Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 69170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
“Is this how you treat all your dates?”
“You’re not a date; you’re my woman.” Well, okay, damn. “And to answer your question, no, I don’t. You would be the first.”
“What about the woman you were engaged to?”
Oh shit, that sounded snarky and a little bit jealous, maybe? “I see you Googled me, huh? You’re talking about Tara; no, I think these are things you have to feel with the right person because I’ve never wanted to do any of this with anyone.”
“I’m not a virgin or a saint, but I’ve never brought anyone out here because this is my home. My mother comes here at least once a year, so this place is treated with respect and dignity. It’s not a bachelor pad or a hotel room. That’s where I usually take women that I have no interest in beyond a quick fuck.”
I couldn’t tell if he was angry or not. He didn’t sound or look it, but his words left me in doubt. “Since today is the first real day of our very long relationship, I didn’t want to spoil the occasion with talks of the past and whatnot, but I’ll tell you all about Tara and anything else you want to know soon. Now eat, and stop imagining whatever bullshit is going through your female brain.”
I’m not sure, but that sounded like an insult. “I hope you didn’t have anything planned for tomorrow because you’ll be staying here tonight.”
“Do you ever ask, or do you just dole out orders?”
“The latter. I don’t have to ask my woman shit. If it’s good for her, I’m just gonna do it.”
I can’t figure out if he’s crazy or if I’ve lost my mind because that sounded like a plan to me. I’m always the one in control, the one planning and making the decisions. Someone else wanted to do that shit, have at it.
I don’t think he sleeps, and he must be on something because I’m pretty certain we made love all night. Okay, no, sometimes we made love, maybe thirty percent of the time. The rest of the time, he pretty much fucked me, and now I’m so confused I don’t know which way is up.
I always thought a lady was to be treated with care and slightly restrained passion in bed. Nope, give me the hair-pulling, ass spanking, teeth in the neck mauling that made up seventy percent of my night.
In the morning, I didn’t do shit for myself; I couldn’t anyway, even if I wanted to because my legs were like Jell-O. I couldn’t feel my bones, and I think at some point during the night, I’d hand-walked to the bathroom to pee.
When he dragged me into the shower, I tried to get the water to hit the cooch in the right spot to ease the ache, but it wasn’t quite getting it. He took me back to bed but I guess we were done for the foreseeable future because he got dressed for work while I was laying sprawled out on the bed where he'd left me.
He brought over some tub of something and dipped two fingers in it before inserting them into my cooter. If my doctor ever examined me like this, I’d bring him up on charges. Where I was sore before, I was ready for another round, but that bastard just grinned when I got wet and pulled out his fingers.
Now, I never knew that women could get so out of sorts when they needed sex, but when he left me high and dry, I imagined a hundred ways to kill him. He thought that shit was funny. I stepped into the panties he’d washed and hung in his bathroom the night before, yes he washed them himself with his own hands, and I was pissed because where the hell was he when I was raising four kids and didn’t take a piss on my own for about five years straight?
Anyway, I held onto his shoulder and stepped into my panties, then he pulled on my jeans and then my bra and tee shirt and my boots last. “You feeling okay?” He thinks I can’t see him trying not to laugh at me?
I ignored him and tried to flounce away but ended up doing the bow-legged two-step. “See why I won’t fuck you again? You’ll be sore for a month if I let my boy at you again.”
“Just because it makes sense doesn’t mean you’re right.” What the hell did I just say?
We had breakfast together in his big ass kitchen that held the biggest fridge I ever saw, not to mention an island that was easily three times the size of mine. Then again, he was a big guy, about six-four, and all muscle.
“I guess you need all this room to move around with that thing between your legs.” He spit out of his coffee and laughed until he cried. I don’t know why I had trots of the mouth, but it felt good to say whatever the hell I wanted without having to worry about hurt feelings. It was like hanging out with Sheils and Maeve.