Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Once that’s done, he towels both of us off and rubs my strawberry scented lotion on me. Again, something he insists on doing even though it makes him question my chaotic scent choices: lavender scented bath salts, strawberry scented lotion, rose scented shampoo, and gardenia scented face moisturizer. Sometimes while putting the lotion on me, he’ll get waylaid and eat my pussy. Sometimes he’ll just play with it with the fingers of his one hand while asking me to stay still so he can finish rubbing the cream on me with the other.
Either way, I always come after the bath.
When that’s done as well, he carries me back to bed and proceeds to make me ginger and honey tea because he very hungrily and lovingly fucked my throat.
But that’s not the best part.
The best part is that he does it naked.
While I get to watch.
His gorgeous body on display.
The broad muscles of his back fluttering with the movements of his arms; those two dips on the side of his ass flexing when he shifts on his feet. When he’s done, I get to watch him, and his glorious naked chest and those ridged abs bring me the tea he made.
“I seriously cannot get over how fucking amazing your body is,” I say as he hands me my tea.
With his lips twitching, he slides in with his own, chamomile. And I have to say that I find very adorable that Stellan ‘The Cold’ Thorne loves drinking chamomile tea before going to bed.
“Well, ditto.”
I settle against him, using him as a pillow and take a sip of my soothing tea. “And your chest hair.” Then, looking up, “Is that crazy?”
I feel him shrug. “But you are crazy.”
I look up. “Not as crazy as you though. You still hold the top spot.”
“How’s that?”
“You love that thing about me.”
“What thing?”
I give him wide eyes. “The thing.”
His lips tip up slightly in a lopsided smile. “Your tasty fucking asshole?”
I gasp, almost spilling my tea. “Not that, you perv!”
Although he does love it.
Love licking it, eating it, putting his finger in it.
His tongue too.
Oh my God.
It’s… embarrassing.
And he does it all urgently and enthusiastically. Like he can’t get enough of it. Like he loves it as much as he loves eating my pussy.
He chuckles in response.
And I narrow my eyes at him. “The other thing. My sixth toe.”
Oh, did I mention that I have an extra toe on my left foot?
I do.
I don’t like to think about it. I don’t like to acknowledge it. Growing up, it was a great source of contention for me. Especially because my mother didn’t like it. She’d think it was another one of my ploys to steal attention. Because I’d come back from school, crying over how kids would make fun of me. How they’d point at it and laugh. Not to mention, since both my feet were of different width, we had to have special shoes made for me to wear. Maybe that’s why I love flip flops and open-toed sandals so much. Even though they show off my toes.
But the story is entirely different for Stellan.
He loves it.
He hadn’t noticed right away, thank God, because they all blend so well together. But one night while he was propped up on the pillows, waiting for me to pick out a movie to watch, and I was on my tummy, facing away from him and swinging my legs, he saw it for the first time. When I told him that I didn’t want to talk about it, he insisted, and we all know what that means: I had to tell him.
Since then, he makes sure to kiss all eleven of my toes to tell me how much he loves them all.
And for the third time, I don’t know what’s my favorite: him leaving roses for me or kissing my extra toe.
I feel him sigh and then shift. He goes for my tea and takes it from my hand even though I protest with, hey, I was drinking that, and sets it aside. He sets his mug aside too before sliding out and moving to kneel in front of me. Grabbing my ankles, he yanks at them, causing me to go flat on my back.
Then keeping my legs raised, he nuzzles his nose against my left calf. “I want you to count, okay?”
Frowning, I go to protest, “Stellan, you –"
Keeping our gazes locked, he brings my left foot to his lips. He blows lightly on the arch and I squeal because holy God, that’s my ticklish spot. “That’s n-not… fair.”
He tsks, blowing on my foot again. “So then you should do what I say.”
I squeal in response again and struggle against his grip. “This is b-blackmail.”
He hums, nuzzling my ankle again. “I tend to enjoy that.”
“I h-hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” he says, blowing another little puff of air.