Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
But I wasn’t brave enough. To hurt him. To end it yet. The mere thought of it had my throat closing with panic. I hastily rebargained with myself, restructuring promises. Not one night but an arrangement. For the duration of the short amount of time I had left here.
“Don’t fucking ruin this, Elliot,” I plead softly. “This is the only good thing I’ve had to myself.” My eyes squeezed shut in shame. “And I’m going to be selfish and keep it for a while.” I opened them to see Elliot’s somber yet somehow tender expression as he gave me his full attention. “On the proviso you don’t talk about four-letter words unless they’re referring to the act of fucking. Which is all we’ll be doing.”
I had my ‘I mean business’ tone on, which worked almost 100 percent of the time with fully grown men and slightly less with toddlers I babysat.
Elliot didn’t hop to agree, like I hoped he would, he just continued searching my face, looking for something.
His brows furrowed together. “No”
I stared at him. “What?”
He grasped my neck. “No, Calliope. I will not just fuck you. I will not let you dictate the rules here. You want this, it’s not just fucking. I’m going to take you to dinner. I’m going to make you breakfast, walk down the street with you.” His hand lifted the hem of his tee that I was wearing up my thigh, my hip, then cupping my bare pussy.
I inhaled roughly. There was no way that area could handle a single more orgasm. It would expire.
“And I will also fuck you.” His lips brushed mine.
He hovered there, cupping me, not stroking, not a sexual touch, just that possessive hold that made my heart gallop and my knees tremble.
Then he let me go, stepping back, folding his arms across his naked chest, brow quirked in challenge.
I glared back at him, both heart and pussy pounding. And both of those things were urging me to dive into him.
Plus, I also wanted to please him. It had been so seamless to sync into a dynamic where I did as he said without question. When it came to sex, I was okay with it. When it came to feelings, I would not be okay with it. I could not be okay with how natural that felt.
“I have to go,” I shook off the silence charging between us. “I have to pick up the girls.”
Did I imagine the flicker of disappointment in his eyes? Did I conjure it because I wanted to feel the pain of it? I didn’t know because I didn’t give him time to respond, didn’t allow myself to dissect the look any longer.
Like a coward, I turned my back on him gathering my clothes then leaving. He didn’t try to stop me.
And that was a test he both failed and passed.
THREE DAYS LATER
“I should be greeting you with a Chelsea Grin,” I told Fiona when I opened my door to see her. The morning after leaving Elliot, I’d been able to forgo any kind of conversation thanks to the wild nature of toddlers, and because once I’d dropped them off, we’d gotten the call that Nora had given birth to a healthy baby boy.
The first boy in the little bunch of girls, and though he had a veritable badass of a dad, he stood no chance in front of the feral little goddesses I was proud to know.
I’d just come from the hospital, where I’d gotten to hold the immensely small, scrunched-up newborn, inhaling that scent that did things to even my shriveled and barren womb. Somehow, my dark heart created space to love another tiny human.
Nora was doing great, as was the proud father of Henry Gordon Derrick. I’d heard nothing from Elliot, which I’d managed to stew on, even in the new glow of a healthy baby.
I was indulging in some work before my mother and the rest of my family arrived. Before Fiona turned up at my door, unannounced, likely to interrogate me about Elliot. Hence my greeting.
“Not in front of the child.” Fiona held up her toddler as a human shield.
June found this hilarious, a huge grin on her cherubic face.
Though you’d be hard pressed to find a time when the little girl wasn’t grinning. She was the happiest, cheekiest little terror. Not surprising, given her parents.
I took her into my arms, blowing raspberries on the skin of her neck. Though she no longer smelled like a newborn—she smelled like old strawberries—it was still somehow intoxicating to me.
“I’ll refrain from any maiming in front of the child.” I let June down to run toward the corner in the living room I’d assigned for the children who occasionally came to visit. Although I made a habit of prioritizing going to their dwellings—where they could make a mess and put sticky fingers on things that were already ruined.