Page 180 of The Reason I Married Him
Oh my God, this man.
“And that is exactly why I can’t stand you most of the time,” I say as I release myself from him and move up on the bed. “The exaggerations with you. My God.”
“I wasn’t exaggerating, just repeating what you said.”
“I did not say you had a giant, beefy slayer of a cock. I just said it wasn’t a Q-tip.”
“Which means . . .” he says, motioning with his hand. “You believe I have a giant, beefy slayer of a cock.”
“We are done with this conversation.” I move farther up on the bed and turn away from him, but it’s only for a moment because he tugs on my hip, flipping me to my back.
He hovers over me and says, “Are we done because you’re getting turned on thinking of my cock?”
“Yes, Wyatt,” I deadpan. “That’s exactly why.”
“Knew it,” he says playfully. “I fucking knew it.”
“Good God,” I say as I plant my hand on his face and push him away.
He chuckles and moves off the bed. “By the end of this marriage, you’re going to be thinking of my giant, beefy slayer every second of every day.”
“Keep wishing, Wyatt.”
“All locked up,”Wyatt says before hopping in bed.
“I know, I checked.” I turn toward him and ask, “Is there more to why you check the locks other than research for your books?”
“What do you mean?” he asks as he tucks his hand under his pillow, facing me.
“I don’t know. You seem very vigilant about it, and I wasn’t sure if it was because something happened to you in the past.”
“Are you asking me a personal question?” he asks.
“I am. Don’t you think I have the privilege of knowing? I’m going to be your wife after all.”
That makes him gently smile. “True.” He lets out a deep breath. “Okay, yeah, something happened to me.”
“Really?” I ask as I press my hand to his bare chest, wanting him to know he can trust me. “Do you mind telling me?”
“No,” he says, letting out a deep breath. “Probably best that you know.” He rests his hand on my hip, tugging me a touch closer, and I allow it because I know when I’m talking about something serious, I like the comfort of being closer to someone. I play with the short strands of his chest hair. I’ve never been particularly tactile, but strangely, showing affection to Wyatt seems almost natural. “I, uh, I was twelve.”
“Twelve?” I ask. “That’s so young.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. It was just my mom and me at home. Dad was off on a business trip and Clarke was at a sleepover. My parents always locked the door every night, but we didn’t have extra measures, like a bar that you propped up against the door or even an Ada-lock. Nothing that I would prefer now.”
“I don’t have those things,” I say.
“And that’s why I sleep here, and you sleep there, farther from the door.”
“It’s not that much farther.”
“It’s far enough for me to be the first to be attacked.” His hand curls around my hip as he continues. “Anyway, Mom and I stayed up later that night. It was a Friday, and we had a fun movie night with popcorn and peanut M&M’s, our favorite nighttime treat. I was helping Mom clean up in the kitchen when we heard our dog, Millipede, start to growl.”
“You named your dog Millipede?” I ask.
“Yeah, why not?”
“Not a typical dog name.”
