Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
God, I’m a fucking simp for this side of her.
“How about gremlin,” I suggest. “You know, those furry things from that ’80s movie? The things you don’t feed after dark?”
“I know what a gremlin is,” she retorts, folding her arms tight across her chest. And it is some chest. Eleven out of ten. “I just have no idea what it has to do with anything.”
“Maybe you should come with a similar warning; don’t feed Mila dick after dark, because she turns into—”
“Your speaking privileges have been revoked!” she says, springing forward like a cricket to a bush as she squeezes her hands over my mouth.
“—an insatiable entity!” I wrap my arms around her as I tip my head back, laughter leaving my mouth in a joyful spurt.
“Shut up! Shut up!” she demands, not seeming to realize how tight I’m holding her as she continues to try to make me stop. “Why are you so annoying?”
“It’s a talent.”
“It’s bloody annoying,” she repeats, seemingly unaffected by the press of my body against hers—hips, thighs, fingers. Chest to chest. My nerve endings sparking like fucking fireworks.
“It’s annoying that I’m annoying?”
“Put me down!”
“I didn’t even put you here.” For shits and giggles, I hike her a little higher up my body.
“The only reason I’m not punching you right now is because we’re outdoors. Because someone might see.”
“You can punch me if you want.”
“Because nothing says love like a bride thumping her groom in the head.”
“Some people are into that kind of thing,” I say as I set her down.
“Strange, but I can see how,” she mutters, pushing her hair from her face again.
“If you don’t like cute and you don’t like gremlin and you don’t want to be Mrs. DeWitt, just give me an alternative.”
“What are you talking about?”
A quicksilver thrill rolls down my spine as her eyes meet mine.
“I can’t call you Mila out in public, and calling you Evie just feels weird. Evie’s my friend. You’re my—”
“Only, calling me Mrs. DeWitt doesn’t work,” she interrupts with a touch of menace, “because that’s not her husband’s name.”
“I never said it made sense.” I never said I liked calling her Mrs. DeWitt, either, but I do. I really fucking do. “But this is exactly why we had that pet name conversation last night, sugar nips.”
“No.” She points a finger my way. “No fucking way!”
“Throat chakra clearing again?”
“You’d make a saint swear.”
“And you’ve got a mouth that would make a sailor blush.”
That body part in question falls open as she sucks in an offended breath. “That’s a horrible thing to say!”
“Actually, it was a compliment.” I try not to smile, because the woman can curse. Oh, yes, she can.
“What is that?” She waves a finger in the general vicinity of my face. “What’s going on here?”
“This is a smile. You should try it.”
“You’re laughing at me.”
“Nope. I just don’t mind if you only curse around me. Literally around me.”
“What?”
“‘Oh, God. Fin, oh my fucking God. It hurts so good. I’ve touched myself so many times thinking about this cock.’”
“You—”
“Hottest thing ever. Things almost ended there and then. First time, at least.”
“—are unbelievable.”
“So were you.”
“Urgh!” She pulls away, almost spinning on her heel.
“Come on, honeybuns,” I call after her. “We need to decide on a couple of names!”
“You can call me whatever you like.” She throws the retort over her shoulder. “Meanwhile, I’m going to find Sarai and get to the bottom of this.”
I follow as she makes her way along the path, my eyes glued to the sway of her hips. And that ass. “Whatever you say, slut muffin.”
She stops so abruptly, I practically walk into the back of her. The only thing that stops her forward motion is the arm I slide around her waist. Her hands fall to my forearm, and I take the opportunity to drop my lips to her ear. “You said whatever I liked. And that’s what I like, my little slut muffin.”
“That is not an appropriate term of endearment.”
“I’m allergic to generic,” I purr, wondering if she realizes she’s forgotten to step away.
“More like you’re allergic to behaving yourself. Fine, I’ll choose something just as inappropriate for you.”
“Mila,” I whisper, making a meal of her name. “Don’t you remember what you called me?”
She inhales but doesn’t immediately speak. But, as I expected, curiosity gets the better of her. She offers me her profile, her mouth such a tempting pout, her lashes a dark sweep as they lower.
“Fine,” she says, as though she’s doing me a favor. “What did I call you?”
“Daddy.”
I feel rather than hear her sharp intake of breath, my arms moving closer with her inhale.
“You can call me daddy anytime, sweet girl.”
She shakes her head.
“That’s a shame.” But interesting that she hasn’t fought me on it, which seems to imply she’s feeling it. Yeah, I think so, given the way her breath caught.