Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 132951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
She’s my wife.
My wife.
I pulled her into this life with me, made her mine out of a selfish desire to keep Meems with me for as long as I can, and now, this morning…everything is different. It’s not just about Meems and her happiness anymore.
Mildred has made a place for herself in my heart, and I don’t want to let her go, even after Meems is gone. I want her to keep taking up space in my bed and my house and my life.
I would do anything for her—except walk away, unless that was truly what she wanted. Waking up with her in my arms…it’s more than I expected it to be.
My phone buzzes again. And then both our phones buzz in tandem.
I expect awareness to hit and her to shove out of my arms, regretting what happened last night. But she doesn’t, and it gives me hope.
“Why won’t it stop?” she grumbles. “What time is it? My head is not happy.”
I lift mine so I can see the clock. “It’s ten.”
“What time is checkout?”
“Whenever we feel like. But we should be on the road by one.”
“Where are we going at one?”
“It’s a surprise.” I planned a weekend away to give her a break from the whirlwind of the past few weeks. “Fuck.”
She scoffs. “I offered myself last night, and you denied me. My head says no thanks right now, but you can try again later.” She feels around for my arm and tries to pull it back over her.
I smile and press my lips to her bare shoulder. “We have to get up.”
“You said we don’t have to leave until one. That means I can sleep for at least another two hours.”
“We have a brunch to attend.”
She wriggles until she’s on her back, all that warmth between us dissipating. Mildred throws her arm over her face. “If it’s with your parents, you can go alone.”
I arch a brow. “Do you really think I’d spring something like that on you with no warning?”
“No. You’re everyone else’s villain, not mine.” She reveals one bleary eye. “If not your parents, then who?”
“Your friends.”
“You have to stop calling them my friends since they’re also your friends now, too.”
Temporarily. Unless I can change the way Mildred feels about me. I throw the covers off. Otherwise I’ll fold and we’ll end up in bed for the next two hours instead of spending time with her—our—friends. “I’ll get you a painkiller and let them know we’re on our way down.” I roll out of bed, grab a bottle of water from the fridge and painkillers from the care package in the bathroom—so smart—and return to stand over my wife.
Her eyes are still covered by her arm.
“Darling.”
She groans but pushes up on her arms. The sheets slip down to her waist, revealing her lush breasts. Her hair is a wild mess, her cheeks flushed pink. She’s stunning, unguarded, and mine.
Mildred makes disgruntled eye contact and sticks out her tongue. I set the painkillers on it and hand her the bottle of water. She drains half of it and flops back down. “I can’t believe you let me talk you into doing shots last night.”
“I suggested it was a bad idea. You seemed to disagree.”
“I was already drunk.”
She’s different this morning. Maybe because the stress of the wedding is gone? Maybe because we finally gave in to the chemistry that’s been eddying around us these past weeks, growing stronger by the day. “That’s what you get for being a menace.” I bend and press my lips to her forehead.
“I’m a cute menace, though.”
“The cutest.” I straighten.
Her eyes drop to my crotch, and her brows rise. “Looks like someone else is awake and excited.”
She reaches for me, and I capture her hand in mine. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I haven’t even seen it.”
I fight a smile. “And you think right now, when we’re already fifteen minutes late for brunch and you’re wickedly hungover, is a good time to play show-and-tell?”
“You saw mine last night.” Her lips push out in a pout.
“You can be as adorable as you want, but you’re not in any condition to play with me.” I cross over to the closet, needing to walk away before I break for her. And I need a moment to convince myself this is real, that I haven’t somehow conjured it with my mind. I grab a pair of jeans and pull them up my thighs. “I hate being late, which we already are.” I rearrange myself and tug the zipper up, fastening the button. I pull a shirt over my head and manage to get my arms through the sleeves before Mildred’s arms wrap around my waist from behind.
I like this affectionate version of her. I want more of it. But we have all weekend to explore this new side of us. I hope.