Page 148 of Bottle Shock
I freeze. “Just okay?”
That’s not what she said last night.
I shift so I can see her face. “Are you sore? Do you need anything?”
The last thing I want is to have hurt her. I tried to really take my time and get her ready.
“My muscles ache,” she admits, stretching her toes under the covers, “but I’m fine.”
“So then why was it just okay?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess it wasn’t very satisfying that’s all.”
I choke on my own spit. “Scottie, you came so hard it shook the walls, what are you talking about?”
Is she being serious right now? Am I remembering a different experience entirely?”
She looks up at me then, eyes bright with mischief, and I finally catch up.
“I faked it,” she says, voice still rough with sleep, like she can barely get the words out without laughing.
I roll her gently onto her back and slide in beside her again, propping myself up on one elbow so I can lean over her.
“Is that so?” My lips press to the column of her neck, her rapid pulse telling me she’s nothing but a dirty little liar.
“I guess that mess you made on my hands while I fucked that tight little ass was a figment of my imagination.”
A moan escapes her throat as I drag my tongue down to her collarbone.
“I’m really good at faking it.”
“Then do it again for me. Let’s see if my wife can fake her way through coming twice.”
She doesn’t.
Not even a little.
And I make sure of it—twice.
“We should probably talk,” Scottie says.
“Yeah,” I murmur as I join her on the couch. “We probably should.”
We were supposed to have this talk last night, but that didn’t exactly happen. Talking was pretty low on the list of things we did.
“So,” I start, rubbing the back of my neck, “cat’s out of the bag?”
Her mouth curves. “Yeah. Kind of feels like a weight’s been lifted.”
It really does. I’m ready to tell the world how in love with this woman I am. “So where do we go from here?” I ask her, because I know what I’m ready for.
Her smile softens as she drops her gaze from mine. “I think that I don’t want to get a divorce.”
When her gaze lifts back up, her eyes are bright and clear.
“I don’t want to get a divorce either.” I can’t help but smile.
“But,” she starts. “I’m still going to finish the eight-week contract. I’m already committed, and honestly, I think I need to go back. I didn’t get to leave on my own terms, and I want to reclaim some of that.”
