Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
“Which makes things kind of complicated when you go away together, don’t you think?”
Shit. Will this make things complicated? Maybe I’m scaring him off. Maybe he won’t want to write with me anymore…or have sex. I’m not sure I could survive without either.
Then again, the other week we both agreed to get tested for STDs. I mean, that’s a pretty big commitment in its own way. It said we weren’t sleeping with anyone else. And luckily, the tests came back negative. I’ve been on the pill forever, so it’s just been that much easier, and the sex has gotten that much better. There’s nothing like the feel of his raw, hard cock inside me.
I just hope I haven’t scared that cock away.
“Well, he hasn’t responded yet so maybe…” I trail off, wondering if I should quickly send another text, telling him I’ve changed my mind and would rather go alone. But what if that makes him feel rejected? Wait, can Blake even feel rejected? I’m not sure that’s an emotion he’s capable of, along with empathy, sympathy, or shame.
“He’ll say yes, don’t worry,” she says with a sigh, heading into the bathroom. “Time to wash this off.”
I watch her go and then nervously head back into my room, eyeing the phone as it sits on my pillow, like it’s going to lash out at any moment.
You can fix this, I tell myself.
I gingerly pick up the phone and peer at it.
Blake finally texted back, for once not calling.
Sounds great. When do we leave?
Ah.
Shit.
It’s Friday morning and I’m standing on the curb outside my place, waiting for Blake. The sun is just starting to peek out over the maples, streaming through in columns of golden light. There’s always been something magical about summer mornings. I guess because when I was younger, the summer meant vacation, and if you were up early during the summer that usually meant you were going somewhere fun.
That’s true today, but even though I’m excited about heading to the cabin for the weekend, I’m also flat-out nervous as fuck. I woke up before the sun even rose, taking my shower and spending extra time on my appearance, like I’m going on a date. And in some ways, it is a date—a really long one. I also went through my duffel bag for the millionth time, packing and repacking my clothes. I want to stay comfortable, earthy and sexy, which is somewhat of a tall order. The girls in the Free People catalogs can pull it off, but I’m another story.
Even though I’m the one who invited Blake and we’re going to my family cabin, he insisted on taking Mr. Mean. Can’t say I have a problem with that. The Cooper is cute, but Mr. Mean is a sexy beast, just like its driver.
Butterflies toil in my stomach, heating up my spine and cheeks. I suck in a deep breath and somehow manage to hold it in as I hear the roar of Mr. Mean’s engine and see the black car coming around the corner.
Blake pulls up alongside the curb and gets out, shooting me a grin that I wish didn’t weaken me in the knees.
“Madame, your chariot awaits,” he says, sliding his aviators on top of his head. “Sorry I’m late, I literally rolled out of bed fifteen minutes ago.”
“It’s fine,” I tell him, coming over with my bag. To my surprise he takes it from me and puts it in the trunk, then opens the passenger door, gesturing to it. “After you.”
I shoot him a wry look. “How very gentlemanly of you. You feeling okay?”
“Darling, you should know I’m not a morning person by now,” he says, going around to his side while I get in. “And you should know that they make me delusional. Appreciate the gentleman while it lasts.” He starts the car and slips his shades back down, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “I’m certain all vestiges of decorum will vanish the moment I get you alone.”
“Number one,” I say to him, holding up a finger. “We’re alone right now, and two,” I tick off another finger, “you need to stop reading the thesaurus. It’s good in a bind and that’s it.”
He leans over and snaps his teeth at my finger, trying to take a bite out of it.
I shriek, a little too loudly, and then dissolve into nervous giggles, also a little too loudly. I need to calm my panties, stat.
“And you, my peach,” he says, “need to relax a little.”
“I have been relaxing. Too much. Hence this trip.”
“No,” he says with a quick shake of his head as we cruise down the tree-lined street, passing by folks walking their dogs and a kid delivering the paper. “I said yes to this trip not because we’re going to work.”
“What?”
“Let me finish. I said yes because I think the problem you’re having with so-called writer’s block isn’t that you’re not inspired. After all, you’re getting my dick, how much more inspired can you get?”