Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
“Big or little?” she asks, holding up two spoons and carrying on like our secrets aren’t closing in on us.
Following her lead, this one time, I reply, “Big.”
“I’ll take the little spoon.” She comes over and hands me the spoon without making eye contact. Another tell that I’m positive I’ll read too much into. As she takes the lids off the containers, she asks, “Can you eat with your left? You did fine with a burger and fries, but gelato is a different ball game.”
We didn’t get away with anything, but she’s a master sidestepper. “We’ll see.”
She grasps the bottom of the chocolate blood orange pint. “I’ll hold it. Dig in.”
I scoop the creamy treat and take the spoon into my mouth, slow to slide it out. Watching her spoon dive in after mine, she doesn’t waste time tasting it. “I like that one.”
“It’s my favorite.”
“I can see why. Or taste why.” A giggle bubbles up like champagne—the unexpected, quiet burst is something to be savored. I end up smiling for several reasons, but mainly because it’s odd how things with her evolve from one minute to the next. I was tasting her not fifteen minutes ago, and now I’m eating gelato like it stands a chance against the sweetness of her lips. The slip with the silverware doesn’t seem to matter as much. Knowing that this is probably an act, like everything else she does, doesn’t deter me from starting to appreciate her quirks.
Grabbing the base of the next pint, she says, “Try it and guess the flavor.”
I already know what it is by the color, but I’ll play along. One bite is all it takes to confirm what I knew. “Pistachio.”
Sliding the spoon from between her lips, she licks the corner and says, “Salty and sweet. I always did have an affinity for the opposites.”
“Opposites attract. Like us?”
A wrinkle of her nose leads to a grin spreading after. “I’ll assume you’re inferring I’m the sweet one.” I tip my head, giving the title without argument though salty might be a better fit. “You’re definitely the salty one between us. How many hours a day do you think you’re grumpy, Warner? I’m going with eighteen.”
“So fucking random,” I say, chuckling. “Why eighteen?”
“Figure you typically sleep for six so that leaves you wide awake and wreaking havoc on the rest of us for the remaining hours.” She thinks she’s funny by how she cackles and digs into the next pint. This time, I’ll concur. She is.
Raspberry is next, given its deep purple color. I take a bite and wince from the tartness of it. When she does the same, we share a laugh that feels like it’s been building up for a while. She says, “Not my favorite, but I do like it.”
“I’m thinking you could say the same about me.”
“You’re not far off, hotshot.” Sliding the next pint forward, she adds, “Lemon. Oddly, it’s not tart at all. It’s really good.”
With the gelato on my spoon, I hold it in front of me. “You’re growing on me.”
Her laughter echoes over the island, the sound weaseling its way into that once beatless organ. “I’d hope so.” Waggling that ringed finger, she adds, “Since we’re married and all.”
“And all is my favorite part.” I finally take the lemon dessert into my mouth to savor it. After it melts, I say, “I was starting to think this might have been an arranged marriage. I seem to be the opposite you have an affinity for.”
Swirling her spoon around with chocolate on the end, she says, “So you claim, but I’m realizing we’re not as opposite as even I once thought.” Coming around to my side of the island, she slides onto a barstool next to me. “Tell me, hotshot—”
“Again with the hotshot?”
“If the shoe fits . . .” She licks the back of the spoon, making my mind go straight to the tightening in my pants. I shift, not making a show of it, but with a knowing smile situated on her face and her eyes brighter with the trouble she’s getting me into, I think she’s onto me. God, I wish she was on me.
By how she licks the spoon again, slower this time, she likes that I see her, that I’m turned on by her. Some of those thoughts I had earlier—imagining her tits bouncing as she rides me with abandon, gripping onto the swell of her hips when I fuck her from behind, having her spread naked across my desk while we fuck with all of New York City outside the windows—return. She’s got an incredible hourglass figure that I can’t wait to plow into.
It's a game of cat and mouse, but sex is still a factor when there’s mutual attraction.
“Earth to Warner.” She waves her hand in front of me. When my eyes focus on her face again, she says, “And you had the nerve to complain about me disappearing on you. It’s always projection. In other news, back to the gelato. Now that you’ve tried them—”