Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“Well, thanks for your honesty,” I grate out. This one isn’t an arrow but an axe that lands hard. And also, with respect, fuck that noise. This isn’t about before. This is about now.
“I’m sorry if I didn’t make myself clear, but I don’t have space in my life for a friend, benefits or not. I’ve just gotten out of a relationship that I’m coming to realize robbed me of my self-esteem. Made me feel less than me.”
“You’re fucking amazing,” I mutter begrudgingly. Not because I don’t want her to know it, but way to go, calling me an aging playboy! And maybe I am—maybe I have been—but I only want to be hers. Her husband, her lover. Her fucking everything.
“I’m so grateful to you, Fin.”
I feel my expression twist. Thanks for the memories?
“You’ve taught me so much. Shown me parts of myself I didn’t know I possessed.”
I groan and drop my head back, like a truculent teen. “Stop. Just stop trying to flatter me.” She’ll be back to calling me nice next.
“If I was trying to flatter you, I would’ve paid your cock a compliment.”
“And what would you have said?” I know, I know. I can’t seem to fucking help myself. Not with her.
“Probably that it’s pretty.”
I fold my arms and slide her an insightful look. “My cock is not pretty, Mila.”
“It’s pretty huge.” She bites the corner of her mouth as though to countermand a smile. “In fact, sometimes I find myself thinking it must be so heavy.”
“Yeah?”
She nods, all pink cheeked and adorable, her dark hair alive in the scant breeze. “Yes. And I think you should let me help. I could . . . I could hold it for you?”
“If I let you hold it, what would you do with it?” My gaze lingers speculatively where she toys with the button of my shirt. No panties. Not for the rest of the holiday.
One-handed, she flicks the button open. Then another.
“I think it’s more a question of . . . where I would hold it,” she whispers, her cheeks gloriously pink as she trails a finger between some stellar cleavage. The feet of her chair scrape against the sandstone tiles as she stands. “Would you like to come with me and find out?”
I know I’m being played—being distracted, like a kid with the promise of a shiny toy. But I do so like it when Mila is shiny and slick.
I push my own chair back, feeling the brush of her gaze over my chest as I stand. It seems we’re both suckers for that part of the other.
“You know,” I begin, unable to stop myself from trying one more time. For now. “It doesn’t have to be complicated. It could be just as good as it is right now. Just without the sunshine.”
“We’re married, Fin. And we shouldn’t be. Isn’t that complication enough?”
The answer is no. Being married to her isn’t nearly enough. I want her heart, and I won’t be satisfied until it’s love that binds us.
Chapter 23
Mila
Our final night.
When Fin suggests dinner at one of the hotel’s restaurants, I jump at the chance. I think his offer is a kindness to us both. I know he’s full of feelings—we both seem to have a lot of them. I see his in the way he studies me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. It’s like he’s logging every facet of me for later inspection. For me, these days have been a dream. But now reality awaits just around the corner.
Fin insists I choose a restaurant from the resort’s offerings, and I opt for Japanese. Though I wonder if I’ve made a mistake when we walk into the space and I find it to be all low lighting, dark wood, mirrors, and quiet intimacy.
We’re offered a private dining room, and when Fin looks to me, he declines without needing to ask. We follow the hostess to a table on the main floor instead.
Out of all our days, today is not one where we need to be alone. Somehow, the second-best seat in the house still leaves us feeling like we’re wrapped in our own little world.
Conversation happens. It’s not easy. And though I have difficulty swallowing my food, let alone tasting it, I manage. Fin recommends we dine kaiseki style, which turns out not only to be a multicourse dinner of delicious small plates but also the experience of omotenashi, which means “wholehearted hospitality,” as he explains.
The food is a treat for the eyes, the courses served on hoba leaves, slate, and shell, each serving decorated with watercress and tiny edible flowers. And while the dishes look like works of art, the tastes and textures are where the real art lies. We’re served dainty dishes of tuna tartare and wasabi, seared lobster dressed in coral sauce, and a crab croquette in a sweet-and-sour sauce. Wagyu beef in miso nut next, and unagi seiro, which turns out to be grilled eel. The latter is a little out of my comfort zone, but Fin manages to coax me into trying a little, served from his chopsticks.