Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
I cup her face and kiss her sweet lips. She’s the one who deepens it, getting a little feral on top of me. My cock is fully on board with that plan. And with her other suggestion.
“I have every intention of fulfilling your fantasies about my car and dinner, but…”
“You want to bang me right here and right now first?”
“It would be good to have vanilla sex in a bed, no?” I say teasingly.
She smiles as she kisses me, adding a new, sexy dimension to the shape of her lips. She slays me. Not being with her, not taking this risk, not being near her, or having her in my life…that would be the end of the world. Total. Apocalypse.
I kiss her, tasting her smile. It happens to be contagious because I can’t stop grinning.
She breaks the kiss to slip her robe off her shoulders, giving me the world’s most stunning view. “Vanilla sex in a bed, hmm? Anywhere, anytime, as long as it’s with you, it’s a dream come true.”
Cheesy, but it’s probably my new favorite rhyme.
I claim her lips while she maneuvers her robe the rest of the way off, tugging and wrenching it out of our laps until she’s completely naked.
Her body is a masterpiece, but it’s her brain, her wit, her humor, and her generous spirit that make it all come alive.
Without even saying a word, she becomes my favorite poetry.
Chapter fifteen
Bellatrix
“What have you done?”
I expected that horrified gasp the second my parents walked into my place. Mom spins around, taking in the kitchen and living room from every angle, her mouth parting further and further with every movement. Her horror is telegraphed more than clearly.
Dad keeps his lawyer face in place, where he gives nothing away, but his hand quickly shoots to the small of my mom’s back to keep her from stroking out.
I have a ham in the oven that’s just about done cooking, potatoes that are ready to mash, and homegrown corn because I went to the farmer’s market yesterday. I’ve been half dreading and half looking forward to this dinner for the past five days. I had to schedule my parents in. I’m lucky they had time this month for a family dinner.
I lift my shoulder in a shrug. It drives my mom mad, as evidenced by the way both eyes twitch on and off, but never at the same time. “Renovations. Mostly just paint and wallpaper at this point.”
“It’s monstrous!” she exclaims.
Dad’s hand slides up to her shoulder. I’m not sure if the way he squeezes it is a warning or an agreement. I try not to let my hurt show. I expected this. I prepared for this. It’s going to be nothing compared to when I tell my parents about Rowleigh. “Maybe. But I like it.”
“The resale value will—”
“It can all be taken off and changed and painted whatever color before I sell.” I point to the table, which I have already set. The flamingos on the wallpaper surrounding it look extra cavorty in the late evening golden sunlight streaming through the two windows in the corner. “If I sell. I like this place. It’s mine, and that means I want it to feel like me. This is what I’m into right now. I’m going to be changing the flooring and the lights too.”
Mom makes a sound in her throat that might indicate a heart attack for real. I take a step forward, but Dad guides her into one of the clear plastic ghost chairs. He sinks into the one beside her and rests his hand lightly on her knee, probably as a containment measure.
I finish up the dinner prep, pulling out the ham, mashing the potatoes, and bringing everything to the table.
At least Dad is polite enough to carve some meat off onto his and Mom’s plate and then give her a scoop of potatoes. He even eats woodenly.
I shouldn’t press any more of Mom’s buttons, but instead of shaving the corn off my cob the way she would do, I smear butter and salt all along the golden length, lift it up, and bite into it, eating it the way everyone eats corn on the cob. With messy gusto. Juice sprays all over as the kernels pop, which adds an extra slurp now and then.
I watch Mom over the corncob. She’s so pale. Eventually, her eyes lift from me and shift to the wallpaper. She winces. “How did you pay for all this? It’s a lot of money just to undo it all.”
“Mika leant it to me.”
“Michael?”
I sigh. I wasn’t even chewing with my mouth full. There’s no way she could have misheard. “Mika. The Mika who has been my bestie for years now.”
“Mika,” she clarifies with a nod. “Yes, right. You’re still a little nasally.”
“I’m fine. I’ve been over the cold for a week now at least.” Dad shoots me the same kind of don’t sass your mother look that he’s been giving me since I was four. That’s as far back as I can remember. “I’m doing much better. I got a job, actually.”