Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62509 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62509 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“You look good.”
His hand rests between us and his fingers are almost touching mine.
“I slept way better.”
“No sickness?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Is this what it’s going to be like now?” I indicate between us. “I don’t know you as this person. Stop trying to tread lightly around me, Whiskey. I liked who you were, apart from the blackmailing.” He reaches for my hand, then takes it and squeezes it.
“I’d take you because I want you. You want me like that?”
I smirk. “I like you like that.”
Whiskey leans over and kisses my lips. I don’t know if it’s the news that I’m pregnant or what, but I want those lips on me. I like those lips all over me.
I ask him questions—he answers without hesitation. He tells me more about his mother. How she was beautiful but ultimately how broken she was, and that his father had a big role in raising him until he gave up on life. How the business is now that he’s running it, and how it was crumbling when he took it over. Now it’s a billion-dollar business. Hearing him say those words shock me.
“Do we have a prenup?” I ask him.
“No. I knew I didn’t need one with you.”
“That’s a lot of trust in someone you’ve pissed off. I could have taken you for everything.”
“You aren’t that kind of person. Plus…” he smirks. “… I have excellent lawyers.”
We arrive at Disneyland, and a smile takes hold on my face as I get out of the car.
Whiskey comes around and slides his hand in mine. “I like seeing that.”
I turn to him, and he’s nodding his head at my smile. “I like to smile, if the moment deserves it.”
“I like being the one to put it there.”
“Technically, it was a man named Walt, but sure, if you want to try to claim some of that, go ahead,” I say with an eye roll as we walk toward the gates.
“I’ll claim as many as I can.”
Whiskey pays for our tickets, and soon we’re walking in. There’s a street parade, and it takes me back to my childhood. Disney is a huge piece of my life. I even have tattoos on my body of Disney characters.
“I’ll take you to every Disneyland in the world if this is the way you’ll smile at me,” he says.
Later on in the day, as I get another chocolate crepe—I really am going to miss these things—he leans in and kisses the side of my lips and licks.
“I’m just tasting.”
I smirk. My heart beats hard, and I wonder where along the way I fell in love with Whiskey.
Was it when we slept together again?
Or was it our last kiss?
All I know is when he touches me, I’m deliriously happy. Butterflies take off in my belly, and I wonder how they will ever calm down.
Whiskey’s moved me to his hotel room—all my things are here. I’ve noticed he likes to do that, move me around to his liking.
At first, I thought it was annoying, but now I kind of like it. I like the way he stares at me when he thinks I’m not looking. The way he grabs my hand when I’m not paying attention.
He’s done a lot of wrongs to me, and my trust for him will have to be built and earned. But when I lay on his stomach, I see those whiskey-colored eyes and smile.
“It’s not going to be easy.”
“Nothing good ever comes easy.”
“There’s going to be days I will hate you.”
“I can handle whatever you throw at me,” is all he replies.
“Even if it’s just me?” I ask him, wanting to know how he feels.
He brushes a hair from my face. “Definitely, if it’s just you.”
I lay my head back on his chest. His fingers keep brushing through my red hair. My hands touch his sides and I slide up his shirt until they touch his bare skin.
“Rich girl.”
I smile on his chest.
Whiskey reaches under my arms and pulls me up, sliding me until our faces are close. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
I bite my lip. “You are my husband, are you not?”
“I am,” he answers, his eyes growing dark.
“Well, I just want to touch my husband, is all.”
He puts his hands to his sides. “Touch away.” He smirks as I lift his shirt and then straddle him. He takes his shirt off for me, so he’s topless. My hands roam up and down his tanned skin, feeling the ripples underneath my fingers.
“When do you work out?” I ask.
“Every morning. I became addicted after my father died. It was my outlet.”
I move back on his body, feeling him harden underneath me.
“I think this is unfair. One of us has our top off while the other doesn’t.”
“Does this feel weird?” I ask him, my hand coming to a stop.