Total pages in book: 206
Estimated words: 192184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 641(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 192184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 641(@300wpm)
“What do you mean?”
“Tia, you’ve made no secret of the fact you thought we were moving too fast. I don’t want that all in the midst of everything I’m trying to sort out. We’ll figure that out after. When I get married, I want to be focused a hundred per cent on my bride and nothing else.”
I don’t know if my heart sank or soared right there. It sounded sweet, but maybe he was having second thoughts about us amid everything he was figuring out. It sounded silly of me because of all the worries I had, but the idea he might be unsure about us was unsettling.
“And for you. I want our wedding day to be the happiest day of your life,” he added softly.
His expression said it all. I got a little choked up. I looked at him with tears in my eyes. He squeezed my hand and then kissed each knuckle. Soaring. My heart was definitely soaring.
“Have you found out anything else?” I asked after recovering.
He shook his head. “No. But I think we should talk to your father. Get more info. Have him over. How do you feel about that?”
I didn’t know. I finally shrugged.
“We’ll talk more later,” he finally said as we were pulling up to the front gate. “When we get inside, I have to make a quick phone call. When I’m done, I’m coming up and we’re going to play. In the mood to play?”
I was surprised. I smiled at him. “Play what?”
He smiled wickedly at me as we got on the other side of the gates. “Play cock slave?” He brought my hand to his mouth again and took my index finger in between his teeth, raising an eyebrow.
I smirked. “Hmmm. You missed out on that offer, Sir. How about ping pong?”
“Uh uh.” He let go of my hand and reversed into the garage.
“Monopoly?”
“Nope.” He put it in park.
“Strip poker?”
“Hm. By George, I think you’ve got something there.”
As we got out, I was laughing.
“I have a deck of cards in the game room downstairs. You get down there and shuffle them and wait for me,” he said and then he unlocked the front door. “Be prepared to lose the shirt off your back.” He winked.
When we got inside, he went to his office and I headed down to the basement. The games room was awesome and I’d been spending considerable time down there the last few days. Ping pong and pool tables, big home theatre, foosball, the arcade games (I still hadn’t beat Dario’s Ms. Pacman high score, but I was close). The poker table had a storage drawer underneath it and it contained several brand-new decks of cards.
I set them on the felt had a thought, so ran upstairs to the bedroom and stripped out of my yellow sun dress Tommy had bought when we were at the farm. I put on a sexy pair of black underwear with matching bra and a pair of black stay-up fishnet stockings. Then I layered on a t-shirt, a hoodie, a vest, a pair of tights, track pants, and then a pair of his jeans (mine wouldn’t fit over all those layers. I had to roll his up at the bottom about half a dozen times as they were just way too long). Then I put on two pairs of socks and booted it back downstairs.
He was sitting on the poker table with no shirt on, looking sexy with his muscled arms folded across his chest. He stared at me, “Wondered where you got to.” His face lit up with humor. “Hitting the ski slopes?”
“I’m just not sure how good you are at poker. I thought I might need an advantage.”
The fact that he was already half undressed either spoke to him giving me an advantage or to him being anxious for the payout.
He wiggled his eyebrows at me and then took the deck of cards out of the box and did this fancy card shuffling in mid-air thing. Yikes. He laughed at my horror-stricken face.
Not long later, he had only taken off one sock and I was down to the bra, panties, and stockings. My gigantic heap of clothing was on the floor between us and he was very pleased at the surprise lingerie under all those layers.
“Fuck, you’re sexy,” he told me as he lifted me up and my stocking-clad legs wrapped around his waist.
“We never got our Neapolitan last night,” he advised as he carried me up the basement stairs and into the kitchen. I held on tight, tonguing his earlobe until he put me on the kitchen counter and then opened the freezer. Sure enough there was a carton of Neapolitan ice cream.
“Hey, lookie lookie,” he said.
He opened a drawer and got a spoon and spooned a bit of vanilla up and got between my legs and put it in my mouth.