Virgin Fix (The Virgins Book 1) by Monica Rush

Author:Monica Rush [Rush, Monica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Monica Rush Books, LLC
Published: 2019-02-04T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Bobbi

The high pitched, almost desperate whine drags me out of some of the most amazing dreams ever. I’m a goddess wrapped in the arms of her fierce and mighty god, protected and loved and cherished and fucked within an inch of my—

My eyes fly open and I stare straight into the face of several sets of soulful, pleading gazes.

“Guys!” I gasp at the dogs as behind me, a giant of a man mutters and shifts, his heavy arm sliding off me as he rolls over. I turn around, equally disoriented to see Dean laying tangled in the sheets, naked and glorious and—

Dean!

I slap my hand over my mouth, so startled I nearly fall out of the bed. Catching myself in time to avoid squishing the scattering fur balls, I trot quickly out into the hall. There I’m greeted by more dogs, all of them wagging their tails so hard and dancing so earnestly I’m surprised they haven’t already turned the kitchen into a public bathroom.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” I promise them as I stop briefly in the hall to retrieve my shirt and shorts. Dragging them over my body, I can’t help but grin as I think about what happened here last night—here and in the bedroom, in the enormous shower in the master bath, and once again in the hall on the way back to bed. I’d never really had an opinion about the hallway before today, but now it’s one of my favorite places in the house.

I hold the door open and the dogs bound outside into Paddy’s sturdily fenced back yard, all the animals deliriously happy to be running in the early morning sunshine. There’s no sign of last night’s storm, thank heavens, but the grass is still soaked through. The dogs don’t seem to mind, but I don’t have my rain boots here, and my bare feet nearly freeze within two steps into Paddy’s back yard.

I glance over to my cottage, more to make sure it hasn’t blown away in the storm than anything, and stiffen. The landlord’s car is there, the man himself staring at me beside the vehicle with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Mr. Greaves!” My first thought is one of elation—he’s come to fix the water! The roof! Anything at all! But as I hurry toward him, exiting and relatching Paddy’s back gate as I ignore the bevy of cavorting dogs around me, I quickly read the tension in Mr. Greaves’ body, the scowl on his face. “Ah—hi there,” I say as I draw near, careful where I step since I’m in my bare feet.

He doesn’t waste any time. “What are all those dogs doing here?” he snaps, jerking his thumb toward the pooches in Paddy’s yard.

“They’re all staying over at Paddy’s,” I say quickly, though I can tell Mr. Greaves doesn’t believe me. He knows I volunteer for the shelter, and he’s already caught me several times with more than the allotted two pets at his rental cottage. I square my shoulders.

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