Page 52 of Sweet Nothings

“Is that a real question?” she softly whimpers, unable to stay still. She’s writhing under me. “I’ve been close to slipping over the edge this whole time.”

“Then, do it, Mrs. Harding,” I tell her, pressing my lips to her back. “I want to watch you quivering from my cock. I want to watch you take me as my cum spills inside you.”

I press the entire showerhead harder against her and move my hips quicker. I look down, watching as I slide into her thrust for thrust. A beautiful sight I want to remember.

“Lennon, I’m coming.” My name falling from her open mouth pushes me to my limit. Her pussy contracts around me as she reaches her climax, screaming out my name.

Blood rushes to the base of my cock and I groan as I come inside her. The showerhead drops at my feet, spinning and spraying water against the far wall. But we don’t care. Feeling me reach my orgasm, she rolls her hips against me. I run my hand along the length of her back, admiring the shape of her. I catch my breath as she straightens herself and looks over her shoulder.

With satiated eyes, she gives me a small smile.

I place a gentle kiss on her cheek and slip out of her, then pick up the showerhead and set it back on the holder.

“I’m going to be sore tomorrow,” she says, resting her back against the wall. She’s leaning against it, looking up at me. I steptoward her and reach beside me, grabbing the purple pouf I only assume to be hers since I’ve never seen it before. Ray must have put it in here when he was unpacking Laurel’s bag.

“Don’t worry.” I squeeze a dollop of body wash onto the pouf and massage it until bubbles form. I lower the pouf between Laurel’s legs, gently rubbing it over her center. “I’m your husband now. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. But I can’t say I’m not pleased knowing the effect I have on you, Laurel.”

With her half-hooded, indigo eyes staring up at me, she stands on her toes and kisses me on the lips. “You have no idea the effect you have on me, Lennon.”

SIXTEEN

I’ve always known this was the plan.

Lennon and I get married. We stage it to look like a real, whirlwind wedding. Then we both go back to work the next day as if it never happened. After all, that’s the whole reason he married me in the first place. He has a business to run, and now that he’s secured his inheritance, he’s effortlessly slid into his new role. Long days and nights keeping him at his office. But knowing the facts hasn’t deterred the feelings I’ve come to realize since our wedding day.

I’ve fallen for my husband.

I’m not delusional in thinking we’d have the honeymoon of my dreams, or even a honeymoon at all, but disappointment has burrowed itself into my bones, refusing to let up. Over the course of the past three days since our wedding, I’ve woken up alone, with Lennon already at work. After the second day, I began to question if it’s his normal routine to wake up before the sun has begun to rise, or if he’s doing it to avoid me.

Reassuring myself he’s an early riser to his core, I shove aside the negative thoughts invading my mind.

I rely on the memory of his mouth against mine. His voice rumbling in my ear, telling me he wanted me to want him.And the moment he reached into his pocket and pulled out the flower he’d stolen from the greenhouse before placing it on the bathroom counter.

I tell myself none of those moments have been lies even if this marriage is one. Because since the night of our wedding, Lennon has infuriatingly kept his distance. He hasn’t touched me. He hasn’t laid another finger on me.

He’s even gone as far as falling asleep in a T-shirt and his signature gray sweatpants. As if the gray sweatpants weren’t enough visual torture, it’s been impossible not to look at him without my eyes falling to the ring he now wears on his fourth finger. A ring to signify to the rest of the world he belongs to me. But does he really?

Frustrated both mentally and sexually, I toss the bed sheets aside, hoping work will take my mind off Lennon. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed only to immediately regret it. My head pounds from my forehead down to the base of my neck. Snot drips from my nose. I frantically fumble for a tissue, pulling one from the small box sitting on my nightstand. I blow my nose. One nostril is completely clogged, and when I swallow it feels as if I’ve eaten a thousand knives.

“Shit,” I croak in a voice deeper than usual.

Feeling like my head is the size of a hot air balloon, I shuffle to the shower before another string of snot drips from my nose. I stay under the stream of hot water longer than usual, hoping it will clear my sinuses enough to think clearly and go to work.

After a long shower, I head straight to my closet like a zombie and get dressed in a simple baby pink blouse and black dress pants. I’ve blow-dried my hair and swept some mascara over my lashes before heading out into the kitchen.

Ray, Lennon’s, scratch that…mineand Lennon’s jack of all trades, is waiting for me in the kitchen, his laptop open as usual. I call Ray a jack of all trades because I haven’t been able topin down one single job he’s responsible for. It seems he does most everything for Lennon, other than Lennon’s actual job of working at Harding Holdings. And now, it seems he does the same for me.

Driver. Assistant. Bodyguard. Friend. A jack of all trades.

Since I only see Lennon in the evenings, I’ve come to know Ray quite a bit more over the last few days. I haven’t brought up the night we first met when I’d mistaken him for my rideshare six years ago, or how it appeared he remembered me when we met again. Considering Lennon and I still haven’t talked about it, I figured it’s best to keep it as the elephant in the room between us. Knowing it’s there but never speaking it into reality.

“Good morning, Mrs. Harding.” Ray grins. “I’ve taken the liberty of making you a fresh cup of coffee. Two creams, no sugar, just the way you like it.”

“No coffee for me this morning, Ray.” I sniff. “I don’t think my throat can handle it.”

“Are you okay?” His forehead wrinkles as he lifts both eyebrows at me. “You don’t look very well.”

“I feel like my head is going to explode,” I say, passing him in search of medicine. Starting with the farthest one, I open every cabinet, hoping to discover pills or some sort of liquid hidden behind the coffee mugs or sauté pans.

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