Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
We were getting off track.
“What you did in the bakery today was not fucking okay,” I stated firmly, narrowing my eyes.
“What did I do?” he asked, feigning innocence. “I know I ordered six cookies, but I promise only four of them were for me. Plus, Nora is a magician. And I am blessed with a fast metabolism.” He gestured down to his perfect fucking body.
“This isn’t about the cookies,” I snapped. “But of course you have a fast metabolism. Because nature yet again rewards men with eyelashes and hair shades that women have to pay a fuckload for,” I muttered.
Kip shrugged. “I’ll take it up with God when I meet her.”
Okay, this was getting really off track.
“You cannot kiss me in the bakery,” I told him. “Ever again. It’s twice now that you’ve stuck your tongue down my throat in my place of employment.”
Kip strolled to the fridge, taking out one of the many beers that was now stocked in there. I drank beer also, but I never actually stocked my fridge with it so efficiently.
He’d been shopping. Not just for beer but a bunch of food too.
“The first time was our wedding, so that doesn’t exactly count,” he said… after cracking the top of the bottle open on my countertops.
“Hey!” I cried. “Those are my quartz fucking countertops.”
Kip rested his hip against the counter, taking a long chug of his beer as he regarded me. “Technically it’s my countertop,” he corrected.
Red tinged my vision.
“You really are trying to get me to dissolve you in a vat of acid after I’ve bludgeoned you with this wine bottle,” I stated.
Kip smirked at me.
“I’m serious,” I insisted, laying my hands flat on the counter. “We need rules. I know we’ve got to play some kind of part, but that part does not need to involve PDA. We’ve got a long game to play, and setting a precedent for tongue hockey every time we see each other really isn’t going to work for me. Like at all.”
He raised his brow. “You’re sure it’s not gonna work for you?” he asked. “Because it seemed like it was working for you this morning.”
That fucking asshole.
I snatched my wineglass and took a long gulp. “I’m really sure it’s not gonna work for me. And I assure you, whatever you were feeling this morning was in your fucking head.” I looked him up and down. “Whichever one of them has more brains.”
Kip chuckled. “You’ll find us both pleasantly intelligent.”
I did not smile. “No more kissing,” I declared before walking outside, nabbing my bottle on the way past.
After the first day, the first rule was created.
No shoving your tongue down your wife’s throat.
After the second day, the second rule was created.
No grabbing your wife’s ass at a dinner to celebrate your nuptials with your best friend.
It went kind of like that until we got a list of about ten rules.
Kip enjoyed this process. I knew because he did not hide his enjoyment. Not even a little. He got off on it.
Which infuriated the absolute fuck out of me.
So yes, the first month of marriage was pretty much me lying to my best friends, trying to avoid any and all topics about ‘newlywed bliss,’ trying not to kill Kip, and constantly questioning what the fuck I’d done with my life.
A plus side was my best friend was actually living in bliss and impregnated by a man she loved dearly.
And luckily Kip was done fucking with me after the first week, and we settled into somewhat of a routine.
Sure, we had to act vaguely affectionate when we were out in public or around our friends, but I’d forced myself to become weirdly desensitized to it. I convinced myself I was playing a role, outside of my body and outside of reality.
It was easier than I thought to slip into that mindset. That of a lie.
Yes, sometimes I woke up in the middle of the night covered in sweat, feeling guilty and absolutely panicked about what I was doing, but other than that, I was fine.
Totally fine.
kip
My day was shit from the start. I didn’t sleep. Not that that was unusual. I didn’t sleep much. But usually when the voices got loud and I couldn’t get my shit together, that’s when I went to the bar, picked up a woman, and fucked her until I could think again.
I couldn’t fuck. My hand did nothing. Especially when it was Fiona’s face, her tits, the fucking wrinkle between her brows that came to my mind when I was jerking it.
Then all I’d think about was that she was in a bedroom, in this house. And that kept me up all night long.
How in the fuck I was going to live here for upward of a year was beyond me.
But I’d figure it out. The attraction would wear off.