Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“What is that?” I ask while she guides us the appropriate direction. “Like a cousin to Tango or some shit?”
“Donno,” Pres innocently replies. “Let’s find out together.”
Our arrival to the packed room right as the instructor, Astrid, is about to begin has us occupying the back corner. While her explanation of what we can expect seems a little complicated, the high interval workout itself isn’t. However, despite not being overly complex, the constant cycling between pushups, jumping jack, high knees, and other bendy but body intensive exercises doesn’t take long to add up in the exhaustion department.
Sweat steadily drips down both our faces.
Panting of the unsexiest kind occurs on the small breaks.
Whispered encouragements as well as playfully cursing out one another are presented in an oscillating fashion.
We’re side by side doing heel touches for the last activity, and while I can’t wait to be fucking be done, part of me hates that we’re almost finished.
I love throwing myself into a workout.
Love it even more when I watch her push herself in ways I know she still struggles with.
One of my stretches to my side is used to try to sillily slap her hand instead.
She gasps, giggles, and returns the action the instant she can.
Her hit has me chuckling and happily working faster to get in another slap before time is called. Pres strangely wiggles her body away prompting mine to following and when Astrid finally calls that class, I roll over and trap her underneath an arm slung over her stomach.
More laughter is followed by her blowing loose strands away from her eyes. “This was hell.”
“Smoothie?”
Pres’s smile immediately resumes at the same time she plants her stare in mine. “I’m gonna get a pineapple passion.”
“How about I get a mango madness one that way we can switch halfway and you can enjoy both of your favorite flavors?”
She overdramatically swoons. “How about I fucking love that idea?”
“How about I fucking love you?”
“I love you, too,” my girlfriend coos back and delivers a sweet, somewhat salty chaste kiss. “Now, how about we go get some fucking smoothies to love?”
“Deal.”
And unlike the one I’ve made with my brother regarding our awful father, this is one agreement that I’m actually happy about.
Chapter 19
Presley
Discussion Topic 10: Be Your Own Ally
This is so not how I thought I would receive my birthday hits.
“Quit that!” I fuss on a giggle while trying to reach for a piece of the freshly cooked bacon sitting on the kitchen counter. “You’re not Henry Lundwicks!”
Ry lands another flawless tap on my finger tops. “Henrik Lundqvist.”
My whined rebuttal is done in tandem with me shaking out my fingers. “Close enough.”
“You can have points for the hockey goal tender reference attempt, you can have points for flattering me in the process, and you can have points for the fact it’s your birthday, but you cannot have,” he swats at the air again right as I begin to reach again, “bacon until breakfast is served, baby.”
“But I want it now…” I playfully pout, bare feet stomping on the freshly polished floor.
Not entirely sure if he mopped it before he started cooking or if it’s still this shiny from the cleaning lady’s visit.
What I do know is that we’re both off today, he somehow got up early after banging me late last night, and is holding thick cut, applewood-smoked bacon just out of reach.
He’s a monster.
A sexy, tattooed, sporting black boxer briefs and nothing else, monster.
And by far the best gift I’ve had in years.
“It doesn’t usually take that long for me to make chocolate chip pancakes,” Ry sweetly states prior to pointing the cooking tool my direction, “but you’re making this shit last twice as fucking long. Could you please go wait at the bar, birthday brat?”
“I am not being a brat!”
His expression instantly becomes sarcastically stern.
Another childlike pout is presented.
“Give me like six minutes.”
“Fine.” I lean forward with pursed lips for a quick kiss while nonchalantly reaching around with one hand to grab a piece of meat.
To my surprise, success is had!
Also to my surprise, punishment is immediate.
The second my boyfriend spots the food in my hand, a swat with the spatula is made. When he misses thanks to a Matrix style dodge, he rushes after me, strikes aimed for my barely t-shirt covered butt.
We run around the kitchen island with me squeaking and chomping and trying not to choke on laughter. Ry – who could have easily caught me on the first lap – simply half ass chases and swings his tool until I’ve finished what I stole. At that point, he wraps one arm around my stomach to capture me, relocates my wiggling frame to the nearest stool, bends my body over it, and hikes up the Pretty Woman movie poster t-shirt I love to sleep in exposing my bare backside.
“Birthday spankings time,” he announces split seconds before popping me on the ass.