Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 88580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
“Oh my god,” I groan. “I don’t want to hear how hard it is to find underwear with your massive dick.”
“We’re married now. You’ll need to get used to it.”
“Definitely don’t need to get used to your dick.” Though if I’m honest with myself, I really want to turn around and see exactly how big we’re talking here.
But no, no, this is dumb, it doesn’t matter if he’s got the thickest, longest, most perfect cock in the world.
I’m not his real wife and he’s not my real husband.
“Actually, you do,” he says, and I swear he’s closer now. “Remember the whole pregnancy thing?”
Oh, fuck.
I definitely forgot about the whole pregnancy thing.
“Turkey baster,” I say quickly. “You jizz in a cup. I squirt it up there. The end.”
“How romantic.”
“There’s nothing romantic about what we’re doing.”
“Casey. Please stop.”
I jump. His voice is close—like he’s right behind me.
Slowly, I turn around, heart racing, halfway thinking I’m about to find him in all his naked glory, muscles tense and glistening with sweat, cock hard and getting harder as he strokes himself—
Instead, he’s still shirtless, but now he’s got on a pair of gym shorts.
They don’t do much to cover the rest of him but at least his massive dick’s covered.
Though I think I still see an outline—
“You’re staring at my crotch.”
My eyes snap to his face. “I am absolutely not staring at your crotch, you just surprised me is all.”
“Surprised you with my dick? Casey, come on. You don’t have to act so nervous around me.”
“I’m not nervous!” My voice is way too high right now.
He steps closer and touches my cheek with his fingers. I flinch away, my eyes fluttering. “Yes, you are.” He brushes past me and goes into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
I take my chance, run into the closet, and put on clothes. Panties, shorts, crop top, since it’s hot in here right now. When I step back out, he’s sitting on the end of the bed again.
His eyes stare at my body as I hesitate at the closet door. He sweeps his gaze from my lips to my chest, lingering on my bare midriff, then pauses at my knees.
I feel a sudden rush of self-consciousness. “Now you’re the one staring,” I say, harsher than I need to.
But he doesn’t look away. “Your scars.”
“Yes, my scars.” I hurry over to the bed, not remotely tired, but unwilling to delay this much longer. I feel like I’m plunging into an icy river—better to get it over with.
“Do they hurt?”
“No, they’re scars.” I get under the blankets, fluff my pillow, and lie on my side. “The stuff under the scars hurts.”
“Let me see them again.” He brushes off the blankets.
“What? No, get out of here, you’re not staring at my scars.” I try to wave him away, but he’s not deterred. He gets closer to my knee, touching the ugly white welt with his fingers, tracing the outlines of my injury.
I shiver, sweat beading my back, heart racing. Nobody’s ever touched me like that before. There’s no hesitation in him, no fear; most people get awkward when they see my scars for the first time.
They’re ugly. Hideous, really, but I’m used to them. Some are where the surgeons went in to repair my legs, and some are where the bones protruded after I got hit by the car.
“It’s hard to believe that these don’t hurt.” His touch is so gentle.
“I’m fine.” I grab his hand, wanting this to be over with. Instead of pushing him back, I jab his fingers into the flesh. “See? It’s fine.”
He grunts, frowning deeply. “It must’ve been bad.”
“I don’t remember much of the accident.” I finally brush him away and pull the blankets back over me. “It’s all a blur.”
He lies down next to me and hits a switch behind his nightstand. The room plunges into darkness, and I’m instantly very aware of the big, beautiful man sleeping shirtless beside me.
I wonder if he normally sleeps like this, or if he stays up looking at his phone most nights, or if he does work before passing out, or if he sleeps completely naked when he’s alone. Adler’s still a stranger to me, and his routines are totally foreign.
“What happened?” he asks, his voice soft and low and so close.
I try not to look at him. I can barely breathe. “You want to know the details? Most people don’t ask.”
“Assume I have no tact.”
“Already do.” I close my eyes, taking slow, steady breaths. “I don’t remember much. I was having a bad day, work was terrible, and I wanted to do something to blow off steam. I went for a run around the city while I waited for my brother to come pick me up…” I trail off, struggling at this point. The doctors said I might regain my memory, but I might not. “I don’t remember the car hitting me. All I know is I nearly got out of the way, but it slammed into my legs and knees, and I guess it was going pretty fast. Then I was lying there on my back, staring at the sky, and couldn’t move at all. I was all wet, but didn’t know why, until I figured out it was blood. Then someone was there.” I let out a long, shuddering breath.