Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
“Couples who have a natural hot spring to soak in before or after dinner, that’s who,” I tell myself.
I turn my head to the kitchen’s arched doorway when I hear the floorboards creak.
“Hi,” Bridget says, gnawing at her lip.
Her eyes are still sleepy as she stands awkwardly, drawing a low groan from me once I see she’s wearing my work shirt.
And nothing else.
I gulp down hard, trying to swallow.
Unable to believe how fucking good she makes that old shirt look, especially with a few buttons missing right where it counts.
“I borrowed your shirt,” she says, making a not sure face, but in three steps I’ve got hold of her, kissing her hard and long before I tell her it’s better than fine if she wants to wear my shirts.
“I was gonna make us some dinner,” I explain, noticing her eyes widen as she spots the food laid out and the flowers and tablecloth.
“You don’t have to go to any trouble,” she murmurs, suddenly wide awake now.
“Uh…yeah, I do,” I remind her, keeping my arms hooked around her as I look deep into her baby blues shining back up at me.
We snuggle close, standing in the kitchen and swaying side to side a little until I ask her how she slept.
She purrs to herself and takes in a deep breath, telling me she slept like a Queen.
“Your bed is so comfortable,” she tells me. “But I didn’t know where I was when I woke up…. Thought it might’ve all just been a dream.”
“Our bed,” I correct her playfully, watching my fingers explore the collar and then my old shirt’s front.
Hers now, like everything else, she makes look so damned fine.
I slide my fingers to her thick, pebbled nipples like magnets whenever my hands are near her chest.
My hands cupped her chest as I squeezed her huge breasts together, massaging them until she was swooning with fresh arousal.
“Weren’t you cooking dinner?” she asks, putting her hands over mine, but making no real effort to take them off her.
“I was. I mean…I am,” I reply, wondering why I even bothered putting fresh clothes on at all.
But my hunger for food is as big as my hunger for her right now, and she needs to eat.
Today's little breakfast wasn’t enough to fill my belly for long, and I know we haven’t had anything but each other since.
Casting her eyes back to the bench, Bridget tells me off again for going to so much trouble.
Even though I haven’t actually done anything yet.
“Oooh, flowers too. And candles,” she squeaks, moving from my arms to the counter and sending them all tumbling to the floor again.
“Floating candles,” I tell her with some drama in my voice, making her giggle.
“Seriously, Ash, you didn’t need to go to all this trouble. This house, spending the day with you. It’s been amazing,” she sighs.
“Sounds like you’re ready to go home?” I quip, meaning it as a joke. But through the silence that follows, I can hear my humor dropping harder and faster than a floating candle right now.
Her brow creases, and I can see her thoughts flashing across her expression.
“You want me to go? Once you’ve had your way with me. Is that how it works?” she asks. Sounding more hurt than angry, I shake my head.
Keep your stupid dad jokes for when you have kids, Ash. Not when you’re trying to make ‘em.
She sounds almost half-joking, half-serious. But I can tell I’ve struck a sore point by accident.
“I don’t want you to go home, Bridget. I want this to be your home…our home,” I remind her.
Certain I made it pretty clear before she even jumped off that ledge that this is a forever deal.
That I’m a forever guy. No all or nothing either because the thought of a life without her?
It’s out of the question.
“Sorry,” she murmurs, forcing her old smile back as I give her my best look that tells her the same.
“I sound like my parents,” she groans, and scooting back over to my waiting arms, I change the topic back to dinner.
Back to us.
“How do you like your steak?” I ask her, needing to ask her twice.
She’s seen the French doors that lead out onto the deck. The lights I installed in the hot spring are shining clear blue against the dark sky.
“Oh my god! Can I see?” she exclaims, tugging at my hand as she pulls the weight of my arm toward the doors.
“You don’t have to ask, Bridget,” I remind her, enjoying the feeling of her tugging my arm with both her hands.
My crotch is twitching at the memory of just how soft but firm those hands can be.
“Alright, alright,” I chuckle, but really feel as if she’s showing me around now.
As if it’s the first time I’ve seen it all. Because with her here, it feels brand new.