Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
I purse my lips, considering my answer. “I don’t think we needed to talk about it at length. I saw you across the room and instantly wanted to put my baby inside you.”
She laughs. “That’s not a thing, Max.”
“Oh, I beg to differ. When I finally convinced you I’m serious and in it for the long haul, we’ve been working diligently on it, ever since. Morning and night. Sometimes, during lunch breaks, too.” Her chest rises and falls sharply, so I lean forward with my eyes locked onto hers and my heart pounding. “Oh my god, Marnie Long, how we fuck and fuck and fuck in the name of fun and love and possible procreation. The way we fucked after meeting at Captain’s? Baby, that was nothing compared to the way we go at it as an engaged couple. We can’t get enough of each other. Frankly, I think we’ve both got an addiction. It’s a real problem.” I smile. “A fucking awesome problem to have, though.”
Sexual heat is coursing between us and ricocheting off the walls of the kitchen. My eyes drift down to Marnie’s sensuous mouth, and she subtly drags her teeth across her lower lip.
Marnie shifts in her chair and breaks eye contact. “As much as I’ve thoroughly enjoyed that response, you can’t say all that to someone at family camp.”
“If they’ve got the audacity to ask such a personal question, then they’re going to get a no-holds-barred personal response.”
“If you’re that baby crazy, nobody would believe you’ve settled on spending your most virile years with me. You’d have found yourself a much younger woman. A Fertile Myrtle.”
“I don’t want a baby with a Fertile Myrtle. I want a baby with you. If that’s not in the cards, then I don’t want one at all.” I shrug. “We’ve got Ripley to raise together. I love her like my own. A baby on top of that would be icing on the cake, but not necessary. All that matters is that I’m with you.”
Marnie looks like she’s having a cardiac event. She grabs her wine and gulps down the rest. “Uh, yeah, I think that answer works.” She takes a deep breath and motions to my plate. “Would you like more of anything?”
It’s easy to see she’s feeling turned on every bit as much as I am. For my part, I’m hard as a rock underneath this table. Is Marnie experiencing the female equivalent?
“I’m good on food,” I say, maintaining eye contact. “It was incredible. Thank you.”
“Glad you enjoyed it. Would you like a refill on wine?”
The wine bottle is on the counter, unfortunately. Which means someone needs to get up to refill our glasses. I’d normally tell her to stay put—that I’ll refill both glasses. But I don’t want Marnie seeing the massive bulge in my pants. “Thank you,” I say. “Another glass of wine would be great.”
Marnie grabs my empty plate and goblet, along with her own glass and practically sprints to the counter. When she gets there, she places the plate in the sink and puts down our glasses, but she doesn’t immediately refill them. Instead, she grips the edge of the counter and bows her head. Her body language reminds me of someone who’s just gotten off a brutal roller coaster with loop-de-loops and is now trying to chase away a horrific sensation of nausea.
“Are you okay over there?” I ask.
Marnie takes a deep breath. “Why don’t you head to the couch with our wine, and I’ll clean up and meet you there. We’ll look at my collection of rings, and if I don’t already have something acceptable to you, we’ll look for a cheap fake online.”
18
MAX
By the time Marnie joins me on the couch in the living room, my hard-on has subsided, and I feel like I’m back in control of myself. She takes a seat next to me and opens a little box, which turns out to be a jewelry box filled with rings.
“Now, let’s see,” Marnie says, shifting the contents around. “Ah. How about this one?” She holds up her selection, and it’s immediately clear to me we’re not on the same page here. It’s a woefully, thoroughly insufficient candidate for our purposes.
“I’d be embarrassed to propose to you with that,” I say bluntly. “That’s not even a diamond. What is that?”
“A garnet.” When I scoff, Marnie adds, “There’s no rule that says an engagement ring has to feature a diamond. Princess Diana had a sapphire engagement ring.”
“Yeah, and it was probably worth millions. That ring looks like it’s worth twenty bucks.”
Marnie looks pained. “It was a gift from my father to my mother when they were really young. A promise ring, basically. That’s her birthstone.”
I feel my cheeks color. “Sorry. It’s very pretty. Just not for our purposes.”
After glaring at me, Marnie returns to her box and sifts its contents around again. She shows me a few more pathetic options, and I quickly nix them all.