Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 135536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her I was calling her an Uber that would take her back to Bibleville. However, my rationality wouldn’t allow my pride to override my senses.
“That’s acceptable.”
She drew in a ragged breath. “I want to have a baby.”
And what I wanted was for her to take Plan B. But such a request would be cowardly. It wasn’t her fault I’d lost control.
We both played to win. The home team—me—had suffered an unexpected loss today. No need to cheat her out of her victory. No matter how big it might turn out to be.
She could get pregnant.
These past twenty minutes could determine the rest of my life.
I retrieved my tin container, popping a piece of gum past my lips. “Well, I don’t.”
“Why are you so against procreating?”
“Trauma.”
“Are you ever going to tell me?”
“No.”
She didn’t seem surprised by my answer. Or upset. In fact, as I advanced toward her, I noticed tiny bubbles peppering the tear, which still hadn’t evaporated.
No. Not a tear.
Was that…spit?
I realized, for the first time, that I’d never actually seen Dallas cry.
Ever.
Something shifted in me just then. I no longer saw Dallas Costa as a nuisance. After all, she held the upper hand in almost all of our mental games.
And this time, she’d brought me to the brink, then tipped me over the edge. Made me fuck her bareback, and feel guilty about the whole thing, and bargain with her, too.
Dallas Costa was no plaything. She was my equal, and it would be wise to treat her as such.
Shortbread frowned, most likely debating what she wanted to bargain for in our negotiation. If I gave her the opportunity to speak first, the request would probably be every inch of my soul.
“I’ll give you freedom if you give me time.” The words rolled off my tongue of their own accord.
“Time for what?”
Time to discard of you on my terms after completing my task of ruining Madison Licht.
“To think about babies,” I lied.
She considered this.
Before she could answer, I added, “But I have a condition, too.”
She licked her lips, nodding. “I’ll never meet Madison again.”
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
She hopped off the hood of the Maybach, her dress still askew and tucked around her waist.
My cum dripped down her thigh, traveling to her knees and ankles. Dry, matted blood the shape of clouds stamped to her inner thighs.
We both watched them in silence.
“Want me to lick it better?” I heard myself grunt out.
“Yes, thank you.”
It could be claimed, with some justification, that I often overestimated my acting abilities.
But not today.
I did something a little bad.
Okay, a lot bad.
I faked a tear.
What can I say? After Romeo chose a company he hated over SIDS prevention, it was a cathartic experience watching him fall all over himself because he thought I was distraught.
I wasn’t distraught. Not at all.
In fact, I loved it when he grabbed my throat, adored it when he bit my nipples, and got off on it when he thrust into me so hard, I felt him reach my belly.
And when he lowered to his knees, licked his own semen from my legs, and trailed his tongue further north until it disappeared inside me—licking, suckling, kissing my clit, and scraping his teeth on it until I came on his face—I was just about ready to donate both my kidneys and my liver to get a repeat.
Could goading Romeo with Madison for the millionth time be classified as immoral?
Sure.
Was guilt-tripping my husband into considering babies a new low?
Perhaps.
But did I feel bad about it?
Not in the slightest.
Hours later, I pranced around the house in Disney pajamas I’d bought on the Internet. No way would Romeo approve of them—an extra bonus that led me to purchase the set in all colors.
After dinner, which he’d taken in the dining room while I ravaged mine straight from the oven, Romeo tucked himself into his study, probably doing boring, grown-up things.
I gossiped with Frankie on the phone, munching on a sugar cane. Each time I remembered my agreement with him, a smile lifted my cheeks.
Sure, my first full-blown sexual experience was…weird.
I never orgasmed.
Well, not until he ate me out after.
And the too-tight fit pained me. But there was something thrilling about seeing my husband truly lose control for the first time since we’d gotten married.
“Is he still giving you a hard time?” Frankie cooed on the other line. “The hot, irritating bastard.”
I couldn’t very well tell her he’d given me a few other hard things. She wouldn’t understand. In fact, I didn’t understand what was happening between me and Romeo, either.
I knew a fat red line existed between love and lust, but what happened when you straddled it?
I didn’t want to find out.
“He’s horrible!” I said cheerfully, crushing the cane between my molars. “The absolute worst. I constantly do things to make him mad. Just today, I went on a lunch date with Madison. And invited the paparazzi.”