Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
I grin, running my fingers along the soft skin of her stomach under her shirt. “I definitely like your quid and your quo.” Then I frown. “Actually, I have no idea what either one of those means.”
But I know this much—I fucking loved fucking her. And I think she’s fantastic. If she still wants all those things she asked for this summer, I really, really want to be the man to give them to her.
My gut churns. I’m going to sound like an ass, but this whole dating thing has to be addressed. “But I also know you were looking into dating. And I just don’t want to be the guy to stand in your way…even though I came in here tonight and said I don’t want you to date.”
She tilts her head. “You’re kind of sending mixed messages. Do you want me to date or not?”
“No,” I say instantly, emphatically. “I really don’t.”
And then—fuck it. I wrap my arm around her waist and jerk her against me, facing her as I hold her. I run my hand from her shoulder down to her wrist, watching as goosebumps rise on her skin. “I want you all to myself.”
Her smile is soft, a little teasing. “I wasn’t actually going to date. Everyone was pressuring me because it’s fun for people who are coupled up to try to connect their single friends. But honestly…” She exhales wistfully.
“Honestly what?” I press.
She gives me a sly look. “Honestly, for a long time I was hoping that you’d bang on the door, bend me over the bed, and fuck me to pieces.”
That image is scorching hot. And it’s seared into my brain. “You want me to bend you over the bed? Because that can definitely be arranged.”
“I want it all, Tyler. That was the first time I’ve ever had an orgasm with another person. And…I’ve got some other things on my list.”
I clear my throat dramatically. “Two, baby. I gave you two,” I point out. “Do not shortchange me.”
“I would never. In fact, they’re both going on my list of good things that happened to me today.” She pushes up in bed, like an idea’s struck her. “That’s it. We need a list.”
“A sex list? Count me in.”
“Yes, a game plan for sex. A list so we can work through all the un-St. Bernard-like things I want you to do to me.”
I am so there. “Let’s do it. Maybe you put a list of three things you want?”
“Only three?” she teases.
“I didn’t want to be presumptuous. You tell me how many you want.”
She’s a match ready to strike. “All I can eat,” she says. “But we could start with five.”
That’s two better than I’d hoped, so already this feels like winning. “I like five. And what if we check one off…once a week?”
Her eyes pop. “Well, you have better restraint than I do.”
“Maybe I’m just trying to stretch this out.”
She hums, as if she’s considering, then a glint shines in her eyes. “If that’s the case, how about every other week? Just to make sure we don’t get in over our heads.”
How did we go from once a week to once every other week? But what I really hear is that she wants to stretch it out too. “That sounds fair for the first rule,” I say, keeping my cool so I don’t let on how much I like this plan.
It feels like a wide-open window. A long, winding road with beautiful views and barely an end in sight. It feels like the promise of pleasure, stretched out before us, with no complications.
“It’s like a workout plan,” she says.
“A sex workout?” I smirk.
“Yes. But we’re going to need more rules,” she adds, staying on task.
“You’re right. We really can’t do anything in front of the kids.”
“Yes. Definitely no kissing, no hand-holding,” she adds.
“No little sneaky displays of affection.”
“And no sleepovers.”
That last one doesn’t sit well with me though. Hanging out here in her bed late at night? This is the best I’ve felt in a long time. “You mean when the kids are home?” I ask, hoping she likes that technicality too.
“Sure, but also because we don’t want to get used to this.”
“It’s every other week. You can’t get that used to it,” I say, trying to convince her.
“True,” she says, and I want to pump a fist, because do I ever want to wrap her in my arms tonight.
“And no one says ‘pretend it didn’t happen,’” I add because I know how important that is to her.
“Yes. Good,” she says, then hesitates like something is weighing on her.
My gut twists with worry, but it’s best to be upfront. “What is it, baby?”
“When it’s over, it’s over. We move on. I enjoy my job, and I want to keep doing it,” she says, sounding so damn vulnerable, and it hits me exactly how much she has to lose. “Is that okay?”