Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 203847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1019(@200wpm)___ 815(@250wpm)___ 679(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 203847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1019(@200wpm)___ 815(@250wpm)___ 679(@300wpm)
The toast is hot, and the scent of melted butter assaults my senses. My stomach growls and I breathe it in. For the first time in three days, I want to eat.
I grab the plate of toast and bottle of water and walk out onto the balcony. There are two chairs and a small table in the corner shaded by a large umbrella. I take a seat in one of the chairs, ensuring that I’m under the shade but leaving my legs in the sun.
I pick at the toast and look out at the beach. I’m not looking at anything in particular. I’m just letting the sounds roll over me and relax me.
Before I know it, I’ve eaten the whole slice of toast and am reaching for the second. I blink and shake my head. Eating a second slice is just asking for trouble. I reach for the water instead, sipping slowly, letting the coolness of the liquid soothe my throat.
No one ever tells you how raw your throat gets when they talk about morning sickness. Sure, they mention how horrible it is and whatever, but they never tell you the little bits.
My eyes move from the beach to my stomach. It’s still flat—aside from some light bloating that probably isn’t even visible to anyone else. I wonder when that bloat will become bump—when it’ll be obvious to everyone else that there’s a tiny baby in there.
I lift my dress up over my hips and run my finger across the skin above the waistband of my bikini briefs. It’s smooth, hot, perfectly unmarred.
How long do I have until it changes? Until the beauty of what’s inside reflects in permanent markings that will only ever fade?
How long do I have until I’m no longer me?
“It’s not every day I get to finish work and come home to my girlfriend showing her knickers off.”
I look at Tyler as if to say, Really? “They’re not knickers. It’s a bikini.”
“I like it when you say knickers,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss me.
“I like it when you say knickers.” I let him sweep his lips across mine and pick up my water again.
“How are you feeling?”
I point to the toast. “I ate a slice.” I wiggle my bottle. “And I’ve drunk half of this.”
A smile that tugs at my heart in the best kind of way stretches across his face. “Good. I was worried about you.”
“I slept the whole time. I woke up maybe half an hour ago.”
“Good. That means we can spend the day out.”
I chew the inside of my lip. “What if I get sick again?”
“We’ll make sure we’re within running distance of a loo at all times,” he reassures me.
I smile at his use of the word ‘loo.’ His words are as charming as his accent.
“Have you ever thought about moving back to London?” I ask, standing.
“Why? Have you?”
“No. But you grew up there, right? Don’t you miss it?”
He shrugs, pulling his T-shirt off. “Not really. I mean, yeah, I miss some stuff. Like proper fish and chips, and Crunchies, and people talking properly.”
I shove his arm properly. “What’s a Crunchie?”
“Honeycomb covered in chocolate. You’ve never heard of a Crunchie?”
“You just told me you miss them, so what makes you think I’ve heard of them?”
His dark eyes settle on mine, glinting with amusement. “I can tell you’re better. Your mouth is back.” He steps forward, shirtless, and runs his thumb over my bottom lip.
“You sound disappointed.”
“About your mouth being back? No. I happen to find it sexy as fuck when you argue with me.”
“It’s not arguing. It’s replying with attitude.”
“Attitude or arguing, whatever. Either way, it’s sexy as fuck.”
He curls his fingers around the back of my head and pulls my face to his. A whisper of air hovers between our lips where they’re not quite touching but not quite apart. I flatten my hands against his stomach and slide one up his chest. It curves around the side of his neck, my fingertips teasing the hair at the top of his neck.
Slowly, he touches his lips to mine, his kiss tender. The softness of his mouth massaging mine makes me giddy, and I lean into him as he deepens the kiss.
His tongue sweeps through my mouth, fighting mine, pulling me deeper and deeper into him. Every movement he makes intoxicates me. I feel his touch everywhere like it’s burned into my skin.
“Tonight,” he whispers against my mouth. “Tonight, you’re mine.”
“I’m yours every night,” I say back. “But it makes me all kinds of excited when you say that.”
His lips curve into mine. “How excited?”
“You’ll find out later, won’t you?”
He dips his hand between my legs and runs his finger under my bikini briefs. I gasp, my eyes drawn to his when he pulls his finger, glistening with my wetness, to his mouth and licks it off. My pussy clenches, sending red-hot desire ricocheting through my veins.