Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
It was too much to take it. I couldn’t process. I only asked one thing, “You’re not breaking up with me, then?”
“What?” Connor went from shocked to outraged in under a second. “No!”
My feet slid closer and for some stupid reason, I disclosed, “I’m not breaking up with you either.”
Connor stood, hid his smile and responded an amused sounding, “That’s good.”
I shuffled closer and when we were toe-to-toe, I looked up at him as he snaked his arms around my waist. “I love you,” I whispered.
His body impossibly close, Connor lowered his lips to mine and spoke against them. “I love you more, baby.”
No. Not possible.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t argue around my husband’s tongue and hoped he could feel the way I felt when I scratched at his back with my nails. We kissed a long time before Connor pulled back and said, “Wanna fuck?”
It didn’t take long to think about it. “I would like that, yes.”
A squeak left me as Connor fell back on the sofa, taking me with him.
It was late. 2:11am to be precise. I was tired but couldn’t sleep.
Not yet anyways.
I glanced down at the open laptop screen and hesitated.
My eyes lost focus and only when Connor kneaded my bare hip, did I come back down to earth. Drowsily, he asked, “Done?”
I lovingly brushed a stray hair off of his forehead. “Soon.”
My heart lurched as I wrote the short sentence. Finger hovering, I found the courage to hit the Post button, closed my laptop and set it on the nightstand. And for the first night since the Becky incident, I slept soundly in the arms of the man I loved.
The Violet Dame posted:
I can only be who I am.
#NotAshamed #IAmMe
Connor let me sleep in the next morning. He left our bed so quietly that I hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t there until I woke up by myself close to 11:00 a.m. then stretched and made my way downstairs in search of my husband.
I found him in the kitchen, on the phone, looking into the fridge. “No, she hasn’t seen it yet. She’s not even awake yet.”
My feet froze mid-step. Immediately, my chest squeezed in fear of what else had happened while I slept.
He was dressed in a pair of black basketball shorts, socks and nothing more, and I watched as a slight pause set in then he let out a tentative, “She needs rest, man. I’ll show her later.” Another pause then a stern, “She’s overwhelmed as it is. I don’t know how she’ll take it. Leave it alone, Noe.” A short silence followed and then he uttered, “Alright. Talk later, man.”
Jesus.
What now?
I cleared my throat lightly and he spun around, a sad smile pulling at his lips as his gaze settled on me. The fridge closed on its own with a light slam. “Oh, baby,” he murmured, coming my way. When he got close enough, he wrapped his arms around me, enveloping me in a warm, safe, cocoon of his love and devotion. Resting my head against his chest, I closed my eyes and took it all in, knowing I would need this feeling to get me through whatever it was he was going to show me. I snuffled out a laugh when he rocked me from side-to-side and told me lovingly, “You look like shit.”
I’d seen my reflection in the mirror I passed in the hallway.
He wasn’t wrong.
“Are you hungry?” he asked as he held me still.
My voice was still sleepy. “No.”
“Are you going to eat what I cook you anyways?” he asked, knowing his wife.
“Yeah,” I responded drowsily and smiled softly when I felt Connor’s body shaking against mine as he laughed silently.
What? Food gave me joy, okay?
In no time at all, Connor whipped up eggs and bacon with avocado on toast for the both of us and he watched me closely as I ate small, controlled bites. My stomach had been a bundle of nerves the last few days and it was hard to swallow because of it. The anxiety-induced nausea never gave pause, never left me. I squeezed my eyes shut and took in a deep breath as another stabbing pain hit my belly.
When my eyes fluttered open again, I found Connor frowning, his eyes searching my face. He attempted to hide it, covering his concern with a light sounding, “How did you sleep?” My brows lowered as he casually asked, “Have you been online this morning?”
Wow. He actually thought he was being slick. “No.”
“Good.” Relief lit his features. “Okay. Alright.”
My eyes narrowed. “What are you hiding?”
He picked up his glass of water and answered between sips. “Nothing.”
It was time to let him know the ruse was up. “I heard you on the phone with Noah this earlier.”
“Oh.” He put down his glass. He didn’t speak for a while. I waited patiently and when his shoulders fell, he confessed self-consciously, “I just wanted you to have a normal, drama-free morning, that’s all.”