Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
When I'm finished, I take care of the condom, I right my slacks, I leave her there on the bed, bound, waiting.
Then I undo her tie, I roll her over, I pull her onto my lap. "Do you want to go for one more?"
She nods.
"Show me this time." I keep my eyes on her. "Show me how you fuck yourself."
She doesn't wait for further instructions. She closes her eyes, slips her hand between her legs, strokes herself to orgasm.
She's already close. She comes fast.
And this time, when she releases, she releases fully, as if some other part of her is dissolving into some other part of me.
As if she's dissolving between my arms.
As if she really wants to be mine.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jackson
I'm not one of those guys who doesn't want to cuddle. After-care is important, even when I'm not tying someone up. But I never thought I needed the closeness either.
Not until Daphne slips out of my arms. I'm not sure if it's been five minutes or five hours. Only that I want to continue to hold her close.
Then she announces we simply have to get lunch now, and I want to tend to that. It's primal. A need to make sure my family is fed, housed, safe.
No matter how many times I tell myself she's not my family, this is temporary, my body refuses to accept the news. My veins buzz with energy. This drive to tend to my wife's physical needs.
It's ridiculous. Daphne is an adult. She knows how to take care of herself. She's perfectly capable of ordering room service, walking to a non-buffet restaurant, or calling a car.
In fact, she's already ahead of me.
She emerges from the bathroom, dressed in a casual outfit, holding the keys to her mom's mini-van. "I borrowed these. Let's go."
My lips curl into an involuntary smile. She's way ahead of me, and I love that about her. I nod and slip into my shoes.
She slides into her hot-pink Converse high-tops. Daphne isn't girly in many conventional ways—she doesn't wear much makeup or follow fashion or paint her nails—but she loves hot pink.
Another thing she shares with my sister.
Shit. My family.
That's another urgent matter.
"Let me check something before we go." I find my phone on the table and shoot my sister a text.
Jackson: Do Zack and Laurel know?
She replies right away.
Cassie: I think everyone in the states of California and Nevada knows, J. The two of you are this close to going viral. Do me a favor and post your next Reel with one of Bryce's new songs. I could use the exposure.
Jackson: Glad you're thinking of me.
Cassie: I haven't heard from them, but I'm sure they've seen it.
Jackson: Do you know where they are?
Cassie: I can find out. Give me one minute.
Daphne looks at me funny. "Can we take this on the road?"
"Checking on our friends," I say. "I want to make sure they won't surprise us."
"The best way to beat them is with preparation"—she holds up a small duffel bag—"enough to stay somewhere else tonight. Or drive back home and beg Cassie and Damon to pack the room and rent a car."
That's a dramatic move. Not one I'd make, but a smart one. Usually, I bristle at sudden changes, especially when they're someone else's idea, but I trust her here.
"Speed helps too—" She raises a brow and motions let's go.
"Do you have clothes for me in there?" I ask.
"Why would you need those?" She smiles. "Yes. I packed an outfit and a swimsuit and condoms. Come on. Let's live dangerously." There's confidence on her face. And there's something else too. Another dare I want to answer.
It's not have sex in public or marry me but it's something.
Not trying to avoid my brother and sister's commentary—
That's stranger than public sex.
Far stranger.
I take her hand, and I follow her to the hallway, the elevator, anywhere she wants to take me.
After a ten-minute drive, the forced glamor of Las Vegas fades into everyday suburbs. We park in the massive lot of a strip mall, walk into the nondescript Thai restaurant, find a spot that could be in any city in the country. Framed photos of rice patties, teal booths, white chairs, and gold Buddha statues.
We're no longer in Sin City.
We're in Everytown, USA.
Or at least some place a lot like home. (Well, less expensive and new money than home).
Daphne and I find a booth in the corner, one right under a framed photo of a temple.
She orders the green curry; I order the red. So we can try both. So I have more of what she wants.
The waitress drops off a pot of tea and two small mugs. I fill both with steaming jasmine. It's not the finest tea in the world, but with this company, it might as well be.
She holds up her glass as if to toast, but she doesn't toast to anything in particular. She just waits for me to raise my glass, then she sips and swallows. "Fuck, that's hot." She presses her lips together and blows cool air over the ceramic cup.