Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Hell, I could’ve been talking to him about my cravings in solo appointments.
Fuck! I should’ve done that before taking matters into my own hands and finding Pete and Farrah. Then all of this shit would’ve never happened.
But there’s nothing I can do about it now. And as Savannah spins around in my lap to sit sideways, so she can look at me and then back to the screen, I know there’s no point in living with such a heavy burden of regret when we could come out of this closer and stronger than ever.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SAVANNAH
Roman Broussard literally collapsing to the ground in laughter was like an IV bag of pure bliss that replaced all the blood in my veins. I felt it from my oily scalp down to my chipped-polished toenails. It shocked me to life, it seemed, like the lightning bolt that animated Frankenstein’s monster.
And now I can’t sit still.
I use the mouse to click open my personal email inbox and pull up the results I read from the quiz this morning before I got distracted. Before I move out of the way so Roman can read the screen I explain as I sit sideways on his lap, “So this questionnaire wasn’t just some goofy quiz on Buzzfeed or anything. It was way more in-depth than that. In fact, these are just the free results. If we want an even deeper dive into my results, we can pay for it, but I found this was plenty for now.”
His eyes are on me, not even trying to look around me to see what’s on the monitor. Always so attentive, my husband. “What were some of the questions?” he asks.
I blow out a breath, trying to remember some specifics. “Hm, there were lots about different kinks, and the answers were on a scale that had you rate if you highly agreed with statements, all the way down the levels to if you highly disagreed. A few questions, I noticed, were the same just worded differently, but what was interesting to me was how my answer would be different because of the way it was worded.” I shrug, then look over at the email. “You wanna see what it says would be my ultimate role-playing fantasy to bring to life?” I peek at him, my lips twitching into a shy smile, feeling somewhat awkward flirting with my own damn husband. “I bet you’ll find the results… entertaining.”
His arms wrap around my hips and yank me harder against him as his hips roll upward, pressing my ass against the steel rod in his slacks I’ve been doing my best not to grind down on like a cat in heat. He blows out a breath of his own then, seeming to rein in his control, and sits up straighter as he rotates the computer chair a little to get a better view of the monitor. “Let’s see here….”
When his dark eyes start to move back and forth along the sentences, I face the screen myself so I can read along with him, but barely make it three sentences before he’s already scrolling down to the next set of paragraphs. This always happens though, when we try to read anything together. He’s so fast and can take it all in, in one go, while I have to sometimes read a sentence thrice before my brain deciphers what it’s saying. It’s why he usually ends up reading things out loud to me—bonus, I get to listen to his sexy, deep voice.
Since I’ve already been through this email with a fine-tooth comb though, I don’t interrupt him. And when he reaches the bottom of the page, I find myself holding my breath, anticipating what he might say… or suggest.
But in a shocking turn of event, my mouth gives in to a compulsion before I can stop it. “I have a proposition for you.”
His brows lift before his eyes even meet mine, and when they do, he’s just as surprised by the words out of my mouth and the fact that they came out so confidently as I am. Especially after they were prompted by what he just read about me and my own dark desires, ones I didn’t realize I had until they were written out on the page in black and white and couldn’t be denied.
“Pray tell, wife,” he encourages, leaning back in the seat with a smirk that makes my inner muscles clench.
“Last night, during our research, we spoke about how I’d have to pick the partner, and you would be the one to choose the scene and all the details. But…” I pause, nervous to just put this out there because, in my mind, it makes perfect sense and would make both of us happy. So, what if he just flat-out tells me no?
“Savannah,” he urges gently, seeing me struggle to continue.