Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
“I wanna hear it. I want you to finally say the words I’ve been waiting for. What makes you happy, Mak?”
He grinds into me slowly, and I can’t hold back any longer. “You,” I breathe. “You make me happy. How, I have no idea. But you have this way about you that makes me feel okay—like everything is going to be okay.”
Whatever control he was holding onto snaps, and his lips crash against mine. “Mak. . .” my name is a plea, “you make me so damn happy, sometimes, I feel like you aren’t real. Too good to be true.” He reaches for my butt and scoops me up, thrusting his cock into me. “It scares the fuck out of me to think that one day I’ll wake up and you won’t be here.”
There’s such vulnerability in his words, it strikes a part of me I didn’t know existed. I need him too. And the fear of this being taken away is as scary as falling in headfirst.
But I’m in love with him.
“I say prove it,” I hum.
His lips form into a smile against mine. “Oh, you know I love a good challenge. Grab my waist. You’re gonna need to hang on for this one.”
Spoiler alert: he wins.
“Can you stop?”
“No.” I put another bite in my mouth and moan.
“Keep doin’ that, and the next thing in your mouth is going to be my cock.”
I giggle, trying not to choke on my pancake. “I’m sorry. They’re just so moist.”
He chuckles into his coffee mug. “I’m sure they are. If you want, I can make something else moist.” He waggles his brows.
This time I do choke on my bite. “Gross. I like syrup, not icing.” This time, he chokes, spitting coffee across the table. My shoulders shake, and I cover my mouth before I spit my food out. “Okay, subject change. What’s on the agenda today? Do you have to work?” I cross my fingers under the table, hoping he says no.
“No work. But I do have to do something.”
Boo. My shoulders fall slightly, but I play it off, shoving another bite in my mouth. “No problem. I need to get my—”
“I was hoping you would come with me?”
A slow smile spreads across my face. “What do you have in mind?”
He leans back in his chair. Stalling, he takes a sip of his coffee. “I want you to come with me to see my mom today.” He holds my gaze, no doubt searching for a reaction. He just asked me to meet his mom. A parent. Hi, Mom, this is my girlfriend. . .
“Your mom,” I repeat. Maybe he’s taking going steady to a whole new level. Which I wouldn’t mind.
“Yeah. Don’t get all freaked out. It’s just. . . I need to see her today. And I would like you to come with me. Visiting her isn’t always the easiest. I can use the support.”
My heart swells with gratitude. I smile up at him. “Yeah. I’d love to come.”
“Good. If it’s okay with you, can we head out after we’re done eating? The time of day usually depends on the mood she’ll be in.” There’s hidden meaning in his statement. I want to pry further. He’s talked about his dad, but never his mom. Why?
“Yeah. Sounds great,” I say instead.
“Great.” A shyness comes over him. No banter or humor. Just. . . gratefulness. From the moment Ben fell back into my life, he has shown me so many different sides of him. Dominance in his line of work, not to mention the bedroom. Grumpiness when something doesn’t go his way, which I find extremely attractive. And he has a calm and collected side that melts my heart. But this side...the humility, vulnerability. . . it’s beautiful.
We clean up together, and I shower. Ben helps me, and I can finally ditch all the gauze and wrap padded Band-Aids on the worst parts.
“Lookin’ almost brand new,” Ben says, wrapping the last Band-Aid around my thumb. “Soon enough, you’ll be ready to put those hands to good use.” His eyes glimmer.
“Oh, will I?”
“Figured it would be good physical therapy. Work on your grip—shit, I was joking.” He ducks when I raise my hand for another playful smack to the side of his head. “Careful. You know I love your feisty side. We’ll never leave my apartment if you keep spanking me like that.”
“I didn’t spank you. I hit you.”
“God, tell me more.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“I’m getting hard. Keep going—ouch,” he howls. “Fine, you win. Let’s get this over with so I can get you back here. If you’re a good girl, I was thinkin’ about giving you a drawer.”
His last comment saves him from another beating. My own drawer. I know he said he wanted me to stay, but that was in the heat of an emotional moment. He really wants me to stay? I was dreading the end of our deal. The forty-eight-hour arrangement. I imagine staying. . . falling asleep and waking up next to him, exploring this crazy ride we’re on. A shiver of excitement courses through me.