Page 72 of Bottle Shock
The hurt in her eyes as they flash to mine makes my chest tighten. I never want to be the reason for that look. “It’s the opposite, Scottie. I think very highly of you. And I also trust you. But just know—once we’re married, my money is your money, and you can spend it as you see fit.”
Her mouth parts, lashes fluttering. “I don’t even know what to say to that, other than you’re out of your mind saying something like that. What if I were a bad person and went and bought a brand-new car?”
“Do you need a car?”
She laughs, humorless and dry. “No! That’s not—I was only trying to point out how ridiculous you sound. Your money is yours, and my money is mine. I don’t need you to take care of me.”
It’s funny she says that, because it seems to be all I want to do.
“Whatever you say,” I tell her so we can move on from this topic. Either way, come Monday morning, I’m adding her to all my accounts and supplying her with the associated debit and credit cards. I’m not going to allow my wife to go without, no matter how real or fake the marriage really is.
She looks at me like she doesn’t believe me but drops the subject anyway. “And we should probably set up some rules—lay out what our boundaries are.”
“Boundaries?” I’m not sure what she means.
Her face flushes, and she turns her head, biting her lip. “Like, we should probably be careful about being too...physical.”
Now I get it.
“Physical?” I ask, because for once she’s squirming, and it’s so fucking cute.
She rolls her eyes while bouncing her knees. “Um, you know, like touching and stuff when we’re alone. If we’re in front of people, like Carl and Maggie, then obviously we need to act like any other married couple would. But when it’s just us, I think we need to strictly turn that part off. Things could get complicated if we get too comfortable with each other.”
I understand the need for the boundary, and I agree with it, but it doesn’t mean I don’t wish things were different.
“You’re right. We shouldn’t cross any lines behind closed doors.”
“And if you have needs and want to satisfy those needs, you can do that. We’re not a real couple; I don’t expect you to stay celibate for my sake.”
I bark out a laugh. “Do you think I’m some secret manwhore? I don’t have time for stuff like that. I haven’t had sex in over two years—I think I’ll live.”
“Over two years!? But you’re so—you’re like?—”
I smirk, trying to conceal it with my hand. “I’m what?”
She covers her face and groans. “Don’t make me say it,” she says, voice muffled.
I cross my arms, a surge of confidence hitting me. “What am I, Scottie?”
She waves her hand, gesturing toward me. “You’re...you know, attractive.”
My smirk blooms into a full-fledged smile. “Anything else I should know?”
Her head snaps up. “Oh, stop. You know you’re attractive.”
I laugh, a little in disbelief to hear her admit something like that. Not that it means she has feelings for me, but it feels good that she at least finds me attractive.
“Anyway,” she begins, clearly uncomfortable, “youdon’t have to worry about me. I’m on a hiatus from men—it’ll just be me and my trusty vibrator.”
As soon as the words leave her, she slaps a hand over her mouth like she hadn’t meant to say them. Her fair skin reddens all over.
“Pretend you didn’t hear that last part.”
I wish I could, but unfortunately, the image has lodged itself in my brain permanently. Now I’m wondering what color it is—and how she likes it. Does she like it fast, driving her higher and higher, or slow and drawn out? I’m imagining what she looks like taking it—back arching, toes curling, head thrown back in total ecstasy, her skin flushed, hair wild and tangled as it splays across a pillow, eyes heavy-lidded and satiated. My cock presses against my zipper, growing thicker and harder the further I fall down this fantasy.
I step back and pull my hair tie loose, letting my hair fall to my shoulders—an attempt at collecting myself. My glasses have fogged a little, so I slip them off and wipe them clean, more for the distraction than the clarity. I need to focus, not daydream about a woman I can’t have.
With her skin still flushed, she stands, and a nervous laugh floats out of her. “And that’s my cue to stop talking.”
