Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
I find her collecting her bag off the island. Her face is begging me to challenge her. Oh, I challenge. Doesn’t she know me at all? My brain spasms at that thought, and I boot it away before I can spend too much time agonising over the fact that she doesn’t at the moment. Well, she soon will. ‘The dress goes.’
She lifts her dress even higher up her thigh, and I recoil at her sheer insolence. And cheek. And bravery. ‘The dress is staying.’ She looks down herself again. ‘It pulls me in at all the right places.’
She doesn’t need pulling in. What she needs is a dress at least a foot longer. Ordinarily, she knows I can’t be held responsible for my actions if some stupid prick makes an inappropriate or rude remark, and the chance of that happening when she’s wearing a dress like this is multiplied by a million.
‘What are you gonna do, anyway?’ Another challenge, and I have to stop myself from laughing.
‘You really shouldn’t ask me that question. I’m not above doing it again.’ I walk over to the drawer and pull it open, searching through the utensils. Give me strength, that dress barely covers her arse.
‘The scissors are in the other drawer,’ she says, so matter-of-factly, almost casually.
‘What?’ I nearly chop my fingers off when I slam the drawer shut, swinging around to face her. How did she know I was searching for the scissors?
Looking a little blank, she lifts her arm and points to a drawer. ‘That one.’
I’m no longer shaking with anger, I’m shaking with excitement, but I force myself into something close to nonchalance. It’s fucking hard. This is colossal. I move slowly to the drawer and place my hand on it, never removing my eyes from hers. ‘This one?’
She nods and I pull it open, blindly reaching inside for the scissors. Pulling them out, I calmly shut the drawer. And she frowns. ‘Why are you looking for the scissors, anyway?’
I refuse to let her sudden confusion beat me down. What just happened was another glimmer of hope. Lifting them, I point them at the offending red dress and snip the air. ‘Are you going to remove the dress, or am I cutting it off?’ I tilt my head, a little serious, but mostly playfully. Truth be told, I’d let her wear the dress now. My mood has changed considerably.
Comprehension slams into her, her jaw dropping. ‘Oh my God, you cut off my dress?’ Her hands come to the sides of her head and press against her temples, like she could be trying to squeeze the memory to the front. ‘What kind of unreasonable arsehole are you?’
‘The one you love,’ I declare, walking forward, snip-snipping at the air, a cunning smirk pulling at my lips. ‘Remove the dress.’
‘Fuck you, Jesse.’ She’s absolutely outraged. It’s sweetly reminiscent. ‘Jesus, did I actually let you do that?’
‘Yes. You were too distracted by all my handsome glory to notice what I was doing until it was too late.’
She snorts. ‘I’ve never met such an egomaniac.’
‘Yes, you have.’ I continue to stalk forward, ready to pounce when she bolts. ‘And you married him.’
‘I must have been mad.’
I take no offence, don’t let her claim faze me, since there’s absolutely no conviction in her tone. Just lust. ‘Crazy mad,’ I whisper, smiling when she starts taking steps back, trying to keep some distance between us.
‘Crazy mad,’ she murmurs in reply, her eyes clouding over with a ton of desire. ‘You are the crazy-mad one.’ Her arse meets the worktop, her retreat blocked. I reach her and press my front to hers, dipping to put my mouth at her ear.
‘Take it off.’
‘No.’ She’s being defiant for the sake of it, playing the game. She knows one way or another this dress is coming off.
‘You’re heading for a Retribution Fuck.’
Startled, she looks up at me, my promise snapping her out of her trance. I immediately kick myself. Too much? Ava laughs somewhere between bewilderment and amusement. ‘What the hell is a Retribution Fuck?’
I feel heat in my cheeks, and she hasn’t missed it, her gaze jumping from my bristly face to my eyes. There are so many mind-bending things for her to get her head around. The time has come to address the fucks. While the styles of fucks I lay on my wife were perfectly understood between us, I never imagined what it must sound like to a stranger. And, right now, painfully, my wife is practically a stranger. Great. So we’re going to have a conversation about fucks. Why didn’t I keep my stupid mouth shut and focus on getting that dress off?
I take in air, wary of her half smile. She might not be smiling in a minute. ‘Want to sit down?’
‘Do I need to?’
‘Probably,’ I admit, reluctantly moving from her path.