Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
He smiles. “How about takeout?”
I chuckle. “Yep. I can handle that.”
He leans in close and plants a lingering kiss on my lips. “Followed by dessert.”
My guts squish together. Oh shit. Oh shit! He wants to get kinky. I’m not ready for this. On the other hand, that’s why he’s here. I want to have a new experience. Don’t I? I just know I have a steep hill to climb. He’s a fetish porn star, completely open sexually.
The only way to do this is to jump in with both feet. No easing into things. If I try to work my way into his comfort zone, I’ll lose my nerve. Tonight is the time for boldness.
“How about I order us dinner and some groceries for later?” I say. “I can whip up some sticky treats. I’ll make you a vegan, keto, paleo sundae.” I’m sure there’s a recipe online somewhere.
His eyes light up. “I like mine with carob chips.”
I smile tightly. What the hell is a carob? “Sure. Anything for my guest.” And for Mr. Sticky Nuts.
He pokes my nose. “I’ll take a shower while you order everything. Want to smell nice for our romantic dinner.”
He strolls off, grabbing one of his ten suitcases to take with him.
“You’d so better be worth it, buddy.”
After I find out that carob is a sort of fake, dairy-free chocolate, I get my orders in and start planning out how I want the night to roll. I don’t have a TV, but I have a laptop. We can prop it up on something and watch in the living room after dinner.
He’ll probably make his move and kiss me at that point, so I’ll excuse myself to prepare for this evening of mind-opening sex. I want to meet Mr. Sticky Nuts on his level.
I’m a grown woman and won’t agree to anything I’m uncomfortable with, that’s for sure. But I have to define the yeses and nos ahead of time, since, normally, anything other than regular sex is a no for me.
So how experimental am I willing to get?
A few hours ago, I was ready to kick his ass to the curb, but then he said those magic words. Clearly I haven’t been giving him the chance he deserves if there’s a man inside him who feels those sorts of deep, romantic, spiritual things.
Now I’m more open to some exploration, but not quite at his level. For example, I wouldn’t stuff figs up my crack while people watch. Nor would I slather my vagina in caramel and coat it with sharp chopped nuts.
Whipped cream. I can start there. I’ll just get naked and place some strategic globs over my strategic parts to show him I’m open to his lifestyle. I think—I hope—he’ll appreciate the gesture.
After Carter comes out of the shower, he changes in my room and puts on a pair of gray sweats and a long-sleeve black T-shirt. Not exactly the sexy eveningwear I imagine for a porn star, but maybe that’s the real him. Offscreen, he’s your average guy.
We eat dinner and talk about his dietary journey to veganism after he visited a Tibetan monastery. I try to pay attention, but I’m too busy chewing. And chewing. And chewing. So many veggies in this dish.
After that, we sit down to watch some avant-garde indie film he’s been itching for—some story about a kite.
Toward the middle, he hasn’t made a move, so I try to push things along. I mean, he’ll be wanting to go to his hotel soon, right? Unless I persuade him to stay.
“Wow. Getting late. I’m ready for some dessert. How about you?” I say.
He turns and looks at me. “You’re incredible.” He threads his hand through the hair on the side of my head and kisses me slowly, flicking his tongue against mine. “I was just thinking the same thing. Dessert sounds great.” His voice is deep and sensual.
It’s time. “I’ll be right back.” I get up and grab my can of whipped cream from the fridge before heading off to my bedroom. I strip down and make nice circles around my nipples. Then I make whipped-cream bikini underwear. It won’t last long, but that’s not the point.
I tiptoe into the living room, ready to surprise him. Mr. Sticky Nuts, meet your match! “Dessert is…served?” Carter’s head is tilted back, and he’s snoring.
My mouth falls open. Seriously?
I turn and head to the bathroom to shower off, feeling like a complete idiot. Am I completely misreading this guy?
When I’m done, I go to my room and change into pajamas. Then I go out to the living room, finding Carter in a sleeping bag, stretched out on my couch. It’s not mine, so he must’ve brought it.
“I guess you’re not going to a hotel room,” I mutter. It’s just so strange that he didn’t discuss staying the night. I would’ve said yes, of course. And if we’d hooked up, the invitation would be implied. But he just made himself at home and crashed on my couch.