My Fake Husband by Black, L. (motivational novels TXT) 📕

it as much as I do,” he said archly. I pulled the sheet up over my head. He tugged it down and laughed. I covered my face with my hands.

“So are you only comfortable going to bed with men you’re not married to? Is that the problem? We’re not illicit enough?” he teased.

I removed my hands, “I like you too much already. Before. With other guys, I wasn’t in this deep, you know?”

“Are you saying you like me more than them or that I’m better in bed?”

“Both,” I said.

“Good. If you said neither, I would’ve kicked you out of my room,” he teased. “But seriously. You’re not my usual type. And before you smack me for saying it like that, I mean you’re not someone I want to be done with in two weeks or less. You’re in my life to stay, and you’re important to me. Not only because my mother would kick my ass from here to the county line if I hurt you. I like you as a person, which makes me sound like a callous bastard for hooking up with women I didn’t know as well as you or like as well as I like you. I’ve made mistakes, and I wish I hadn’t. I wish I’d done things differently.”

Then he leaned over and kissed me. I grinned so much it hurt. Because he was sweet and fun and considerate and incredible in bed. He just—liked me. If I felt more for him, if I was gathering scraps of his attention and holding them like hot coals and burning myself for the warmth—that was my problem. It wasn’t his fault.

After a few minutes, and against all odds with my angst over the relationship, I fell asleep. The next thing I knew, I yawned blissfully and stretched against the warmth of him wrapped around me. He kissed my forehead.

“You stay warm. I’m going to make us breakfast,” he said. I grinned at him. I couldn’t help it. What woman could be luckier?

20 Damon

The car chase movie marathon was better than I could have imagined. Because it was the first time I’d watched those movies with Trixie, with her curled up beside me, wearing one of my t-shirts and asking irritatingly intelligent questions about the plot holes in the screenplay. Eventually, her evil plot worked. I know it was an evil plot because she cackled and said, “Yes! My evil plan has succeeded,” when I was looking up at her from between her thighs.

“So you bugged me with questions about the movie until I went down on you?”

“Well, yeah. I watched the first movie all the way through because I have a sense of fairness. When it sucked, I shifted into Plan Mode. Start trolling the movie until you can’t resist me. You love it when I take everything so seriously, and I knew it would be at turn on.” She gave me a mischievous grin.

“You realize you could have just asked me and I would’ve said yes. During, literally, the opening credits of the first movie, you could have said, ‘hey, Damon, wanna eat me out right here on the couch?’ and I would’ve probably grabbed your ankle and thrown your leg over my shoulder so fast you would’ve squealed.”

“Really? So I wasted all those thoughtful questions about the action movie franchise?”

“No, those kind of questions are never wasted. Now I can never watch these again without wondering why no one involved in the making of the films ever stopped to think that none of it makes much sense.”

“So essentially I ruined the movies for you?” she said, crinkling up her nose.

“No. You made them better than they’ve ever been. I enjoyed that second movie more than I did the last time I watched it. Maybe it’s the taste of you,” I said, kissing the inside of her thigh. “God, your skin is so smooth, it’s all I think about.”

I climbed up her body, stretched out on my couch and kissed her neck. “Let’s turn off the movies and put this to bed.”

“I’d love to,” she said, smiling.

“I haven’t tired you out yet?” I said archly.

“I’m just getting started. Are you too tired, fireman?” she teased.

I followed her into the bedroom thinking I was the luckiest man alive. I had her to come home to.

Weeks passed and it just kept getting better. There was so much business at Trixie’s shop that she promoted her part-time worker to full-time and hired another part-time girl to work the counter. This had the added benefit of my wife being home by 5:30 every night. I had talked to the chief and traded a couple shifts so I could be home for supper four nights a week. It was less overtime and a more regular schedule. Better, he said, for starting a family. I wasn’t trying to start a family but I sure as hell appreciated getting to spend the evenings with Trixie.

We went to the library one night for the book club, and got into a spirited argument over the book. Her librarian friend and some older people from town, including my mother were all there, taking sides in our discussion. Trixie was adamant that the main characters should not have ended up together, and she had ‘Reasons with a capital-R.’ They wrapped up the meeting half an hour late because of us.

“I’m surprised you didn’t whip out a deck of Google Slides and ask for a projector,” I said on the way to the truck. “You really hate that girl in the book.”

“She was a fundamentally awful person, and he deserved better. Look at how she handled herself when he was fighting the war,” she said, incensed.

“Maybe he wanted her, and it didn’t matter what happened, that would never change,” I said.

My hand was on her arm, and I pulled her to me. Right there, kissing her under the streetlight, I felt the happiest, the most right I ever had. The fury and passion in her