Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“Sorry,” I say.
“It’s okay.” Emery smiles as Honey huffs out a contented sigh. “The baby gets what the baby wants.”
She rolls onto her left side to face me, tucking her hands beneath her cheek. The room is awash in the dim, golden lamplight, but this close I could count her freckles, can see the lighter ends of her lashes. She’s so pretty it makes it a little hard to breathe. I’m not surprised I wanted to look at her for the rest of my life.
“You were always really good at that.”
“Good at what?” I ask softly. Honey gets up to circle around and adjust her position, forcing me over even more.
Emery smiles. “Making me feel comfortable.”
“I’m glad. I want you to be comfortable with me.”
A tiny furrow bunches between her brows. “Why?”
“What do you mean?” I roll to face her, stretching out my legs. Emery is right there, and I trap her cold feet with mine.
“I mean…” She shrugs, adjusting her head on the pillow. “You could very easily say, ‘I don’t want to continue on in this marriage with a stranger.’ Or even something as simple as, ‘I need some time to myself to figure things out.’ ”
I can’t help laughing. “So soon? Are you saying I was a quitter?”
“No. I think, I just…” She trails off, frowning.
“Can I say something?”
Emery nods.
“It seems like you’re surprised I stayed married to you.”
She nods, eyes wide, but doesn’t look away. “We’ve talked about this, but I’m realizing how hard I probably was to be married to.”
“How so?”
“I think even despite your childhood you were lonely here, with me.”
Smiling at her, I say, “I’m not lonely lately.” The truth of this rings through my head long after the words are out. I should feel lonely; after all, I don’t remember anyone in my life. But Emery, despite what she’s told me about her workaholic tendencies, has been nothing but a constant for me the past few days. Even working on her laptop, she checks in and gives me a time she’ll be done and sticks to it. I don’t imagine she did that before.
“I guess we have two options here.” I reach out, trapping a strand of hair that’s escaped the bun and running my fingers down the length of it. “Either you continue to berate yourself and feel guilty, or we move forward, with a pledge to do better this time.”
Emery’s eyes melt into relief. “I’m good with that.”
“With feeling guilty indefinitely?” I ask, teasing.
She laughs, and it sounds thick, like she’s fighting tears. “With moving forward. With doing better this time.”
“Good.” I want to lean forward. I want to kiss her so bad it feels like desire is a foreign body lodged in my throat. In a move I’m beginning to recognize, her eyes dip down to my mouth, breath hitching. Slowly, I lean in, setting my mouth on hers. She sighs, sending her hand up the back of my neck and into my hair, parting her lips to slot with mine.
It’s slow and lush, this kiss. It’s different from the one on the beach, where I felt fevered and famished. Here, I’m desperate for her, but this is a kiss of agreement, of commitment, of burgeoning intimacy. I want her with a heat that makes my head spin, but this slower pace we’re taking this time… somehow I know it’s important for us.
This time, it’s a series of smaller kisses forming a larger one. We come together and close off in soft, rhythmic unison. Our tongues barely touch; the graze of her teeth on my lower lip is gentle. This is a conversation, one between our bodies alone.
I want this.
Let’s try.
It matters.
This is too good to throw away.
Slowly, the kiss tapers off, and her eyes flutter open. Her fingers scratch gently against my scalp. “I really love kissing you.”
I smile at her, nodding. “Big same.”
She takes a deep breath and carefully shifts back slightly.
“How are you feeling about your job lately?” I ask.
“My job?” she asks distractedly, foot brushing against my calf.
I hum. “You haven’t been able to work much, but I know you’ll have to at some point. Your douche coworker will be there; you’ll be going back with the knowledge that the compound worked but you won’t be able to tell anyone. Seems pretty heavy, no?”
This seems to pull her out of her daze, and she blinks, her eyes clearing. With a wry laugh, Emery admits, “Well, let’s see. I worry constantly that I’m going to get busted and end up in some supersecret government prison underground with a bunch of evil scientists with no social skills.” She smiles at me to take the weight out of this worry, but I see real concern lingering in her eyes. “I worry, too, that I won’t get busted, and they’ll want me to come back and prove that I’m not really Dr. Frankenstein and work harder than ever.”