Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
“Nothing,” I say flatly as I play with the kitten, dangling a feather toy I bought Athena.
“Something’s wrong,” he says, setting a big hand on my thigh.
This man can always read me, so I sigh and let go of the toy. “I loved meeting your parents but I wanted to tell them how amazing you are. I wanted to say your son is incredible and he takes care of me and adores me and I adore him, and I couldn’t say that. I just couldn’t.”
His lips quirk up. “You adore me.”
I roll my eyes. “As if you didn’t know.”
“Say it again though. I like the way it sounds on your lips.”
“I adore you,” I huff.
“Still like it even when you’re irritated.”
“I just…I want to speed up time,” I admit. And I want to tell him how deeply I feel. But I don’t want to say I’ve fallen in love with him while we’re only together in the dark. I want to tell him outside, under the sun, when I don’t have to hide. I’m tired of hiding. I’ve stopped hiding my scars in pole class. I’ve stopped hiding them from him. I don’t want to hide us any longer.
“Me too,” he says with a sympathetic smile, then he runs a hand down the buttons of my blouse. “But until then, I know how to pass the time.”
I’ve learned how to not slide back into the past thanks to my grounding exercises. Surely, I can root myself in the present. In his touch, in his scent, in our…inescapability. I hold all that close as we head to the bedroom. I undress to my bra and panties, and while it’s obviously not a pole I grab hold of the doorway like I’m doing a trick, strike a sultry vixen-like pose, then toss my hair back.
From the bed, he growls as he sheds the rest of his clothes. “Get over here in my jersey.”
“Oh, these?” I ask, hooking my thumb in the waistband of my very sexy panties.
“Yes. Been thinking about them all day.”
I undo my bra and drop it to the floor as I walk over to him, teasing at the waistband of the lace as I do. Running my fingers down the thirty-three on the front. “So what exactly were you thinking about?”
“That you had my number against your very pretty pussy. Now why don’t you put this gorgeous pussy on my face,” he commands. “Because I’m really, really hungry.”
I take my sweet time, sliding off the panties, then tossing them to him. Because my man’s addicted, he brings them to his nose and inhales before he lets them go. “Now, sit on my face. Since what I’ve really been thinking about all day is eating you. You’re mine, Everly. All mine.”
I feel like his. But I’m not yet. Not really. That doesn’t stop me from climbing over him and straddling his face. He eats me like I’m his last meal.
I come so hard, I nearly black out. I nearly forget that everything we share is a secret.
Maybe soon it won’t be.
And maybe, like the butterfly, it’ll be easy.
This is hell.
A few days later we’re back and in an SUV we rented. Max is driving, Zaire is in the passenger seat, and I’m in the back seat with Jenna and Elias. I didn’t hire Leighton or another freelance photographer for this job since it’s more personal. A cell phone camera seemed the right speed for today.
But Elias evidently made a pitch to Zaire about taking the photos, so he’s here like he’s Ansel freaking Adams with his iPhone. We’ve already visited a number of homes, with Max delivering meals for seniors who still live alone but have diminished mobility. Now, we’re making the final stop at a senior center. “You know,” Elias begins as Max nears the Aquatic Park neighborhood, “I volunteered with Meals on Wheels during college.”
Of course he did.
“And it was so eye-opening,” he says, bloviating even more. “I felt like I learned so much. Truly, it’s been an honor to be a part of this today. Thanks, Zaire. Thanks, Max.”
Zaire inclines her head, giving a crisp nod while Max grunts out a thanks.
“Where did you go to college?” Jenna asks, seeming intrigued.
Thank god she’s here to handle him. It’s too hard being in this space with all these people and all this pretending. It’s wearing me down. It’s stressing me out. It’s driving up my anxiety. I feel claustrophobic.
As Jenna peppers Elias with more questions about his supposed glory days, Zaire asks Max if he’s given more thought to Date Night.
I feel queasy as he says blandly, “Every day.”
My thoughts start spinning, so I do one of my grounding exercises, focusing on things I can see, hear, and sense, till Zaire says, “Would that work for you, Everly?”
I snap to it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”