Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Six years.”
I bark a laugh at him. “Six years? And you don’t have a single picture of anyone anywhere?”
“Like I said, I travel a lot, as you well know.”
“Still,” I say softly, moving past him and back toward the kitchen. “I’m not even that close with my family and my place had pictures of me and my parents.”
“I don’t like gathering things,” he says, making a face. “I don’t need the clutter.”
“Clutter is personality.” I stand by the windows in the living room, looking out at the breathtaking view of Dallas. All right, I’ll admit, this apartment is like a psychologist’s wet dream, but I can definitely get used to staying here.
“No, clutter is junk. It’s a replacement for a personality. You’re mistaking filling your life with useless stuff for having actual goals and dreams and aspirations.”
I glare at him in the window’s reflection, making a face. “Are you saying I don’t have a personality?”
“No, I’m saying that stuff doesn’t matter. I could have the most impressive things and still be empty.”
I shrug, not really agreeing, but not willing to argue either. Decorations, pictures, knick-knacks and tchotchkes and paintings on the walls are all indications of a life. They’re representations of an existence. This place, it feels cold and barren, like his world is somewhere else. Like all he does is eat, sleep, and work.
But that’s not a personality. That’s just drifting. Trying to get ahead for the sake of trying.
My place had life in it. Colors, objects to remind me of my past, paintings I liked. Sure, decorations turn invisible after a little while, but still. I put effort into my surroundings.
It’s like he doesn’t care about this apartment.
“Here’s where you’ll stay,” he says, showing me to the guest room. It’s smaller than the master, but it has its own bathroom and the bed seems comfortable.
I run my fingers over the bureau. It’s a good space. “Now we need to have an awkward conversation,” I say.
His eyebrows raise. “If you want to discuss conjugal visits—”
“I’m pretty sure the whole no sex thing is very much in the contract.”
“Contracts can be amended.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal.
I glare at him. “No. Sex. Don’t get any stupid ideas, like maybe accidentally coming into my room in the middle of the night in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs and a huge hard-on.”
“Would that work? Also, thank you for assuming it’s huge.”
“God, you’re insane. Seriously, insane. Can you please listen to me?”
“Huge and pierced,” he says, grinning.
My mouth falls open. Pierced? Really? But no, I am not thinking about his pierced cock. I’ve never even seen a pierced cock before.
I glare at him, annoyed he got me all excited imagining what he’d look like with a massive hard-on and nothing else.
“Stay on topic,” I say, forcing myself to concentrate even though I’m licking my lips. “I need clothes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Gareth.”
“Fine. You need clothes.” He sighs. “How much?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I haven’t had to buy an entirely new wardrobe before.”
“Black Amex it is then.” He takes it from his wallet and tosses it over. “You should be familiar with that by now.”
“Are you giving me limits?”
“Be reasonable. That’s my limit. Otherwise, get yourself what you need. Work clothes, exercise clothes, casual and lounge stuff, underwear. Treat yourself to some lingerie if you’d like.”
“Gareth,” I say. “You’re flirting dangerously with the no-sex clause.”
“I didn’t say wear the lingerie for me. I said to treat yourself.”
“Oh, then I can wear it for someone else?” I bat my eyelashes innocently.
His face darkens. It takes me by surprise, how sudden and intense he looks at me, like he’s contemplating murdering this fictional man.
“You’re my wife now,” he says, voice pitched low. “You’re mine, Fiona. You will not fuck anyone while you’re mine.”
“I’m sorry, we didn’t discuss that.”
“No sex means no sex.” His sudden, possessive glare sends a shiver of excitement down my spine. Gareth always seems uptight and controlling, but this side of him is a hint at the passion underneath the cold exterior. I didn’t know he could turn into a total manhandling beast on the drop of a dime, and the stupid horny side of my brain actually likes it.
Okay, get it together. I am not sleeping with my possessive husband.
“That’s not what I meant,” I say, clearing my throat. “I was teasing you, but fine, I don’t even want to sleep with anyone. I can take care of my needs all by myself. I’ve been doing it for years.”
He licks his lips. “How often?”
“Excuse me?” My eyes widen. Is he seriously asking about that right now?
“How often do you get yourself off? So I know to give you privacy.” There’s a heat to his gaze that simultaneously gets me extremely excited and makes me exceedingly nervous.
“I’m not sharing my masturbation habits with you.” I glance away, heart racing. “If I’m busy, I’ll lock my door.”