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I’m either with Dad, working on Olivia’s website—we launch at the end of the month—or dropping by my brother’s house in an effort to convince him not to hate me.
If I’m not doing any of that, I’m naked with Abel.
Funny, but I’ve never spent so much time in bed and slept so little. We legitimately can’t keep our hands off each other.
I don’t know if it’s the need for release during an intensely emotional time, or the pent-up energy of a decade-long crush being freed at long last.
Whatever the case, I have never had sex this good, or this much.
I don’t want to eat. I don’t want to go out. Any free time I have, I’m spending with Abel. I know he’s cutting out at work to be with me. More than once, I’ve heard him on the phone apologizing to this subcontractor or that client for rescheduling a meeting.
“I thought I was supposed to fix your work problems,” I told him. “Not make more of them.”
He didn’t say anything to that. He just shoved me into the shower and came in with me and held the shower head between my legs until I literally collapsed in his arms, a spent, shaking mess.
It’s like you were made for me.
I think often about what Abel said that morning. My heart keeps catching on these tiny things he says or does. Like the way he always takes the dogs out in the mornings, telling me to stay in bed. How he always has a plan for dinner, insisting we eat together.
How he wants nothing between us during sex, so out the window condoms went.
The man loves coming inside me.Lovesit. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t too. Sometimes I pretend we really are married. I fantasize that I got my IUD taken out after our honeymoon, and now we’re trying for a baby.
It’s twisted, I know. Wrong on so many levels. But my heart still dips at the thought of having Abel’s baby. For all his broodiness, his bruises, I think he’d be a really great dad. Mostly because he’s turning out to be a really great husband.
Fakehusband, who I just so happen to be having incredible, life-altering sex with.
It’s hilarious to think that less than seven days ago, I genuinely believed going to bed with Abel wouldn’t make me fall even more deeply in love with him.
Do I tell him how I feel? I’ve let some things slip, like sharing how much I adore his good and his bad. How he’s been such a huge help in me becoming less of a people pleaser. I was hoping he’d take the hint and maybe confess some feelings of his own. I’m trying to put myself out there. Trying to show him that life is better when you take certain risks.
Scarier, sure. But better.
Which is part of the reason why I have Lu come over Thursday night for our cooking lesson. Abel is home early—did I mention how much I love that he always shows up early for everything?—and he comes downstairs after a shower looking particularly tasty.
Just jeans and a white button-up. But the jeans hug his hips and ass just right. And he’s rolling up the sleeves of the shirt, revealing forearms so epic they deserve their own myth.
His dark hair is wet, curling away from his face. Beard neatly trimmed. Eyes bright, like he’s actually excited for this. His black eye is completely healed; only traces remain of the bruise my brother left on the side of his face.
My stomach hollows out at his handsomeness. It’s gonna hurt if—when—I leave. I’ve only been here a couple weeks, but it feels like we’ve lived together forever.
I love my little bungalow in Wilmington. I love my life there. And yet the thought of going back makes my heart spasm. It’s not that I don’t like living alone. I just like living with Abel more.
So do the dogs. They leap off the couch and scurry over to him as he joins me at the bar.
“Y’all ready to learn some recipes?” He grins. “Let’s hope Mom and Dad don’t burn down the house.”
Mom and Dad.I truly, honestly cannot even.
Abel smells like heaven, but he smirks like the devil when he catches me checking him out.
“You tryin’ to get me all hard and shit right before company arrives?” He leans in and pecks me on the lips. “You look gorgeous, baby.”
Is this real?
Is this fake?
What is happening right now? No one is here to see him kiss me. But he does. He kisses me and gives me a slow, hot once-over, eyes raking down my body.
