Page 213 of Accidental Husband

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"Should probably tell you—"

"About the video?"

He shakes his head. "We're going to karaoke tonight."

"We are?"

"Yeah. I was a little out of it when I got the invitation."

"What with having justahem—"

"Fucked myself for your future viewing pleasure." He nips at my inner thigh. "We can cancel if you want—"

"Is this really—"

"Yeah." His lips are soft against my skin. "Need to know how much time I have to fuck you."

"If we go?"

"Two hours. Maybe three," he says.

"I can work with that."

"Not sure I can. But I'll do my best."

Chapter Forty-Seven

Juliette

Griffin drags his fingertips over my thighs. "I tell you how beautiful you are?"

"Yeah," I breathe. "But you can say it again."

"You are." He peels the robe off my right side. Lays the fabric on the bed.

Then his fingers are on my skin. My waist. My side. My hip.

My scars.

He stares as he traces them down my hip and over my thigh. His eyes stay fixed on me, but they don't cloud with fear or concern or disgust.

They stay still, patient, observing.

Or maybe I'm imagining things.

I should probably talk to him.

Or demand we stop talking and fuck like rabbits.

One of the two.

The latter. Definitely the latter. We can talk about my bad habit later.

It's less important than this.

Everything is less important than this.

Griff traces the last scar on my right leg. He drags his fingertips up, over my hip bone, along my pelvis, all the way to my left leg.

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