Total pages in book: 190
Estimated words: 181992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 181992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
Chapter Thirty
Post orgasm-bliss was a wonderful thing. It could make you breezy about a lot of stuff. Such as your husband delivering suckling bites to the side of your neck that would for sure leave marks. The kind of marks your makeup concealer stood no chance against.
It wasn’t rare these days for me to find on waking that we’d edged toward each other during sleep. Sometimes we lay on our sides, our fronts touching. Sometimes one of us would be doing a little spooning. Sometimes I’d be snuggled against his side, my head using his chest as a pillow.
Not once in the past two weeks had we drawn attention to it or awkwardly pulled away when we’d woken. Nor had we ever mentioned it afterwards. As if we had a silent agreement to just let it be.
This morning, I’d woken to feel his front plastered against my back, his cock pressed against me, and his hand playing with my pussy. This wasn’t all that rare either. Before long, he’d thrust inside me. Though Dax generally liked to take his time during sex—even if only to make me crazy—that was never the case first thing in the morning. He fucked hard and fast, making no apologies for it.
Oh, no apologies were needed. It was freaking awesome.
Just then, he withdrew his softening cock and flopped onto his back with a languid sigh.
I rolled over to face him, my breathing still a little out of whack. “You could totally give a crash course on the art of fucking. Just sayin.’”
His lips curved as his shoulders shook. Only lightly panting, he spoke, “No one ever has or does compliment me quite like you do.” His tone conveyed that he found the whole thing part-weird, part-amusing. I could live with that.
“I’m just saying what other women from your past were thinking.” The skanks. Okay, so—with the exception of those who talked to the press—they weren’t skanks, but no one would ever make my possessive hormones think differently.
“No, Addison, I’m pretty certain you’re the only one who’s ever had these thoughts.”
“Whatever. I don’t mind being different.”
His phone alarm began beeping, and he reached over to switch it off. I didn’t activate my own alarm anymore—there seemed no point when I would have set it for the exact same time as his.
Before he could vacate the bed to start getting ready for work, I said, “I wanted to run something by you.”
He paused in his attempt to sit up, instead settling on his elbows. “Go on.”
I really couldn’t put into words exactly how warm and fuzzy it made me feel when he stopped whatever he was doing to give me his full attention this way. “So, you know how you said you wouldn’t mind if I put up a Christmas tree?”
It looked like his eyelid was about to twitch, but it didn’t. “Yes.”
I hadn’t been sure whether or not he’d put up a protest, since he would know from my behavior at Halloween that I wasn’t shy about hanging up all kinds of decorations. But, though he’d cast me a sigh, he’d told me it would be “fine.” And when I’d asked if he was sure, he’d grunted his agreement.
I sat upright. “Well, I know you’re probably going to say no, but I thought I’d ask anyway.”
“Ask what?”
I fought back the urge to nervously chew on my bottom lip. “If you wanted to come with me while I go choose a tree,” I replied.
He frowned. “It’s only the first day of December.”
“Which is when I routinely pick and then decorate one.”
“Every year?”
“Every year.” It was a tradition I’d picked up from my mom, who I hadn’t seen since Thanksgiving. As pre-agreed, Dax and I had first gone to his parents’ home for dinner and then later had eaten dessert with my family.
Both meals had gone smoothly. My mom had been as warm and welcoming toward Dax as his parents now always were to me. The same couldn’t be said for my dad or Ollie when it came to Dax, but they hadn’t glared at him even once. I considered that progress.
I had the feeling my dad had behaved himself in the hope that Dax and I would then have Christmas dinner at my parents’ home this year. But I hadn’t taken them up on their offer, because I didn’t trust that neither Dane nor Ollie would make shitty comments once the alcohol started flowing—particularly my brother, who tended to be brutally honest at such times.
Dax’s parents had issued the same invitation to us, but we’d politely turned it down. There would have been a huge fuss if we’d agreed to eat at his parents’ table when we’d spent most of Thanksgiving day with them. We’d placated everyone by promising we’d still pay them a visit on Christmas.
“Does this mean you’re not working today?” he asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.