Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
"The honeymoon?" he asks.
That's the part I picture. Sex in a tropical setting, white curtains blowing in the wind, blue bridal lingerie. (Because white is too obvious. And a bride needs something blue).
"I never thought of marriage that way," he says.
I want to talk to him here. I really do. I want to know everything inside his head.
And I want to have my way with him.
I take a long sip and let the impulses fight.
My brain screams talk.
My body screams fuck.
As usual, my brain wins.
"How do you see marriage?" I ask. "Besides as a financial institution?"
"As a promise. A commitment to a life with another person. I didn't worry about the romance. Or keeping the fire alive. What did that matter compared to raising a family?"
"You want kids?" I ask.
"I always did," he says. "But I never asked myself why. What I saw in that life."
"It's okay to want something because you want it."
He nods. "But do I want kids? Or do I want to be the sort of person who gets married and has kids?"
"I don't know. Do you?"
"I thought so. Now…" He takes a long sip. "I have time to figure it out."
I see him as a father. It suits him, somehow. That wisdom and strength and desire to care for someone. But he's right. It's his decision to make, not mine. "Did you talk about it with your ex?"
"Maddie? Yes. We wanted the same thing. A house in the suburbs, stable careers, two to three kids."
"What went wrong?" I ask.
"The same thing that always does. I didn't love her."
"You've never been in love?" I ask.
"I don't know," he says. "I thought so. Now…"
"Love is a chemical reaction in your brain." The words are true, but they don't feel true at the moment. They don't explain the entire situation. They miss something important. "Vasopressin and Oxytocin building with bonding. And sex."
"We had that," he says. "But it wasn't enough."
"But you'd give that up?" I ask. "You'd give up great sex for marriage?"
"Is that how you see marriage?" he asks.
I guess I do. I swallow a sip. "Sometimes."
"Why? Your parents seem—"
"Don't finish that sentence."
"They put work into keeping things alive," he says. "All those mini getaways."
"And the travel," I say. "It helps keep desire alive. Because it's hard for anyone to want something they have."
"That's perceptive," he says.
I nod.
"I'm good at sex," he says. "I never doubt that."
"Me either."
He smiles.
"I, uh, do you want to show me?" I ask. It's not the smoothest come-on, but hey, it works.
He smiles and teases me. "Have I not?"
"Show me more."
His eyes flit to my chest. "Is that why you picked this spot?"
I nod.
His pupils dilate. His voice drops. "Bad girl."
My sex clenches. It sounds so sexy on his lips. Everything does. And I want to slip away from the serious talk. I want to dive into sex.
"Did you picture this?"
"I did."
"Show me," he says. "Show me exactly what you imagined."
Chapter Twenty
Daphne
Itake a long sip of my old-fashioned. I let the rich flavors of citrus and spice mix on my tongue. There is something grown-up about the drink.
Even though I'm in a sequin dress, I feel sophisticated in a sexy way.
Or maybe that's the way he looks at me.
I love the way he looks at me.
After one more sip, I set my drink on the sleek table.
I stand, I look Jackson in the eyes, and I unzip my dress.
This time, I don't remove it slowly. I let the fabric fall to the ground. I push my beige panties off my hips.
I stand in front of him, naked except for my heels, on display to anyone who happens to walk by, and I wait.
He looks me up and down slowly, savoring the sight. There's patience in his gaze.
He's ready to wait a long, long time.
I'm not.
I pull the condoms from my purse and toss them on the bench.
He follows the movement, notes the rubbers, returns to staring with infinite patience.
I move closer.
Closer.
Close enough, he curls his hand around my hips.
He looks up at me as he draws a slow line right to my clit. He teases me with a soft stroke.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then a firmer pressure. More of his hand. More of him.
It's been too long since someone else has touched me. It feels too good. I nearly come on the spot.
I have to close my eyes to contain my desire.
"I want to come on your cock." The words fall off my lips without passing through my brain. Maybe I am drunk. Or at least tipsy. I'm not usually this free of inhibitions. Or maybe it's the way I feel with him. The trust I feel with him.
"Are you warmed up?" he asks.
"Almost."
He curls his hand into my hip as he slips a finger inside me. He pushes deep enough to stretch me.
The pressure is intense—it's been too long—but the sensation fades to pleasure.