Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
But that spanking lead to other things.
Last week, in an effort to do something normal, I bought tickets to a local movie theater. Whit was so amused when I insisted on paying for his popcorn too and made some comment that it would cost me more than a movie and a bucket of popcorn to get him to put out. This was a blatant mistruth given we were forced to leave before the movie had reached the halfway point. It was either that or face a potential public indecency charge. Then there was the drive out to the countryside when it began to rain unexpectedly. We’d taken a picnic but didn’t make it that far, gorging on each other instead. And in a car the Bugatti’s size called for some invention, let me tell you.
I could go on. Netflix and chill were we never got beyond the home screen. A glass of wine after dinner where the bottle ended up being used indecently. Scrambled eggs for breakfast where the only thing scrambled was my brain. It doesn’t seem to matter what we set out to do, we invariably end up doing the same thing.
Each other.
I’m not complaining. Not really. But in my quiet moments, I worry what’s on the other side of this. Heartbreak is my guess, but what’s one more issue to the pile?
“Are you worried it might fall off?”
“Worried what might fall…” Urgh. I catch on belatedly.
Which laughs again before, to my mortification, he brings George into the conversation. “Hey, George. Have you ever heard of anyone having sex so much their todger falls off?”
George scoffs as I whisper, “Todger?”
“Another Brit word to add to your vocabulary.”
“No, thank you.”
Whit leans closer, his lips a whisper from my ear. “Store it in your dirty dicktionary, between bellend and cheeky wank.”
“Todger would come after cheeky—” I halt, noting the gleam in his eye. “Good try,” I say, eyeing him stonily.
“Do you reckon todger comes after or before cheeky wank? I suppose you need a todger before you can have the other.” As he speaks, Whit’s gaze remains fixed on me.
“Good grief.” With a groan, I drop forward and briefly bury my face in my hands.
“My eldest girl, Della,” George pipes up, “is a nurse at St. Barts. She told me that a fella once came with a broken whatsit.”
Whit sucks in a sharp breath, almost as though he can feel the unknown man’s pain.
“I mean, your old fella doesn’t have any bones in it, ’scuse me for saying so, Miss Mimi.” I manage not to snicker. No bones for the boner. “But it can still break, particularly if you have vigorous intimate relations.”
Nope, can’t keep that giggle in. Whit, meanwhile, still looks like he’s in pain.
“Right you are then, we’re here,” George then announces, maneuvering the car to the side of the road.
“Here?” My head bounces left, then right. We haven’t been in the car long enough to be at the office. “Here where?”
“We’ve taken a minor detour,” Whit adds.
“But your schedule is full today?” No time to take detours or mess around.
“And now it’s not. Well, mostly just this morning.”
Oh, my poor little heart. As if excellent sex wasn’t enough, if laughter, good company, thoughtful gifts, and new experiences weren’t enough, now he’s clearing his schedule for me?
“Come on.” He shoos me to turn to where George is already opening the passenger door.
I slide on my purse, crossbody style, as I wait on the sidewalk for Whit, wondering why I’m standing at Hyde Park Corner. Which is just a stone’s throw from Buckingham Palace, but also basically just along the street from Whit’s place.
“Have we just driven around the park?” I ask as he draws closer.
“Might have.”
“But you live just down… there.” I point in the general direction of his swanky building. Whit just grins. “Okay.” The word seems to draw out over several syllables, all of its own accord. “I guess Marble Arch seems pretty in the morning.” I shrug, kind of. I have no idea what we’re doing here and, honestly, Marble Arch looks like a piece of history that was picked up then put down in the wrong place. An anachronism plonked in front of a sandwich shop chain. “What are we doing here?”
“Well, the sun is shining, and I thought, why don’t we have a walk through the park before work?”
“Hyde Park?”
“Yep.”
“The fact that we drove around it doesn’t seem odd to you?” I make a circle in the air with my index finger.
“Sunshine.” He points at the sky. “Birds singing.” He then points at the trees, and I notice how some are heavy with spring blossom, like spring has sprung overnight. “And fabulous company.” He thumbs his chest. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Adventure in a park?”
“Not like that,” he says with a dirty gleam. “It’s the wrong park for it.”