Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 88456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
“Don’t care,” he says, and I’ve realized Nash doesn’t watch television, like ever. Which is shocking to me since I’m all about watching television. “Whatever you want to watch.”
“Really?” I put my matcha down on my bedside table, right in front of the picture of Nash I had done last week. It’s from our wedding, and it was when he was watching me walk down the aisle. It’s not like he didn’t know what I was wearing because he saw me in the dress, but his expression is one of pure joy. His eyes are light because he is smiling, and it’s not a full-face smile where his eyes crease at the corners. No, this smile is almost a smirk and a grin that says “That’s all mine.” He gives me a smile often when I walk in the room or he walks in and his eyes look for me. It is a smile that is on the top of the list of smiles he has given me.
“Really.” He tries to hide the smile forming on his face with his coffee cup at his lips. “Besides, after I finish this and eat a bit, I’m going to have dessert.” He takes a gulp of his coffee. “Then, hopefully, your mouth will be full of dick.”
“I can’t start my day without a mouth full of dick,” I say sarcastically.
“Trust me, baby.” He leans over and kisses my neck. “I know.”
I don’t answer him because he’s not fucking wrong. “What do you want to do today?” I ask him as I scroll through the DVR to search for something to watch.
“I have something set up for tonight.” He reaches for one of the wrapped sandwiches. “And I have someone coming in to cook for us.”
“What?” I ask, shocked. “What do you have set up for tonight?”
“If I wanted to tell you, don’t you think I would have told you?” He takes a bite of his bagel. “It’s called a surprise for a reason.” I grab the other wrapped sandwich, seeing it’s a bagel with egg and sausage in an everything bagel. “You’ll like it.”
“I’m sure I will.” I chew and put on my show, and even if he doesn’t admit it, he’s into it, at least for a little bit until he gets bored and slips my robe off me to rub my back, which ends with his dick in my mouth but with me also sitting on his face.
I’m at the sink fluffing my hair when he sticks his head into the bathroom. “You ready?” he asks me, and I look at him in the mirror.
“I wasn’t the one banished to my bedroom and told ‘don’t come out until I come and get you.’” I smile at him. “How could I not be ready?” I turn as he walks in and I see he’s wearing jeans and a button-down shirt, open until the middle of his chest. “Is this okay?” I ask him and see him do a sweep of my outfit. I went with a long, flowy yellow skirt that falls to my ankles but has three layers to the dress that sweep side to side when I walk.
He closes the distance to me, putting his hands on my hips. “I like this,” he says of the white shirt that is more of a crop top, showing off my stomach. His fingers rub softly. “Are you wearing a bra?” he asks me of the double-layered shirt that has cute cap sleeves with little cutouts in it and is tight around under my breasts and kicks off just a bit.
“Nope,” I say, seeing his eyes go right to my chest.
“So all I have to do is,” he says, lowering the top of the shirt, “and then do this.” He sucks a nipple into his mouth.
“Basically,” I tell him, trying not to show him how much he always gets to me. “Show me my surprise,” I urge him, and he slides his hand in mine as he walks out of our bedroom with me. “Wait.” I stop him right before we walk out of the bedroom before rushing to the closet to get my own surprise.
“What’s that?” He points at the white envelope I have in my hand. “This is a surprise,” I tell him. “You aren’t the only one who can make surprises.” Slipping my hand in his, I pull him out of the bedroom.
When we come to the bottom of the stairs, the formal living room is transformed. The couches are pushed aside, and there is a long table with two chairs in front of it. White easels are set up in front of each chair. “What is this?” I turn to ask him, seeing the bucket of ice on the side holding two bottles of white wine.
“It’s a sip and paint night. We are going to paint, and I have a chef preparing some of your favorite dishes so we can eat also,” he explains at the same time as a woman comes into the room wearing a smock over her pants and shirt.