That would be no.
“Wifey,” I shout in a sing-song while kicking the door with the toe of my boot. “Oh, Wifey. Open up.”
She whips the door open. “Oh my gosh. The neighbors will hear you.”
“Things to know, Lorien. I give zero fucks about the neighbors hearing… anything.”
31
lotion seduction
Lorien
The way he saidanythingwas suggestive and low, and it sent warmth immediately to the place between my legs that aches every time I’m around him.
I never thought, when I agreed to this arrangement—has that only been a handful of days now?—that I’d want so badly for him to break the rules. Well, the rule. The one, singular rule that I wish we could smash. The one that would be the most fun is also the one that would be the most lethal to my heart.
I’m wearing his ring. I’m being chauffeured around and having doors opened for me. I’m being shown how I deserve to be treated, being reminded to understand my worth.
Liam might be able to separate sex from his emotions, but I don’t think I can. At least with him. That, combined with all the rest, and I’ll be a goner.
This will end, and I’ll be devastated.
How does one recover from perfection, from a gorgeous specimen of a man who’s the whole package, and just move on? Is it possible?
I must stop ogling his beauty, at the rough-around-the-edges, ooey-gooey-center of a man who stares right back, blocking my exit to the door.
I step aside, using my hand as if I’m ushering him. He drops everything on the counter and begins pulling the contents fromthe bags. Cold stuff gets placed in the fridge or freezer. I move the dry goods into the small pantry.
We’re done in no time flat and sit down with our burgers.
I pick at my fries and fight the thoughts in my head. The ones that swirl around work and cures. The ones that twist and turn about my husband like the tattoos that color his body. The ones that spin where I can see him choose not to say certain things.
“Eat.” He mumbles, using the hand he has holding his burger to indicate my own.
“Because Daddy likes my ass?” I mumble under my breath with all the sarcasm I can muster while staring at my hamburger wrapper.
“Uh huh. And because you’re not taking care of yourself.”
How does he know that? And why does he care?
I take a big bite of my burger and get lots of pickle and onion. I hope my breath is stinky later, and I exhale on him in my sleep. Okay, not really. I’d be mortified, but I’m pretending.
We eat in awkward silence. I don’t understand how some things with him are so tense and uncomfortable while others are so easy and natural.
He’s two different people. Or I am.
Or he’s the same all the time… Gruff, sexy, protective, focused. And I like it sometimes but not others. Is it me?
No time like the present, I guess, so I ask the question I know he’ll answer with his surgically precise candor. “Am I wishy-washy?”
He looks at me. Really looks at me, those pale brown eyes searching me. He shakes his head only once and rocks my world. “No. But?—”
My eyes laser in on the hedge. “But?”
“I think you know your mind, but I don’t think you always know your will. And sometimes who you are and who you want to be argue before you settle on a decision.”
“Okay, Confucius.”
