Page 187 of The Reason I Married Him
“Aubree,” he says in such a flat tone that I turn to look at him. “If it were between eating the mac and cheese you just ordered for me or eating your pussy, I’d choose your sweet, delicious pussy any day. For every fucking meal.”
“Wyatt,” I whisper, feeling like my entire face is about to explode from the heat.
“Yeah?” he asks, looking so sure of himself.
“That’s . . . that’s . . .”
“Hot? I know.”
“I wasn’t going to say hot.”
“What were you going to say? Tempting? If that’s the case, we can leave right now so you can sit on my face.”
“Oh my God, I’m not sitting on your face.”
His bottom lip is in full pout mode. “Why would you say such a mean thing to me? Have I not been kind to you? What did I do to deserve such a harsh punishment?”
“Stop it,” I say as I open my computer. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m being truthful,” he says as his lips nearly caress my ear.
“Well, stop being truthful.”
“You want me to lie to you?” he asks. “Okay, well . . . uh, I think you smell terrible, and I hate that you’re sitting on my lap right now. It’s sickening actually.”
Seeing where this is going, I turn to face him and catch that brilliant smile on his lips. “Wyatt . . .”
“Hmm?” The expression on his face is so light and breezy, you’d think this man has never faced heartache or tumultuous times. That or he’s really good at just staying positive and lighthearted no matter what happens to him.
“Remember what we said about . . . the sex part of all of this?”
He nods. “I do.”
“Okay, so then, let’s keep that in mind.”
“I am.” His grip on me grows tighter. “It’s not like my hand is up your shirt right now, caressing your nipple. Because it can be.” He pauses. “Do you want it to be?”
“Dear God, Wyatt,” I say as he chuckles. “Are you always like this?”
“You’ve been with me for two weeks, you tell me.”
I resign with a sigh. “You’re right, you are.” I pull up the Excel sheet and say, “Think I can pull up a chair next to you?”
“Nah, I’m good like this.” He rests his chin on my shoulder.
“You don’t think it’s a little excessive?”
He glances around the deck. “No. I think it’s necessary. Not sure people are seeing just how much we are in love. You sitting on my lap is sealing the deal on this façade.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, my heart slightly plummeting from the use of the word façade. “So how does you telling me to sit on your face help the façade?”
“Great question that I’d love to answer,” he says. “You see, from the mere mention of me pleasuring you with my tongue, you grew a beautiful shade of pink. Now, people from the outside looking in would assume that’s a blush, a blush from something I said, which means we’re madly in love with each other. See how that works?”
So it’sallfor show. It always is. Not sure why I think it’s for any other reason. This right here is why I can’t develop feelings. What he says and how he touches me makes me believe there could be more. When this isn’t reality at all. This is one big production, and I’m along for the ride.
Which means I need to start getting caught up in the charm of it all, enjoy the friendship—yes, friendship—we have, and keep moving forward.
“Clever,” I answer.
