Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 107660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“Then we communicate.”
“Okay,” she agreed with a small nod.
“Also,” I added. “We do not share what goes on between us with anyone else. This is not for public consumption.”
Her face scrunched with a frown, and she jerked back. “Obviously.” Her features smoothed to a dead serious glare as she leaned forward. “I would never ever share anything about my sexual activities. Ever.”
Regret pierced my chest for mentioning it. I’d been so focused on how Daria dragged our personal life through the court and threatened to go public with it that I forgot to take in Aspen’s own history. I winced. “Of course. I’m sorry I mentioned it. I—” I hesitated, feeling like I needed to explain but hating it. “I’ve had my own experiences of having someone drag my preferences out for others to judge.”
She sat back. “I’m sorry.”
I nodded. Silence stretched, giving us both space to move past the moment.
After a deep breath, I reached for the small box on the side table. I stroked the blue velvet before holding it out before me and opening the lid. “This…this was my mother’s.”
Aspen gasped, and I couldn’t make myself look up from the ring. The couch creaked as she shifted her feet to the floor and leaned forward, but I struggled to hear anything other than Daria’s words when she gave the ring back. Would Aspen find the ring outdated and hate wearing it?
“Lucian…” she breathed.
“I—I can get another if this isn’t your pre—”
“Shut up.”
My gaze jerked to her face, but her attention was solely focused on the ring.
“It’s gorgeous. Vintage and elegant and so stunning.” She fell silent, and I watched her stare at my mother’s prized possession with wonder. “Wow.”
I pulled the ring out of the box and leaned as far as I could to reach her outstretched hand to slip the platinum band onto her slim finger.
It fit.
Sliding perfectly into place like it’d belonged there all along.
“Are you sure you want me to wear this? It’s an heirloom, and I understand if you’d want to give me something less…meaningful to you.”
I wanted to deny her choice of words. Meaningful. I wanted to tell her it didn’t matter. But looking at the ring my mother loved sitting more perfectly on Aspen’s finger than it ever had on Daria’s created a knot in my throat that held the denial back.
Instead, I offered a truth I could work past the lump. “I would like you to meet my godparents soon, and they’ll expect you to be wearing my mother’s ring,” I explained, leaning back.
“Oh.” She swallowed, peeling her gaze from the ring to meet mine, doubt flashing in the depths. Just as quick, she blinked, and the emotion vanished under her controlled, neutral gaze. “You’re doing this for them, right?”
“Yes.”
“Why exactly?”
I laughed, rubbing a hand over my face, and exhaled. “Like I said, my divorce was messy and took almost everything from me. My godfather bailed me out without the option of repaying him with money. Instead, he made me promise I would marry again before he died.”
“That’s a little odd.”
“You’d think, but I grew up around love. He didn’t want me to become a cynical bastard when he knew—” I cut myself off before I could say he knew how much I believed in love. “My parents loved each other more than anything, and he wanted the same for me, too.”
She gave a rueful grin. “I get it. My parents were kind of disgusting with their love. Dancing around the kitchen. Making out on the couch.” She gagged. “Writing love notes on the mirror with lipstick and all that. Yet…despite my preconceived ideals of marriage and what I said to hope to find, I don’t think I ever actually saw myself achieving it. At least, not that same level of love.”
“I guess we have that in common,” I said softly.
She held my stare and agreed. “I guess we do.”
She continued to watch me, and for the first time in a long time, I struggled to appear relaxed and aloof under her scrutiny. The urge to demand what she was thinking grew as the seconds ticked by.
The words almost escaped when she finally spoke.
“You know,” she started, her lips curved with a curious smile. “In all our times together over the past couple months, you haven’t gotten off once. Other than the first time.”
That first time only happened because I diverted from my plan and gave into baser instincts without thought, leaving behind a lingering ache I didn’t want to give room to grow. I feared that if I planned sex into our scenes, that ache would consume me, and I wouldn’t be able to stop. That fear held me in check, ensuring I remained in complete control and deciding not to put myself in a position to lose it again. I gained enough pleasure from making her come, even with my pants on.