Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
My eyes drift shut from his intoxicating touch.
“You looked at me—only me—the whole way. And I felt so scared. I thought of all the ways I could mess this up. You’re all I think about.” He kisses me slowly for a few seconds. “I just want to give you the world.”
I slowly remove his tie and work the buttons to his shirt while he pulls the hairpins from my hair. “Koen, you’ve already given me the world, and we haven’t even consummated the marriage.” Biting my bottom lip, I grin and lift my gaze to his as my fingers finish with the last three buttons.
After the last one, he shrugs off his shirt, and I unfasten his pants.
Nothing is hurried.
Time is irrelevant.
We kiss.
Our hands explore.
My breasts feel a little heavier in his hands, my nipples a little more sensitive when he teases them with his teeth and tongue. Everything just feels more tonight.
A sacred intimacy.
A true belonging.
And a life that lives inside me, part of Koen inside me.
He guides me to my stomach, peppering kisses along my back, fingers curling into the lace to drag my underwear down my legs.
I glance back at him while he loses his briefs. Every muscle shifting and flexing, mesmerizing as he crawls over me.
He kisses my shoulder, and his hand slides between the bed and my stomach, lifting my pelvis and driving into me.
A soft groan vibrates his chest, and my lips part to accommodate my breaths that he’s stirring into a frenzy of need.
“You’re the most stunning creation on this earth,” he whispers in my ear, driving deep inside me. My back arches, fingers curling into the bedding.
He kisses the back of my neck while his hand on my stomach slides lower, hand on my inner thigh, thumb circling my clit.
The tension builds until I can barely keep my eyes open, and the tiny grunts we share fade into nothing because all I can hear is my own heart hammering against the mattress.
He pulls out, turns me over, and reenters me. Our fingers interlace while we kiss, chests flush and rubbing together with each desperate thrust.
My legs lock around his waist, thighs burning as I grind into the tension that’s … it’s … oh god …
Every nerve in my body pulses with blinding pleasure—one wave after another.
“I love…” he lifts onto his hands for leverage “you … so…” his face tenses, and it’s vulnerable like a beautiful pain “…fucking much.” He stills, pelvis jerking several times before he collapses on top of me.
Before I can free my arms from his to hug him, he rolls us to the side and pulls me into his chest, face buried in my hair.
“Consummated.”
I laugh, my body vibrating with pure joy. “I want to soak in a big bathtub with you, but you don’t have one. What are we going to do about that?”
He hums, kissing my head. “I think your husband should build a house for his wife and children.”
“That’s so sexy.”
He pulls his head back. “Are you being serious?”
“You building me a house? Uh … yeah.” I can’t hide my grin.
“Hmm …” His lips corkscrew. “What else do you find sexy about your husband?”
Husband …
This life with Koen is going to be the best.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
I THINK THIS YEAR I WILL PUT A BIG BOW ON MY HEAD AND HOPE MY FAMILY GETS THE SIGNIFICANCE OF IT.
Price
I stay.
Three work days turn into four—ten-plus hour work days. I could quit and stay home, but it wouldn’t matter. My home is not my refuge. It’s a fortress of the excess that no longer serves me.
Amelia and Astrid settle back into the pre-cancer routine.
Eight hours of sleep turns into six, sometimes less, because my wife is a night owl who likes to binge TV shows, and sex takes place after those shows. And if sex doesn’t happen, then she assumes something is wrong with me.
Reassuring her I’m fine is a full-time job, much like doing things to actually be fine was a full-time job. And if I hint that I’m not fine, her answer involves a trip to the doctor. I could leave again … but I need my wife and daughter. So, I’m letting this play out, trying to stay positive and not feel burdened by the stress.
By Thanksgiving, we’re celebrating the holidays and one-year post-diagnosis. By all accounts, I should be dead.
“They’re gone.” Amelia dramatically wipes her forehead and leans against the front door after my parents, her dad, and my sister leave. “What’s that look?” Her smile dies when I sit on the stairs.
I fold my hands between my spread legs. “I haven’t been feeling well.”
She frowns. “Haven’t been feeling well as in—”
“I think the cancer’s back.”
Slowly, she shakes her head. “You shouldn’t have skipped your last appointment. I’ll call first thing in the morning.”
“Babe, if it’s back, it’s not because I skipped an appointment.”