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)
In other words, post-nut clarity just wouldn’t let me sleep. And my girl needs her rest, given she pretty much passed out after she climbed off my dick.
It was amazing to touch her before, to kiss her, to taste her tiny whimpers. But there’s something about her taking charge that elevated the whole experience.
Wife, my mind whispers. It blows my mind.
A grin suddenly creeps across my face. I love Evie for Oliver, but I couldn’t quite believe that anyone would tie themself to another for life. It blew my mind trying to understand why, let alone how they could be so certain. What blows my mind now is that I’m in the same place—that I understand and feel those same certainties. Mila is the one for me, and I know now the whole point is not to get it. Until you do. Because that’s how you get to be so sure.
Five days. We’re on the same timeline, just not on the same tracks. I’m sure Mila thinks she’s getting her freak on—getting her groove back. While I’m down to help her with that, I do so with the plan to ultimately, matrimonially, lock her down.
I know it’s crazy, and my feelings might seem over the top to anyone else, but the way I see it, I’ve been falling in love for months.
I’ve got it bad, and I don’t give one single fuck.
For almost twenty years, I’ve actively avoided relationships and pushed away any possibility of love. Who would’ve thought I’d find it in a coat closet, I think with a wry smile.
Mila is unlike any woman I’ve ever known, and she treats me like no woman has. I just want to walk by her side. Be hers—be part of all her life stories. And her, mine.
I make a call to the concierge, order some food for when Mila wakes, then dunk myself in the outdoor shower, which isn’t nearly as much fun the second time around.
Then I pick up my phone.
“What the fuck time do you call this?” Matt, the third of our trio in Maven Inc., doesn’t bother with niceties, his usual soft Irish lilt leaning more toward aggressive. A tone not often heard from him.
“What do you mean?” I don’t bite. I’m too blissed out to be annoyed.
“I emailed you hours ago. Hang on.” The loud trundle of wheels over gravel and the beep-beep of a reversing construction vehicle sounds through the handset. A door opens and bangs shut, footsteps, and then, “What’s going on with the Dildo?”
I’m confused for a second. I know I’ve recently had sex, but post-nut clarity isn’t extending that far. Then I remember. The building.
“Nothing, as far as I’m aware.” It hasn’t even passed planning yet.
London has the Gherkin, the Cheesegrater, the Boomerang, and the Walkie-Talkie, which are all actual buildings, even if those aren’t their actual names but the ones Londoners have christened them with. Soon to join their ranks will be the Dildo, as it’s been referred to internally (ahem) by Maven Inc. It’s touted to be the tallest building in London, once it’s built, topping the Shard by seventy meters, sprouting from the skyline like a great phallic beast.
I really hope the nickname sticks. Especially as I came up with it.
“We really need to start calling the place by its actual name,” I murmur, dropping to the couch.
“It might not need a name, given the word on the street.”
A cube of ice drops into my warm mellow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then you should maybe read your fucking emails.”
“I’m on vacation.” Honeymoon, my mind supplies as I pull a throw cushion from behind my back and launch it to the ottoman. “I haven’t opened my laptop since I arrived. Give me the highlights.”
“Fuck off with your vacation,” he retorts. “It wasn’t even scheduled in.”
“Take it up with Oliver.” As the major shareholder, he likes to think he’s boss. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard from him.”
“Not since Wednesday, when he told me not to bother turning up to his wedding.”
That asshole. So much for their plan not being a solid one.
“At least he told you. I flew in from Jakarta for the wedding that never was.” I can’t really complain. Not when I also got the girl. The girl who fake married me to help her grandmother. Then found herself real married to me. My mellow returns as I think of how she allowed me to help secure Roza’s new home. That has to be a step in the right direction, right?
“Well, it’s a wedding that has been now,” he says. “I met Lucy for a quick cuppa yesterday. The deed was done in Saint Bart’s. How he pulled that off on such short notice, I’ll never know.”
“I expect the conniving shit planned it this way all along,” I say with grudging respect.