Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“I’m so nice, I think you should consider having sex with me.”
I snort. “That is not news.”
“I’m serious.”
“Of course you are.” Why do I sound like an indulgent aunt?
“I think you should have sex with me for no other reason than you want to.”
“I want to?”
“Sure, I do too,” he admits, with a flick of his shoulder.
“Of course you do!” I find my hands in the air, my amusement feigned. Because what I really feel is a lot more complicated. What I remember from last night makes me want to press my lips, my fingerprints into his skin.
“Meaning?”
“That’s you. You’re all about casual relationships,” I retort, twirling my hand in the air like I’m winding a bobbin. “And hooking up.”
“Only, we’re married.” He’s all lounging, tawny, and relaxed. Like a lion pretending he’s not about to pounce.
“Well, I’m not your pity project.”
“I don’t pity you, sweetness. I want to fuck you. This is about you and me and how amazing we were together. I got the sense it was cathartic for you, that maybe you needed it. You deserve to let go, and you ought to be desired. And I want and desire you like nothing else.”
“No one needs sex,” I say, trying not to hang on to his reasoning like it’s a lifeboat. I am my own captain, dammit.
“We all need connection.”
“Some of us more than others,” I add under my breath. “Thank you for the very nice offer, but no thank you.” This wasn’t as easy to say as my delivery made it sound.
“Just think about it. Five whole days and five nights to realize all those fantasies.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The words come out of my mouth with horns.
“Yeah, you do. You’re just a little surprised that I know too.”
“Shrooms must make a girl fanciful.”
“I could be your holiday romance. The one you packed your fancy wedding panties for.”
“Oh, yes,” I splutter, “because boffing for five days solid sounds so romantic.”
“Come on, honeybuns. You know better than that.”
“Stop calling me that! I’m still trying to work out why bunny,” I add in an unhappy mutter.
“I could tell you. If you ask me. Nicely.”
“I’ll pass, thanks.”
Despite my dismissive words, I get a shimmery feeling in my chest when he laughs.
Sex with Fin would be amazing. I remember enough to know that without a doubt. Why else would I have spent months thinking of him and a dark closet?
But I can’t say yes, no matter how tempting he is. Five days might not be long enough to fall in love, but it’s perfectly long enough to ruin things. If Oliver Deubel finds out, one night might already be enough. I push the unhelpful thought away. I’m so close to the end of my troubles, and sex with Fin is not a chance I’m willing to take.
But when I think about returning to London, everything seems so gray and heavy. Hard and inevitable, like my choices will be stripped away. Right now, I’m living my version of champagne wishes and caviar dreams. I just can’t afford to indulge.
This golden man and his golden existence can’t understand. Not even in his worst nightmares could he imagine what it’s like to live my life. He probably couldn’t even name a social housing estate in London, let alone have stepped foot in one. He can’t know what it is to run the daily gauntlet of street-dwelling criminals, their presence frightening and their catcalls predatory. I’m certain that, in his perfectly posh corner of London, wherever that is, he’s never heard his neighbor beat his wife to a bloody pulp through an adjoining wall.
There can be no fantasies realized for me, no holiday romance. I need to grab this opportunity, not risk it. Grab it with both hands, claw my way out of this life for the second time.
I clear my throat, suddenly realizing Fin is watching me.
“Maybe I should just call you puddin’.”
“Like dessert?” Because I ate too much of it? I think darkly.
His gaze moves over me in something that feels like a promise. It leaves every inch of my skin tingling and wanting as my foolish body fights my brain.
“Because you’re the dish I want to lick.”
His words make me feel like his tongue is already inside me.
“I imagine that sounded better in your head,” I lie as I sit forward to ease the empty ache between my legs. “Maybe the problem is yours. Could it be the thought of not having sex for a whole week?”
A tiny crease forms between his brows.
“Is that why you’re relentless. Are you feeling a little desperate, Fin?”
“I had sex yesterday, so . . . there goes that theory.”
God, I am such a sucker for those hot, intense looks of his. “I’m just sorry your come-ons have no discernible effect on me,” I say, leaning back in my chair once more.