Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
I wanted him to be as surprised as everyone else. I wanted him to be impressed, and overwhelmed and excited by the evening just as much as everyone else would be.
Quite pathetic, I know, but the butterflies in my stomach wouldn’t let up those few final days before show time. I checked everything compulsively. Drinks orders, decorations, party games, DJ playlists, lighting sequences, everything.
Our little baby was four years old, and this time it would have both parents at its birthday celebration.
If only Andy could seem as happy about that as I was.
He didn’t seem happy at all most of the time, but that was mainly just him. He buried himself in paperwork and figures, taking on all the practicalities of club management as I indulged my creativity. At least he didn’t moan about that. Not too much, anyway.
We were fucking every night, and waking up together every morning, but the whole couple thing wasn’t anywhere close to being resolved. We had an unsteady truce, but the clock was ticking, and my desire to stretch his tight little asshole was becoming too hot to handle.
I piled the cheques ready for banking, the one steady admin responsibility I’d maintained, and I watched him. I watched him brooding over some spreadsheet or another.
“What?” he said. “Don’t think I can’t see you staring.”
I shrugged. “I’m allowed to look, aren’t I?”
“That depends on what you’re looking at.”
“I’m looking at you.” I smiled. “Must you be such a bloody grumpy guts every day?”
“I’m not grumpy. I’m trying to sort this shit out.”
“What shit?”
He patted his knee and my stomach fluttered. I dropped the cheques and made my way over, sucking in my breath as he pulled me down onto his lap. He pointed at rows of figures.
“Enlighten me,” I said. “What am I looking at?”
“Does it matter?” His fingertips found the hem of my pencil skirt and slipped underneath.
“We’re busy,” I protested, but he only nipped at my neck.
“My week, remember?”
“For a few more days.” I spread my thighs for him, gasping as his thumb found my clit through my panties. “And what about when it’s my week?” I asked, arching back against him.
“What about it?”
“You know what about it,” I groaned. “Are you going to let me or not?”
He tensed, but didn’t stop his fingers. “I’m still working things out.”
It riled me, even though he was getting me off, and even though it was his week, and even though I was probably being an unreasonable fucking cow, it still riled me. I clamped my legs shut, brushing his fingers out of the way. “Then I’m still working things out, too.”
And then there were two riled people in the room.
“I was being fucking nice,” he snapped. “I’m allowed to take some fucking time to make my mind up, Faye. You haven’t been back five fucking minutes.”
“That’s getting a bit old, Andy. I’ve been back long enough for you to know how you feel.”
“Feel about what? About you? You might still be a flash in the fucking pan around here for all I know.”
I pushed up from his lap and turned around to face him, perching myself on his desk. I was taller than him, and I liked that. “I’m not a flash in the pan! I’m in here every day, Andy, every single day with you! And I’m in your bed every night, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“So, all I have to do is let you into my fucking asshole as well and we’ll have a triple whammy, is that what you’re saying?”
I couldn’t stop the smile.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he said. “That’s actually it, isn’t it? It’s pathetic, Faye, it really is.”
“Will you do it?”
He returned his attention to his screen. Smoothing down his tie and brushing creases from his trousers. “I don’t fucking know. I haven’t made up my mind.”
“When will you have made up your mind?”
“I’m not sure. When it suits me. You need to learn some fucking patience.”
“I don’t have much patience,” I said, teasing my toes up along his thighs until they were pressed in his crotch. He was hard, but angry, and made to swat them away. “I mean it, Andy, I want everything, remember. I want to be everything.”
“Piss off, Faye, I’m working.”
“You weren’t working a minute ago.”
“Yeah, well I’m working now.”
“Fine.” I poked my tongue out and left him to it.
***
Andy
Faye was more nervous than I’d ever seen her, even on our opening night. She was dressed to kill in thigh-length boots and a black latex miniskirt over fishnets, and her corset was tight, and curved and all but welded to her skin. She fastened up the remaining buttons of the cut-off blouse she was wearing over the top, and gave me a twirl. Her hair was loose and curled, splaying around her in perfect waves, and her lips were pouty and glistening and red. Red enough to bite.