Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 34442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 172(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 172(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
“That’s not even close to everything because I have thirty-plus years of horrible Valentine’s Day catastrophes. And Valentine’s with the perfect man you thought you had zero freaking chance of meeting and falling in love with shouldn’t be a disaster. So, from here on out, I’m not even going to give it a chance. Honestly, we probably need to take steps to ensure our safety. Take off work, spend the whole day in bed. Avoid candles, roses, takeout meals, other people. Literally just try to sleep through the entire day.”
“Baby, that sounds ridiculous.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve never had to spend the majority of your middle school years hearing your friends talk about how you didn’t need a Valentine’s date because your mom was pro-masturbation.”
“Holy hell.” I laughed, but also, I nodded. I knew my Georgie had been through the wringer growing up with Dick and Savannah as her parents, no matter how much I loved their openness about sexuality as an adult.
“So, unless Hallmark decides to change the official day of love, we’ll be spending the rest of our February 14ths in a bunker.”
On another laugh, I reached out and pulled Georgia into my arms and gently repositioned our bodies so that I lay on my back and her chest was pressed against mine. “Okay, baby, from here on out, every February 14th, we’ll be vigilant and prepared. Zombie Apocalypse Doomsday preppers will have nothing on us.”
“Perfect.” She breathed with a relief so acute, I had to lean forward and press my lips to hers, hard and swift.
Heat and excitement stirred in my blood, and by the dramatic new bloom of rose-colored flesh on Georgia’s chest, she felt the same.
Not one to waste an opportunity with my wife, I leaned back in and took another drink from her mouth, this time deeper, sexier, more eager.
By the time I pulled away, Georgia’s eyes burned so hot, if I didn’t do something about it, I’d need to make another call to the fire department.
Since I didn’t know the number for emergency services in Bora Bora, it seemed like a much, much better idea to take her to bed and fuck her until all that remained were a few burning embers and their exhausted smoke.
“Bungalow, baby. Now,” I ordered, and a shiver ran all the way from my wife’s shoulders to her toes. And then she jumped into action. I didn’t need to explain. She was reading me loud and clear.
While Georgia packed up the beach bag, I folded up the towel and made a mental note to, in the very near future, find another way to give my wife a true Valentine’s Day experience.
I didn’t know when or what or where, but I was certain I’d find a better alternative than dad dicks and special dinners at Rally’s restaurant.
Because whether you were the type of person who thought Valentine’s Day was some sham bullshit holiday or not, every woman on the planet deserved to get spoiled in the name of love and Cupid’s arrow.
And if you’re my wife? That chubby old guy in a diaper needs to be working overtime.
New York Tri-State Area, Monday, May 22nd
After a long as hell day at the office, I was more than pleased to pull into the driveway of Georgia’s and my new house and shut out the rest of the world with just one tap of my finger to the garage button.
At last, home sweet home.
We had only been out of our Bora Bora bubble and back in the real world for a few weeks. But damn, there had yet to be a day that had gone by when I didn’t mentally wish I could go back in time and revisit what it was like to laze around on the beach and witness how glorious my wife’s ass looked in a bikini.
For a man who loathed frivolous spending, I still would have paid an obscene amount of money to make that happen.
On a relieved sigh that the rest of my night would be a hell of a lot better than my workday, I stepped inside the house, walking through the mud room and toward the kitchen.
“Benny, I’m home!” I called out as I walked through the cased opening between the two, but when I stopped near the marble kitchen island and dropped my wallet, keys, and cell phone on the counter, I realized I still hadn’t heard anything back. Curious, I drew my eyebrows together as I called out again, a little louder this time. “Georgie? Where the hell are you, baby?”
“I’m in here!” she finally responded, her voice a distant nebula in space. To say I knew her exact location in this big house would be an outright lie.
“Where is here, exactly?” I asked, dancing delicately around my confusion.
“The living room!”
Geez. The living room was relatively close. Why did she sound like she was in another galaxy?