Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 34442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 172(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 172(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
Her giggle tinkled loudly enough for bystanders to hear, but I only had eyes for her as I lifted an eyebrow, hopeful it put me ahead in my race to get between her thighs by using the power of suggestion.
Having fun with our game now, Georgia let her coquettish smile turn devious. “Does that mean you’ll do it?”
I feigned a beleaguered sigh. “It’s a tough job, but I guess this is what husbands do for their wives, huh?”
“If they’re smart.” Georgie asserted with a nod and a grin.
I had been called a lot of things in my nearly thirty-five years of life, but shamelessly dumb wasn’t one of them.
“All hail, Queen Georgie. Ruler of the beach and commander of sunscreen application,” I teased, and she snorted, waving a hand and sitting up on her towel like Queen Elizabeth on her way to a palace gala. All that bullshit about not wanting to move a muscle disappeared as soon as she got the royal title. I mean, it made sense. Fame, as it were, changed people.
I shook my head, smiled, and grabbed the bottle of sunscreen out of our beach bag despite her duplicity. In the end, I was still being blessed with the chance to rub slick hands over many, many inches of her legs, stomach, breasts, and ass. It would be a cold day in hell before I offered up a complaint that might take that away.
Sliding closer to my beautiful—and lazy—wife, I squirted a small amount of lotion into my hands, rubbed them together, and began to gently rub it into the skin of her shoulders.
“Oh yes,” she purred. “That feels so amazing that you should just keep doing it for at least another ten or so minutes.”
“I swear, Benny,” I said on a laugh. “You were a cat in a past life. There is no one on the planet who enjoys back rubs and foot rubs and head massages, and pretty much anything revolving around being petted in some form or another, more than you.”
She giggled and shrugged. “Hey, at least I don’t lick myself.”
“No,” I said smartly. “That’s my job.”
She swatted at me feebly—another sign that she was feline in another life—and I smirked.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you and that asshole cat get along so well,” I added.
“His name is Walter,” she interjected, turning her neck into an awkward position just to glare up at me. Dramatic outrage consumed her face. “And he’s not an asshole. He’s a total sweetheart, and I’m already missing him like crazy.”
“I miss him too,” I agreed sarcastically. Eager to believe me, though, she didn’t pick up on my tone.
“Really?” Hope practically bled out of her pores.
“Sure. I miss him in the way a kidnapping victim misses their abductor.” Her eyes narrowed. “Very Stockholm-ish.”
She was so committed to our cat, she growled. “Be serious.”
“Serious?” I questioned, and she nodded.
I returned the gesture. “Okay. Seriously…I am not missing that asshole at all.”
“Kline Matthew!” Georgia shouted and reached behind her back with one hand to awkwardly slap my arm. “He’s not an asshole!”
“To you, no,” I retorted on a chuckle. “But to me? Yes. He’s an asshole. Always has been, and probably always will be.”
She sighed. “He’s not that bad.”
He was that bad. Quite frankly, he was the worst and he deserved a hell of a lot crueler nicknames, but I bit my tongue in the name of my marriage. Sometimes, you needed to let your partner be right, even if they weren’t.
For the sake of the relationship and maintaining a high level of respect and understanding. And really—and this one was the most important—you needed to take some losses sometimes if you wanted to keep having sex.
And, frankly, the sooner I got my ass in agreement, the sooner we could leave Walter out of our honeymoon and back at home where the little bastard belonged.
“You’re right, sweetheart. He’s not that bad.”
Georgia smiled as expected, and I jumped on the opportunity to bring our discussion back around to sexier things. Honeymoon-worthy things.
“So, Your Royal Highness, besides applier of sunscreen and giver of massages, what other jobs are included in my husbandly duties?” I asked, lulling all of the tension back out of her body with my hands at her shoulders.
“Oh boy.” She turned her head again, but this time, she grinned up at me. “Lots of jobs. So many jobs…”
“Is that right?” I retorted, my lips curving up playfully. “Lay ’em on me, baby. What jobs?”
“Well, you are officially the man in charge of taking the trash out.”
“Okay.” Not exactly what my dick wanted to hear, but it was also easy, so I could handle that one.
“Fixer of all things that need fixing. Basically, anything that requires a hammer or some kind of tool or screwdriver or whatever, it’s your job to fix it.” Also no problem, and if we were playing a game of Hunt the Thimble, we’d definitely be getting hotter.