Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 52976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
“And I’m ready.”
I lift an eyebrow. “For what?”
“To hear it all. I want to hear everything you kept from me.” He finally looks at me, and I see sadness in his eyes. “I obviously bear responsibility in this, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“I kept the thing about my dads from you. And I … I apparently didn’t make you feel safe enough to tell me everything about your living arrangements. Many things make sense to me now. Your reluctance to move out, for example. I … I really want to understand.”
“None of this is your fault,” I quickly assure him. “I always feel safe around you. You did nothing wrong.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me about Westley?”
I glance down at my drink. I have a feeling this is going to be a long conversation.
“You have the time to hear it all now?” I ask.
“I’ve got all night.”
“Okay.” I take a breath. “We’ll have to start at the very beginning. When I first moved into apartment 313 on 1777 13th Street. Before we had our first date. When I didn’t even have a job. I … I have to tell you how the ghost of Westley Harmeyer gave me the confidence to be everything I am today, including your fiancé.”
Then I tell Byron everything.
By the time we’re done, the café is closed. Byron has sent off the last of the managers, insisting he’ll lock up the place when we’re finished. Soon, it’s just the two of us, but we’ve relocated to a counter near the front, both of us perched on tall stools side-by-side. The place is dark except for whatever light comes in through the big front windows from the street, as well as from behind us where a desk lamp was left on in the back office, the door cracked open.
He’s facing me and holding my hands, his thumbs gently rubbing the tops of them.
Honestly, I didn’t expect Byron to take it so well.
He asked so many questions. He listened. He didn’t seem disgusted, resentful, or upset. He was patient and heard me out.
We’ve had a lot of time to process everything.
Yes, I told him everything. Everything-everything.
Even about how West was inside me the first time we had sex. And our first date. And every time we have hung out at the apartment ever since.
“You’re so … understanding,” I remark.
Byron smiles. “Like I said before, I’ve been around a lot of weird stuff my whole life.” He shrugs. “Maybe I shouldn’t always assume I’m the only one who’s seen a peculiar thing or two.”
“But you were so upset before.” I cling to his hands tighter. “Don’t you feel deceived?”
“Don’t you?” he asks right back. “We kept things to ourselves, afraid of how the other might react. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise. It’ll only bring us closer.”
“I guess you’re right.” My eyes detach. “I just wish I hadn’t been so reckless this morning. I still don’t even know where he is … or what happened to him …”
“It’s okay.” He brings both of our hands up to kiss them. His soft lips touch our engagement rings, which puts a smile on my face. “You are okay, and that’s all that matters to me.”
“But—”
He silences my protest with a kiss.
And another kiss.
His hand slides behind my head, and the kiss turns more passionate. The stools we’re on quickly become inconvenient. With our lips locked, we move from the stools to a booth nearby, where he lays me down and presses kiss after kiss to my lips. My heart rushes away from me, galloping. It’s been a very long time since the two of us have been this fiery making out.
His hand slides down my body, his fingers clawing and hungry as they catch on my shirt. When he reaches my pants, his fingers curl around my crotch, cupping me like a possession he won’t let go.
When he pulls back from my face, his eyes are deep and burning. “I can’t wait until you’re my husband.”
I feel like there’s a hundred more things we need to talk about. I’m still worried about where West is. I don’t want to ruin this moment, but I can’t let it go. “Babe …”
He goes for my neck next, shutting me right up as he drives me crazy with what his lips can do. I squirm and moan beneath him as he digs into my neck with his furious kisses. He knows exactly what I love.
How can anyone form thoughts in these conditions? “B-Babe. Oh my god. Babe, I still think we—”
His hand starts massaging my cock through my pants. It comes alive with little effort, throbbing from his strong, squeezing grip. I don’t want him to stop.
Yet still … “I-I need to find—” What was even the problem? I struggle to remember what we were talking about before. “Byron, I’m worried about—” Nope. Just don’t speak. Don’t worry about anything. Do whatever you want to do with your fiancé in the semidarkness of the closed café. He’s all yours. You’re all his.