Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
His casual affection never got old. Nor did him calling me “baby.” Granted, it hadn’t had time to get old. It had only been a week.
I had a sneaking suspicion that it wouldn’t get old even if we stayed together until I was gray and old.
If I were so lucky to have Beau’s arms around me in five years. Ten. Twenty.
Dangerous thoughts. Ones I still didn’t let myself have, yet Beau offered them casually into everyday life without hesitation.
Clara did it so effortlessly too. The transition had not been bumpy for her in the slightest. Her everyday life barely changed. Except now we spent Beau’s nights off together, snuggled on the couch. Now she saw Beau and I holding hands, kissing. If she happened to wake up before me—which had happened all of once—she knew to come find me in her father’s bed. Now that it was our bed. Beau was usually up making breakfast, though he did linger longer with me in bed, chatting about the day, mapping my limbs with callused palms.
We hadn’t yet risked any actual morning sex, too risky. Clara didn’t need to see that.
Beau and I enjoyed some heavy make-out sessions in the mornings in bed and on the sofa after Clara had gone to sleep. We kept actual sex to our bed. Or the floor in our room. Or the shower. Always behind closed doors.
Fiona had called to let me know “Tonight is the night.” According to her, the plan was “to welcome you” into whatever new group I was now a part of.
Calliope was coming to pick me up.
Another person who was delighted by the change in our relationship status. Second only to Beau’s father, who was over the moon at the news. He’d hugged me with tears in his eyes.
Not one person had blinked when they discovered we were together. Not one raised eyebrow or so much as an odd facial expression. No one seemed to be disapproving. Everyone closest to Beau was thrilled.
Although Beau didn’t hold back his affection toward me and he didn’t hesitate to talk about our future, his posture was tense, his jaw rigid when we first presented ourselves as a couple to his family.
I knew he was holding on to reservations about the age gap between us. I wasn’t. There was probably a vaguely disturbing clinical reason as to why I was so attracted to him because of his age—hello, daddy issues —but I didn’t spend much time focusing on that. My arousal template had been cemented in my early years. I could use my preference for older men to destroy my life—hello, Waylon—or to enrich it.
Being in love with an older man—one who was a wonderful father, with strong moral values and treated me right—was not destructive in my book. Convincing Beau of that was another story, and something I’d given up on for the time being. I had to trust it was something he could get over.
I was still getting used to getting ready in Beau’s—our, according to him—bathroom, my clothes in his—our—closet. Small everyday routines now felt pivotal, terrifying. Never in my life had I been given so much.
Like looking in a mirror and seeing Beau behind me.
“Thank you,” I said, turning to face him.
He placed his hands lightly on my hips, eyes scanning my face. I’d opted for a little more makeup than I usually wore.
It felt fun, now. Dressing up. Even though I was self-conscious about the lack of variety and expensive pieces in my closet.
Beau’s gaze ran over me like I was wearing the finest things money could buy.
He looked at me like that when I was naked, in sweats, my running clothes. I hated that a man boosted my self-confidence, but he did.
Though his daughter did as well. When she asked me questions like I knew the answer to everything, when she listened to me intently, like every word I said mattered. When she told me I was the prettiest woman she knew and then made me promise not to tell her Aunt Loppie she said that. She loved me unconditionally, for who I was. That made me feel worthy. Special.
“Do me a favor?” Beau tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. “Get drunk tonight.”
My eyes widened in surprise. “Excuse me?”
His hand settled around my neck. “The night you came home drunk, crawling on your hands and knees…” His grip flexed around my neck, and his eyes flared in a way that made my insides clench deliciously.
“It took every ounce of my willpower not to take you on all fours,” he growled.
Sensation erupted over every inch of my skin, most notably between my legs. The area in question had been well taken care of this past week. I had a delightful ache from the previous night, but I still wanted more.