Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 52183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
If I weren’t an overthinking, anxiety-ridden person, I’d just bask in what we have together. He doesn’t want anything for just himself? His favorite thing to do is make me come so hard I see stars? Most women would say bring that shit on.
Something’s not right, though. I couldn’t sleep last night because my mind was reeling with the possibilities. I’ve never been able to touch Kit below his chest, and he’s only allowed me a quick glance of what he looks like.
I’ve run through scenarios from a tattoo he’s embarrassed about to an STD he doesn’t want to expose me to. And then I started wondering if maybe he’s telling me the truth, and he just prefers to make all the decisions about what we do sexually?
None of the options sit well with me. I stare at the half-written story on my computer screen, tired from my sleepless night and worried about things with Kit.
Life was much simpler when I kept my head down and focused on work. I never cared if I looked good or if anyone would find me attractive. There was no analysis of anyone’s words or actions. And Mr. Darcy kept me warm at night.
Was I lonely? I didn’t think so then. But now, the thought of going back to the way things were before Kit leaves me feeling empty and sad.
When Zach announced his plan to divorce me and find someone better, I immediately made myself several promises. No one would ever hold that kind of power over my self-worth again. I’d find a way to move forward and make a better life for myself without him. And I’d never, ever let myself be snowed by any man again, for any reason.
Kit decided he’s in charge in the bedroom, and he never asked me if that’s what I want, too. If he did, I’d tell him I want control some of the time, but not all the time. The only relationship that will work for me is one with parity. One where we’re both involved in everything.
It was hard for me to put myself out there in his kitchen the other night, and tell him I wanted to taste him. I’m not forward, and I worry endlessly that I’ll say or do the wrong thing. But with Kit, I felt confident. Like it was safe to tell him what I wanted.
He shot me down, though. Even though he was smooth enough to pivot things in his direction without an argument, he basically said, “thanks but no thanks” to my desire to touch and taste him.
When his hands aren’t on me and my head is clear, I find I’m a little bothered by that. Saddened, even.
Am I overanalyzing? Probably. But this is who I am. If I learned nothing from the devastation that was my marriage to Zach, I learned that I’m not willing to change who I am for anyone. Kit will have to take me or leave me, just like this.
We have to talk about this, with several feet of space between us so I can think straight. And while I hope we can grow closer from the conversation and keep dating, deep down I’m terrified that it will be the end of us.
Chapter Twenty
Kit
* * *
Molly’s expression screams serious when I open my apartment door to let her in, her brow wrinkled and her lips pursed.
“Hey, you,” I say, giving her a quick kiss. “Rough day at work?”
She smiles weakly. “About average.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
I point to my couch, where my coat is lying. “You don’t sound okay. Let me grab my coat and we’ll talk on the way. I made a dinner reservation.”
“Oh. Actually, I was hoping we could talk here.”
When I look at her over my shoulder, I realize from her drawn expression that something’s really wrong.
“What’s going on?” I ask, forgetting all about my coat.
She sighs heavily, taking her coat off and sliding out of her snow boots as she walks into the apartment. “Well, first of all…” She reaches into her bag and takes out a folded section of newspaper. “The special section got printed and I wanted you to see it.”
“Thanks.”
I don’t look at the paper though; I’m too focused on Molly’s expression.
“Did something happen?” I ask her.
“Can we sit down?”
“Yeah, come here.” I put my arm around her, trying to walk her over to the couch, but she goes to a recliner instead.
Now I’m really fucking worried. She seems mad at me, and I can’t imagine why. All we’ve done since our last date is text back and forth about average stuff.
“Tell me what’s going on,” I say, sitting down on the couch.
“I want us to talk about something that’s bothering me.” She leans forward in the chair, elbows on her arms. “And since it’s on my mind, I wanted to do it now, before we go out for dinner.”