Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
I paint the back of her throat with my cum, and she hums as I pump into her mouth, coming harder than I can ever remember. Every muscle in my body tightens as she swallows my seed.
“Dammit, Mira,” I say through clenched teeth. My fingers loosen in her hair, and I ease up, shivering as the last of my orgasm leaves me. “Fuck.”
My cock pops out of her mouth, and she wipes her lips with her discarded shirt.
“Is that what you wanted?” I ask, catching my breath.
“Yup.” She grins salaciously as she crawls onto my bed. She slips off her shorts and panties, spreading her knees apart. “Is this what you want?”
All day. Every day. Forever.
“You, Mira Adler, are what I want. In any way I can get you.”
Her eyes widen, but she recovers quickly. Then a slow smile slips across her cheeks.
“You, husband, can have me any way you want. But I’d really like your face buried in my pussy right now.”
It’s a good thing I didn’t get around to turning the shower on. Because it’s going to be a long damn time before I get there.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
Mira
“This is the best one yet,” I say, covering my mouth so cake doesn’t spray across the kitchen. “Sorry.”
Cathy shakes her head as she tidies up the windowsill. We brought a few herbs into the kitchen to make them easier to access, and they’ve grown like weeds. I swear, Cathy has two green thumbs.
“You always like the chocolate counter cakes the best,” Cathy says, tossing a rag into the mini hamper she keeps under the sink. “You liked the double chocolate and fudge better than the vanilla and coconut. And this is red velvet, which is basically chocolate.”
I swallow. “You learn something new every day. I’ve always thought I was a vanilla girlie.”
She smiles at me. “What are you going to do for the rest of the afternoon?”
“The usual. I have a few work emails to take care of, and then I’ll hang out with Pigasso for a bit. He’s slowly warming up to me.”
I still find it rude that I saved his life, and he halfway dislikes me. The audacity.
It’s been a month since I became Mrs. Hartley Adler, and with every day that passes, I find that I like it even more. I get a kick out of the ladies at church calling me Mrs. Adler, as it feels so fancy. And when I ride with Hartley to the supply store, Burt gives me a sucker because he claims Hartley’s much easier to deal with now that he has me.
But my favorite part about being Hartley’s wife is the quiet evenings and slow mornings together, even if Lisa gives him hell for not coming in for his sausage, egg, and cheese sandwich. I haven’t told her that I offer another breakfast option that he can’t resist. Every. Single. Morning.
“I took him some scraps yesterday morning, and he had whatever the pig equivalent is to the zoomies,” Cathy says. “He might think he’s a dog.” She holds up a finger. “Oh, I was going to ask you something. Did you get the tar from Betsy Barn out of Hartley’s jeans? If not, I’ll take them outside tomorrow and scrub them with some vegetable oil.”
“That works?”
“Sure does. You’ll eventually learn the tricks around here. It took me a long time to figure it all out. But you got me, and I didn’t have a me, if you know what I mean.”
I do know what she means, and I’m so grateful for her. She’s been a huge supporter of mine since the day I moved in. The first few days were a little overwhelming, getting used to schedules and habits, and figuring out what to do if an animal goes into labor or if a delivery shows up and no one’s around. But thanks to Cathy, I’m more surefooted now.
“Well, have at the tar,” I say. “The jeans are on top of the washer. I tried an ice cube trick that I read online, but all that did was almost give me frostbite.”
“Silly girl.” She gathers her purse, dropping her phone inside it. “I’m off for the day. I’m stopping by the farmers’ market in the morning to pick up some fresh produce for the week. Text me if there’s anything you want me to grab.”
“You’re the best, Cathy.”
“I know.” She winks, heading for the door. “See you tomorrow.”
“Bye.”
I rinse out my coffee mug and place it beside Hartley’s next to the Keurig. One of my favorite fun facts about my husband is that he has a favorite mug shaped like a frog. It’s the most random thing in the world, and not at all what I would’ve guessed, but I love seeing him carry it around the house in the mornings.
“Hey,” I say, picking up the phone on the first ring.