Page 50 of The Proposal Pact
“Okay, that’s fine, we can tell him we’re waiting to invest in a good one. That sounds very adult-like. But a whole year…” she whisper-shouts to herself. “Okay, we can get fake married, but I have a condition.”
“What condition?”
“You must send me at least one dirty text message every day.”
“Excuse me, what?” I rear back.
“Hey, it’s a whole year, buddy, and if you’re not going to supply the orgasms, the least you can do is supply the inspiration.”
Speechless. That’s what I am.
“You do know how to dirty talk, don’t you, Shrek?” She quirks a taunting eyebrow at me, and I feel something primal inside me surge to the surface, despite me stomping it out completely over a decade ago.
I cock my head to the side, regarding her, before leaning in so close I can smell that mint, still lingering on her skin. “Baby, you better buy your panties in bulk because I’ll dirty talk them into a wet mess every. Fucking. Day.” I linger in her space a beat longer, my eyes on hers while also catching those pretty little lips parted and her chest heaving with the corner of my eye, before pulling away and covertly shifting in my spot. Because damn it, maybe I should buy boxer briefs in bulk as well.
“Yeah, just like that,” Sophie breathes out. “That will do.” She mimics my motion, shifting on that couch and I clench my teeth so hard, I’m sure I sent a crack through a few.
She’s wet. Just like that. Just from one sentence, she’s wet. Her soaked pussy throbbing, in those barely-there-panties, rubbing against the velvety fabric mere inches away from me. I can smell it.
The scent of her arousal mixed in with that fucking mint, searing through my brain and all sane thought.
This was a mistake. It was a fucking stupid mistake.
Because if she’s this wet from one sentence…
Fucking hell…how much further I could take this with my fingers, my tongue. My cock. The bastard jerks in my pants, wanting to show off right here and now.
The things I could do to her are now running rampant inside my head after one short sentence.
Big. Fucking. Mistake.
And yet…I run the pad of my thumb over my lips, not able to tear my eyes away from her.
“So, will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
11
Sophie
“You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.” — Wayne Gretzky
Isay, “Yes,” giving him a nod while my heart is racing, the blood pumping into every long-forgotten corner of my body, making it pulse with need I haven’t felt in so long, if ever.
One little sentence and I’m a mess.
What the hell is going on and how did we get here?
I swear, I thought I was still asleep when he showed up and asked me to marry him. I still think so, but now I’d rather not have anyone wake me up from this dream. I quite like it, and I’ll like it when he leaves me all alone in my apartment.
Just me, my imagination, and my vibrator. We will have a blast.
Because although I can feel the charged air surrounding us, affecting not only me, I know better than to think this is something it’snot. Like I keep telling my brother, I may be silly and eccentric, but I’m not stupid.
This is a mutually beneficial arrangement, just like Callum said earlier, and after giving it some thought, I agree. A stable relationship is a great way to show how adult I am to Vas.
No, I won’t think about what he’ll say to me after this is over. We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.
