Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129191 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129191 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
I smile like any man who just did something he didn’t think possible. “Glad to not disappoint.”
We laugh softly, both blissed out in afterglow, and I wrap her in my arms. She hugs me back, and after everything we shared, this somehow feels the most nakedly vulnerable.
We should clean up, or towel off, at least. But exhaustion wins, and Tiffany doesn’t seem inclined to move either. I pull the blanket over us, promising myself that we’ll get up in a few minutes.
Just a little rest to catch my breath.
As I close my eyes, I feel a total sense of peace and contentment that I’ve never felt before.
Chapter 16
Tiffany
Sunday dawns early for me, and I awaken feeling like I’m in a dream. Under the covers, nude, and wrapped up in Daniel’s arms. We both fell asleep after our passionate exertions last night and never got up to clean up. My stomach is grumbling, and I need to pee, but that’s not what has my mind racing at the moment.
I’m worried about Daniel.
I don’t know what it was that triggered the first step in the chain reaction that led to our being here, but a little voice inside me is screaming in warning.
What if he freaks out?
What if he regrets it? If he looks at me and I see even the tiniest hint of a wince, I will never recover. I’ll end up an old hag, reminiscing about the one perfect time that nothing and nobody could ever live up to.
Okay, probably not. But it’ll be painful as fuck to see my dream turn into a nightmare.
But as he opens his eyes and flashes me a sleepy smile, I see something else. Whatever magic we wove last night, he seems to still be under my spell. Or I’m under his.
Either way, I intend to get under him one more time.
Or on top of him, or in front of him.
Hell, I’ll swing from the ceiling fan if he wants me to.
“Shower?” Daniel asks, giving me a kiss on the nose.
“Uhm, I guess, and—” I start before I feel him cup my ass, giving me a squeeze. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” he says, seeming much more awake than he was a moment ago. “That kind of shower.”
It’s not ideal. The hotel shower is one of those shower-bathtub combo things that makes footing a little unsure, but we more than manage. In fact, with my hands and cheek pressed to the tile wall and Daniel gripping my waist in his hands, we manage gloriously, and I’m eager to see what the rest of the day has in store.
We dress in yesterday’s clothes and check out at the front desk, thankfully with another desk clerk. Though I wonder if my quicksand story got around because this clerk looks at Daniel’s tennis shoes curiously.
“You know, we should’ve talked about this before, but . . . well, birth control,” Daniel says questioningly as he starts the car.
“I’m already on the pill,” I admit, grinning. “No worries.”
We drive back toward the city, stopping after a little bit at a roadside restaurant that advertises big stacks of pancakes. The pictures on the windows have my mouth watering, and my stomach growls loudly, sounding like a bear needing rations after a long hibernation. Or a woman who skipped dinner in favor of wild sexual exertions.
Daniel looks over at me, unsuccessfully fighting a bemused smirk.
“Let me sing you the song of my people . . . Feed me, feed me.”
“Are your people zombies?” Daniel asks dryly.
“Only when we don’t eat,” I answer with a shrug. “I’m a grazer, always nibbling on something, so as far as my belly is concerned, I haven’t eaten in like a week.” I laugh, considering digging my emergency crackers from my purse even though the restaurant is literally right in front of us.
“Then we’d better go,” Daniel says, hopping out and coming around to open my door.
We go inside, where a waitress comes over. “Mornin’, y’all. What can I get you?”
“I’d like the Big Platter breakfast,” Daniel says, “with scrambled eggs, turkey bacon, and whole wheat toast. Tiffany?”
I shake my head. Even when he’s gorging on well-earned food, he gets the healthy stuff. Not this girl.
“I’d like the Monster Cake platter.” As I order, I glance at Daniel nervously, looking for any judgment or reaction. I’m not one of those women who only orders a salad on a date—or well, I wouldn’t be if I dated—but there’s the other extreme too, and it involves four plate-sized pancakes with whipped cream, chocolate sauce, peanut butter, and banana slices. Which is what I ordered.
Daniel doesn’t so much as blink, but the waitress sees my questioning look and misconstrues it. “Don’t you worry, girl. How could any father say no to a daughter ordering the most delicious platter in the county?”
Daniel tenses, but I decide to have a little fun. “Oh, he’s my Daddy, but he isn’t my dad,” I tell her with a knowing look and a quick wink. “Why do you think I got the Monster Cakes? I already got all the sausage I can eat.”