Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
And speaking of finding things on the bed, I’ve discovered bliss—multiple times—in Raif’s bed. Not that we’ve… at least, not all the way.
The first evening after our bathroom experience, shall we say, we found ourselves lying on opposite sides of the bed. I’d huffed and puffed, trying to find a comfy position, ending up on my back with my arms clamped over the bedding like one of those clips that keep your cornflakes fresh.
I stared at the ceiling, my breathing audible and awkward, while Raif inhaled and exhaled like a normal person. He’d smelled of soap and shampoo, and I’d wanted to snuggle closer. But that would’ve meant knocking down one or ten of my walls. Instead, I’d fussed and huffed and wished I was a braver person because I really wanted to cuddle, but instead, I’d shot myself in the bloody foot! I was just about to fling back the covers—maybe go get a drink of water—when Raif’s arm crashed over me like a wave, pulling me closer. Without saying a word, I’d nestled my head on his shoulder and dropped off to sleep.
It’s how our nights begin… my body fizzing with anticipation and somehow ending up with our mouths fused to one part of the other. No, that’s not true. The night usually ends with me staring up at the ceiling, smiling so brightly, I bet it can be seen by the stars.
I’m making hay while the sun shines. It won’t always be like this, I know. I do wonder how long it’ll be before he starts to get grumpy. Starts to pressure me. Expresses his disappointment with the situation.
So far, he hasn’t. But then again, I’ve gotten more action this week than I’ve had in the past five years. Maybe that’s the difference between men and boys. I don’t know. What I do know is I spend a lot of time being all “oh, no, please. I don’t think I could cope with another orgasm…”
And he dishes them out anyway.
Seriously, the man should give up his business and start a how-to school. It could be a philanthropic move, and his graduates highly sought after.
Seriously, men everywhere need to learn his technique!
“Thanks so much.”
I come back to earth as the door to the gallery opens, a woman in a tweed jacket and fedora slipping out.
“Oh yes. Have a lovely day!” The door closes, and I go back to my musing.
I wonder what Sam’s making for supper tonight? I could go for that duck ravioli again.
“What are you doing?”
“Jesus!” I cry as Tod materializes next to me. “You scared the daylights out of me.”
“Sorry,” he says, sounding anything but.
“Have you dyed your hair?” I press my hand to his cheek to turn his head. “It’s shorter.” Not to mention golden in the sunlight.
“Yeah.” He tips his head, running his hand up the back of it in that adorably self-conscious way he has. Except I don’t seem to find it adorable anymore. “Do you like it?”
“The barber does highlights?”
“What?” He gives his head a quick shake. “I didn’t go to my usual place. Vinny did it.” He glances out the window to where tourists, yummy mummies, and office workers on their lunch trundle by in the sunshine. Everyone seems to be smiling, such are our reactions to British summertime.
“When?”
“Wednesday night. After work.”
“Oh.” Am I a bit miffed? Vinny is super skinny, super cool, has blue hair, and is full of piercings. But she’s also the owner of the salon across the way, so she also must be pretty astute. Or maybe not if she has a thing for starving artists.
I expect he’s starving now, considering I haven’t been there to fill the fridge.
I’m such a bitch sometimes.
“And you’re only noticing now,” he answers with a pout.
“I’ve been busy.”
“Yeah, so I see.” His eyes flick to the sucking bite on my neck.
I thought I’d covered it with concealer. Dammit, Raif. I am so going to give you a payback hickey when I see you next.
I wonder if he’d be into that. Biting, I mean. I rouse myself from that thought. Time for a change of topic.
“Did she buy anything?”
“Vinny?” Tod’s body does this thing, which is the equivalent of slapping himself on the head. “Ah, yeah. She bought the diptych hanging on the little wall in the back room.”
“Pieces in a Petrie Dish?”
He nods. “I have the address for delivery. She’s an interior designer for a property developer.”
“Oh cool.”
“She’s also going to think about buying Art, Ethos, and Easter Eggs.”
“Yours, right?” The piece that looks like a totem pole made from ugly egg cups, I think.
Another nod. “Yeah. Exciting, right?”
“Absolutely is.”
“Is it me, or is business really picking up?”
“It’s not you.” But it is strange. We’ve had a steady flow of foot traffic this week, and the website hits have tripled. Also, over the past two days, we’ve had some really decent sales. Via some unusual buyers. People who seem to be more interested in buying by price rather than appeal.