Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“No fair,” I point out, my arms crossed. “You have mad mom skills.”
She chuckles, delighted with the praise. By the time she turns around, Darius has a loaf of bread, the jar of peanut butter I was just fantasizing about, a knife, and several plates set out on the other side of the kitchen on yet another prep table. One where we didn’t just uh…do very naughty things on.
My mom takes over, whipping up sandwiches that are extra delicious because I wasn’t kidding about those mad skills she has. Everything tastes better when a mom makes it, I swear. At least, it does when my mom makes it. She passes me a sandwich oozing with jelly and thick with peanut butter, and my mouth waters. She gives two to Darius and takes one for herself.
“Have a good sleep,” she says, wriggling her fingers in a farewell gesture over her shoulder and taking the final sandwich with her.
After she leaves, Darius and I breathe a collective sigh of thank fucking goodness. He takes a bite of one of his sandwiches and groans. “Oh, man. This is amazing. This might be the best PB and J I’ve ever had.”
“Yeah, my mom makes good PB and J.”
“The best,” he adds.
“Thank you for getting my gotch down from there before she saw.”
“Oh.” He sets his midnight lunch down and digs in his pocket, producing them for me. I snatch them out of his palm, barely brushing my fingers over his skin. I need to be careful. Because if I’m not then I’ll forget all about this sandwich and pick up where we left off. I’d really like to pick up where we left off. But I can’t. We shouldn’t. Things don’t need to be more complicated. I’m not sure what Darius wants, but the fact that he got himself into a marriage of convenience that’s going to end would suggest it’s not a commitment or a meaningful relationship. I have a lot of things going on the side, too. I mean, I’m not killing myself by working so many jobs anymore, just like my mom isn’t, and Heather is getting her treatment, but I’m still, uh, not available. Kind of?
“Are you okay?”
The soft undercurrent of concern in Darius’ voice threatens to make my knees buckle, so I slap on a shaky smile, grasp my panties with one hand, and grab my sandwich with the other. “Yeah, I’m okay. Are you okay?”
“I think so.”
“We should probably sanitize that table.”
“I’ve got it. You go ahead to, uh…to bed. If that’s where you were going. Or…continue on, at any rate.”
“Okay.” God, this is why I don’t do spontaneously wonderful things like letting my super hot, deliciously attractive, and masculine husband of convenience lick my lady bits in a big industrial kitchen in the middle of the night. Or anywhere. At any time.
This is why I have to turn and make a fast retreat because I’m afraid if I stay, I’ll abandon my resolve and this sandwich, and I’ll throw down another peanut butter offer that involves my mouth and, okay, probably my lady bits again after, and also Darius’ man nipples, all his muscles, and maybe his man bits.
God, it’s been a long time since I’ve done this with anyone. I’ve always been on the shy side, and then life just got…busy and out of control. Finding a boyfriend was the last thing on my mind. Getting busy was also the last thing on my mind because I was already busy enough. Thank you very much.
Tonight just reminded me of how much I love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and also how lonely I’ve been. In a sexual dry spell kind of way. And in other ways, too, but I didn’t just find that out tonight. I think I’ve known that since the minute I locked eyes with Darius for real, back when I was tied to the bed and wondering what the heck was going on. As he was explaining himself, he got this look on his face that I recognized—a look that my heart felt, synced up with, and beat all the more heavily after knowing.
I wasn’t alone in the world, but man, sometimes I felt like it. And Darius had that same look.
Tonight didn’t feel like an accident. It didn’t feel like something wrong or bad. Even if I really should keep it from happening again because I know this has an expiry date on it, and sexy time wasn’t part of the deal, I can’t convince myself that I’m not looking forward to the next slightly awkward, hella wonderful chance encounter we might have.
You know, even if I have ironclad control, and my lady bits are not going to be getting themselves involved in any more sticky, or not so sticky, situations.
Chapter eleven
Darius
Igave up on the idea of sleep after trying for a few hours. My shoulder was locked up, which was uncomfortable, and no matter what position I tried, I couldn’t drift off to sleep. There were better things to do than lay there, frustrated beyond belief, though. Things like hitting the gym at four in the morning to do some punishing cardio followed by enough shoulder exercises to loosen the bastard up a little, showering and pointedly not jacking myself off to get rid of the damn erection I couldn’t get under control, or telling myself in the said shower that the lesser of two evils was to take care of the problem instead of walking around with a tent in my pants all day.