Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
And fucks me deep, passionate, with his eyes on mine the entire time.
If I wasn’t chasing an orgasm, I might have thought harder on what this meant, how it felt, how it was different than every other time we’d fucked.
But the pleasure makes thinking impossible.
All I can do is feel the toe-curling, mind-bending pleasure of him taking me to the ends of the earth till I gasp out, “I’m close.”
“Say my name when you come. Say it like a good girl,” he commands.
A torrent of lust storms through me. Yes, I have a good-girl kink. Yes, I have a mark-me kink. Yes, I have a tie-me-up kink.
Mostly I have a Carter kink.
I shout his name as I shatter under him.
Seconds later, he follows me with a wild grunt, and then there are no more words.
Just sounds. Just sighs. Just…us.
34
PANCAKE FANTASIES
Carter
In the morning, as I water the rosemary, the basil, and Bob the Ficus, Rachel makes pancakes and we plan our final two dates.
Two more. That’s it.
I try not to let the ticking clock bug me. When I’m on the field, I only focus on the play we’re making in the moment not the one I’ll need to execute in the next quarter.
I ought to do the same here.
As I pour water onto the soil, I toss her a question. “All right, Sunshine,” I say, then stop my train of thought at the name. I haven’t called her that in a while. I’ve called her sweetheart and baby. But she’s still Sunshine too. I like the way it sounds.
As I glance over at her in the kitchen, she’s fighting off a smile that tells me she likes the return of Sunshine too.
“We’ve got two more dates. One should be this Halloween party, right?” I ask.
“Definitely,” she says, as she spoons some batter into the pan. “But we should coordinate our costumes. Right? Well, you tell me. You’re the one teaching me. But I’m guessing that’s a girlfriend thing?”
I return to the kitchen, set the water bottle in the sink, then kiss the back of her neck. “Yes, the full boyfriend experience says we’re coordinating our costumes. But we’re not gonna be fucking M&Ms or cell phones or ghosts. Also, we’re going to need to try to win. Because I won Best Costume a couple years ago at Jason’s party.”
“Oh, what was it?”
I square my shoulders. “I was the Big Game stripper.”
Her brow knits in confusion.
“This dude ran onto the field during the game in black shorts and a bright pink mankini.”
Her eyes pop. “You wore a bright pink mankini? You own a bright pink mankini?”
“I own it because I bought it for the party,” I say, proudly. “And I looked hot in it.”
She laughs, dipping her face. “You think so?”
I am shook. “What? You doubt me?”
She raises her face to meet my gaze with a knowing one of her own. “Carter, a pink mankini is not hot.”
I scoff. “Have you seen me in one?”
“No, I have not.”
“Then how do you know?”
“I guess you’ll have to show me,” she says, goading me.
“Challenge accepted,” I say, then I grab my phone, scroll through past pics way back when and find one from that night, showing her the screen in victory.
Her lips part in an O. “I stand corrected. You are hot.”
“Told you so, Sunshine,” I say.
There’s that smile again, and I just want to keep putting it there.
“Did you have fun at the party?” she adds.
“I did,” I say, but then I’m quiet for a beat, thinking back. I would have had more fun if she’d been there. But she was in Los Angeles.
“It would have been nice to have gone,” she says, a little wistful, clearly thinking the same thing too.
“Yeah, it would have.”
She draws a deep breath, like she needs it for fuel. “I would have liked that.”
She doesn’t have to add if I weren’t married then. Pretty sure we both know we’re talking about an alternate reality.
In this world, we both go quiet, her finishing the pancakes, me grabbing some plates. As I move through the familiar choreography of a Sunday morning, I enjoy the silence a little too much, imagining that alternate reality.
One where I’d have made different choices. Objected before her wedding. Acted on the feelings I was having but hadn’t named.
In that reality, she’d have been my date and I’d have saved her from heartache.
But our timing has always been a little off.
When she plates the pancakes, she asks with a tender sort of curiosity, "What are you thinking?”
The fact that she asks makes my heart thump harder.
“How good those pancakes look,” I say with a smile.
It’s true enough.
Even though she arches a playful brow. “Pancake fantasies?”
Well, yeah.
The next night, four alerts do the trick. Not only am I on time for dinner with Maddox and Zena, I am motherfucking early. My agent isn’t at the restaurant yet. First time for everything.