Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
It’s so normal, so comfortable and domestic to cook for my woman, that I almost expect the world to crack open and swallow me for daring to enjoy it. Instead, the only sound is the pop and hiss of the bacon, the low thrum of the fridge, and Eliza’s feet padding down the hall.
She appears in the doorway, blinking like she’s just landed in a different time zone. She’s wearing one of my button-down shirts and nothing else, bare-legged, face scrubbed clean, eyes still swollen from last night but a hundred times more alive. Her big breasts press against the white fabric, and those lush thighs tempt me, but I keep myself in hand. I need to feed the woman I love before mauling her curvy figure.
“Morning, Commander,” she says, voice rough. “What time is it?”
I smile.
“Gone 6 a.m. sweetheart,” I reply. “Hungry?”
She nods, then sips the coffee, expression going blissed-out. “You make it so strong. I can feel my cells vibrating from the caffeine.”
I pile food onto two plates, set them on the counter, and join her. For a few minutes, we eat in silence. I watch her demolish the bacon, barely pausing for breath. Her appetite is biblical.
She finally slows down and looks up. “Did I snore?”
I shake my head. “Only a little, but I liked it.”
She laughs, a real one, then leans in and kisses my cheek, grease and all. “Thank you for last night. For welcoming me with open arms. I know I was a mess. I still am.”
I shrug. “You’re the bravest person I know, Eliza. You stood up to your parents, to the world. That’s more than most people ever do.”
She goes quiet, picks at the edge of her toast.
The silence grows, but not in a bad way. She’s thinking, and I can tell she’s still trying to put herself back together.
After a while, she pushes away from the counter. “I have to call my friend Tara because she kept texting me last night, and I wasn’t responding. She’ll be worried.”
She takes her phone to the living room, curls up in my old recliner, and dials. I can hear the muffled ring, then her friend’s voice coming through, way too loud even from here. Eliza’s words are soft at first, then louder as she tries to explain. “No, I left. No, I’m at Jack’s.” Pause. “No, he’s not a serial killer. He’s making me breakfast. Yes. No, my parents wigged out when they found out. It was bad.”
She laughs, then her voice drops. “They said I’m dead to them, Tara. I don’t know if that means forever, or just for now. I think my dad hates me.”
Their voices go on a while more, but I don’t listen. It’s girl talk, and I have breakfast to attend to.
After a while, Eliza hangs up, comes back to the kitchen. She’s less wrecked now, more in command of herself.
“Sorry about that,” she says. “Tara’s a buddy of mine from way back when, and she’s the only person I’ve told about us. And the camming. She’s known about that from the start.”
“Don’t apologize,” I reply. “It’s good to have friends. It’s good to have someone to talk to.”
Eliza shoots me a lopsided smile. “You say that now, but you haven’t met Tara in person. She’ll drink all your whiskey and try to arm-wrestle you. She’s a menace.”
“I was Air Force,” I say, deadpan. “I’ve survived worse.”
Eliza giggles a bit, and the room feels lighter.
I clear the plates, rinse them in the sink. My girl perches on the counter, swinging her legs, and for a second it’s like we’re a couple who’s been doing this for years.
“You should take the day off,” I say. “Call in sick. Get your bearings.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t. I need the distraction. Besides, my boss is an asshole, and if I miss another day he’ll replace me with a robot. AI is crazy good these days, and we’re all getting ready to lose our jobs at the firm.”
I lift a brow. “Maybe it’s better that way.”
Eliza merely smiles. “Maybe. But I need to get ready.”
With that, the blonde goes to the bathroom to shower, and I watch her go, memorizing the sway of her hips. When she’s done, she emerges in a cloud of vanilla steam, wearing a button down shirt and nice skirt. Her hair’s in a neat bun, and she shoots me a wan smile.
“How do I look? Normal, hopefully?”
I study her: clear-eyed, determined, a little bruised but not broken.
“Like someone who knows what she wants,” I say.
She gives me a look, then grabs her bag. At the door, she stops.
“I’ll be home by six,” she says, and the word “home” makes my heart swoop because this is what I want. I want Eliza to see my home as her own. I want my bed to be her bed, and I actually love the domestic life with her. But I merely smile.