Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 119548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
No. That was wrong. Real friends absolutely would—and should, if you ask me—providing your marriage is legitimate, out of love, and not something you accidentally talked yourselves into.
This… bucket… consisting of condoms, lube, fluffy handcuffs, and more sex toys than one woman could feasibly use at the same time, was not something real friends left behind on the night of your fake marriage.
That was before I even considered the fucking rose petals scattered all over the bed.
“‘To Fred and Deli,’” I read in a flat voice, staring at the little card they’d also left. “‘Here’s to a happy marriage.’”
Fred blinked. “I have no idea what to say about this.”
“‘The condoms are for you both, in case you decide to celebrate this farce properly,’” I continued, pinching the edge of the card. “‘The good stuff is for Deli if Fred decides he’s a born-again virgin. Enjoy. Love, everyone.’”
Oh.
Well, that changed things.
I put the card down on the bed and peeked over into the bucket.
“What are you doing?”
I glanced over at him. “They said the good stuff was for me. Just because we’re keeping this marriage platonic doesn’t mean I don’t have needs, you know.”
He opened his mouth to reply, then froze. He quickly closed his eyes and turned away, heaving out a great, exhausted sigh. “Jesus Christ.”
“He won’t help you. He’s busy.” I poked through the bucket until I pulled out one of those magic clit-sucking machines. “Score!”
I knew exactly who was behind this one, and I was going to kiss Ellie when I next saw her.
She’d had the heroine use this in her last book, after all.
“What are you—” Fred stilled when he turned and saw me holding it in my hand. “What the ever-loving fuck is that thing?”
“This?” I held it up and looked from the purple machine to him. “You’ve never seen one before?”
“I can’t say that I, myself, have a great need for female sex toys.”
“Why? Because of your superior skills in the bedroom?” I asked dryly.
“That and the fact I’m not a fucking woman, Delilah.”
I could see how that would be a problem. “Okay, but this?” I wiggled it. “This is something every man should know how to use on his woman, so your next wife really is lucking out here.”
He tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Are you really talking about my supposed next wife on our wedding night while holding a sex toy?”
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “Okay, so this bit… Ooh, it’s a bendy one!” I gently bent the toy into a u-shape and showed it to him. “This end goes inside, and this bit—the sucker—goes on the clit. Press the buttons to turn it on, and voila. It’s like all your Christmases come at once. An out-of-body experience, if you will.”
Fred looked warily between the toy and my face. “I didn’t ask.”
“Consider it my first act of wifely assistance.”
“I’d like to unsubscribe from this added extra.” He rounded the bed, plucked the toy from my hand, and tossed it back in the bucket with everything else. Then, he picked up the bucket and carried it to the wardrobe where he shut it inside with a decisive slam of the doors.
“Aww,” I said, staring at the wardrobe. “Can I grab that later?”
He curled his hand into a fist and pressed it against his forehead. “This is going to be the longest marriage in the world, isn’t it?”
“Only until we divorce,” I said brightly, wiping the stupid rose petals off the bed. “Ugh, these are a mess.”
“Tell me about it.” He grabbed his pyjamas from the drawers and glanced at me. “I’m going to shower. I swear to God, if you get that toy out and I walk in here to you doing unspeakable things to yourself, I will throw you off the balcony.”
I touched my fingertips to my temple in a salute and jumped onto the bed. I was already in my pyjamas, so I shoved the duvet aside and grabbed my phone.
As if I’d do that where he could see me.
In the privacy of my own bedroom next door, though? I was going to get to know that little machine very well.
Very well indeed.
I fired a quick text off to Ellie thanking her for her service to my nervous system and got the confirmation I needed that she was the genius behind that little addition. With a promise to make good use of it, I switched my attention to Instagram.
Photos of our wedding were already flooding my feed, and none of them belonged to either Fred or me. We hadn’t cared about sharing anything first, and the formal announcement would be in next week’s paper, so we’d just told everyone to go wild and post, as long as it was done after ten p.m.
Thankfully, everyone had listened to us.
There were carousels and reels galore under the ‘FreDeli’ hashtag. I would never, ever escape that fucking ship name for as long as I lived, but at least it finally had a good use.