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)
I stopped glaring at her to continue to search for my phone amongst the mountain of blankets. “I may not be able to cook, but I can use my phone,” I argued, still searching.
“Not when it’s on the counter,” Calliope countered. “And you’re all tucked in there. Just let Kip make the fucking pizza.”
Shit.
The counter wasn’t far away in the grand scheme of things.
But when you were pregnant, recovering from a car accident, and wrapped in blankets, the distance seemed yawning.
I looked from Kip to Calliope. “I don’t like either of you right now,” I grunted.
Both of them were smiling.
“You don’t have to like us right now,” Calliope answered. “Plus, you’ll want to marry Kip and have his babies once you get a taste of that pizza.” She looked pointedly at my stomach. “You know, if you weren’t already working on that.”
I flipped her the bird.
Kip leaned down and kissed my head before walking away.
I ignored Calliope. She wasn’t bothered.
Kip made pizza.
And Calliope was right—one taste and it did make me want to marry him and have his babies.
Except I was already in the middle of that.
Kip had scheduled an OBGYN appointment for me the day after we arrived home.
“You cannot just schedule doctor’s appointments for me!” I yelled when I found this out.
“I’m your husband,” he replied. As if that were a sane thing to utter.
My eyes widened, and I was surprised that steam didn’t come out my ears. “You’re my husband on paper only. And even if you weren’t, I have a little thing called bodily autonomy, and I get to choose when and where to have doctor’s appointments.”
Kip’s expression was hard but not cold like it had been for the past few months. There was emotion there, to be sure. Concern, mostly, and determination.
“I can do it when my pregnant wife got into a serious car accident the day before,” he bit out.
Again, the underlying anguish in his voice hit me because of what he’d told me in my hospital room. I could never unhear those words. They’d been bouncing around in my head ever since.
“You’ve emphasized the word wife more in the past two days than you have in the past five months,” I muttered.
Kip’s mouth thinned. “I know, because I haven’t been much of a husband for the past five months.”
At least he was owning up to his mistakes.
Not that it mattered.
“You’re not meant to be a husband, remember?” I said, my voice tight with irritation. “That was the agreement.”
His eyes went purposefully to my stomach and then back up to me. “I think we can both come to terms with the fact that the agreement is now moot. So, the only other option we have now is to address the fact that we might have entered into a real marriage here.”
You could’ve knocked me over with a fucking feather. Not just because I wasn’t quite so steady on my feet on account of the concussion and general weakness of my aching muscles.
“A real marriage?” I spluttered, the blood draining from my face. “You’re really going from essentially ignoring me for months in preparation for eventually abandoning me,” I stroked my belly, “abandoning us,” I corrected. “You’re going from that to deciding—on your own—that our sham marriage is now the real thing?”
Kip didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish. He just kept that determined glint to his eye with a hint of mischievousness. “Pretty much.”
“You’re fucking insane,” I informed him.
He merely shrugged in response. “You’re still going to the doctor’s appointment.” He looked over my pajamas that I was still wearing because it was only eight in the damn morning. Too fucking early for this shit.
“You want to make me?” I asked sweetly, putting my hands on my hips in challenge.
“Yep,” he replied without hesitation, a challenge of his own in his eyes. “I will hog-tie you, gag you, and carry you into that office.”
The principle of the statement angered me. Like a whole bunch.
But then I thought of Kip. Tying me up. In another scenario.
And I kind of liked that.
Kip’s eyes glowed as if he could read my fucking mind. Which, of course, he couldn’t. But he stepped forward. Close. Too close. His torso almost touched my protruding belly.
“You like the idea of me tying you up, babe?” he murmured, reaching out to twirl a handful of my hair around his finger.
My breathing shallowed. I fought against my desire.
It had been months since I’d gotten laid. Months.
“Because we can do that,” he said, leaning forward so now his body was brushing against mine. “I can tie you to your bed, have you naked, spread-eagle, and I’ll eat that glorious pussy of yours until you scream.”
Holy. Fuck.
Was I meant to be mad at him? How big of a deal was him being an asshole and abandoning me, really?