a drug high and drowsiness. “What?” he slurred, realizing by watching her facial