"But I didn't bring my sports attire." Those words just glided through my lips before I managed to stop myself. Have I told you about the clown attribute to my personality? Especially when I'm nervous and try to get away with it, I would crackle jokes that most would find them barely humorous. But that never stopped me, and here I am, with my dry joke. He must have not known what to take of that super dry joke that he looks at me with the same blank stare he had earlier. Nothing changes, that makes me wonder if he's being dismissive again or he actually didn't get the joke. The significant pause overwhelms me too much that I surrender, "Heh. That... well. It was meant to be... urm. A joke." There's barely any reaction from him which makes me desperate for one hence I push myself into elaboration, "You know, just now when you said you have a few things to run with me so... erm." Nothing. He's still staring at me. " 'Run' with me," I laugh nervously, " 'Runnnn' with me. Run, an act
I'm not sure what time did he return home because I didn't hear any sound that hinted he was back.Instead of worrying about it, I spent the early part of the night with my sons, Cruz and Liam; they video-called me to show me what Dean and Chloe got them for their birthday. Their birthday is actually three months apart; Cruz's is on 11th of March, Liam's is on June 29th, but it's so much easier to get two presents instead of just one for the birthday boy to avoid myself from listening to the never-ending fights over that one freaking toy the entire week. Yes, I'm fully aware about the importance of educating kids on sharing but never mind, that's another battle for another day. I just want to have a peace of mind while navigating my single-mother life. The education on sharing will be applied sometime in the future, I promise. I didn't actually sleep well last night because of this new environment. The pillows, the mattress, the entire thing is absolutely wonderful but I just couldn
Pretty sure everybody has a different setting when it comes to conversing with different people. For an example, I would always be this boring technical person with my colleagues and bosses though come lunch time, the moment I sit down with the colleagues whom I'm comfortable with, I'd let loose and start being a clown with my, yeah, you got it right, with my never-ending dry jokes. When Mr Sinclair and I entered the cafe, I thought it's just gonna be the two of us. But the moment I see a gorgeous lady sitting at a table with the hostess directing us towards her, I instantly know that it will be an affair of three from here on. Her shiny blonde locks gives a hint that she's a frequent at a pricy hair salon. Her baby-blue dress with that pair of nude Manolo Blahnik, and a matching baby Dior next to her, well, that makes her look like a heiress that I suddenly feel intimidated by the way I'm dressing right now. Her make up is minimal but she wouldn't need much anyway with the natural
I am definitely NOT wearing these. It's just strings for God's sake! I might as well not wear anything at all if I'm going to let my girls out that much. How kinky is this guy for Beatrice to suggest that outfit for our first night. It shouldn't even be called an outfit. It's just strings! Gosh, do I sound like a 32 year old now instead of a 19 year old? "Abigail?" I hear a knock on the door along with the deep voice. Shit, I'm still in my clothes. I haven't even applied anything on my face. I was planning on putting a light make up right after wearing this lingerie Beatrice packed, which was a mystery to me since it was wrapped in a tissue paper, tucked in a paper bag. She said it would be a surprise for both me and Mr Sinclair. I am indeed surprised, Beatrice. So surprised that I don't have the time left to do my hair or make up because I spent it all raging over these strings. "Abigail?" He tries again that I begin to panic."Y-yeah?" I jump at the speed of light towards the
Every time I read romance novels, I've always thought what a bunch of liars those authors are, to put shitty smut that the majority of us women, don't even experience. Like seriously, getting wet just by his presence in the room? Or at the sound of his voice? Bullshit, that's what it is! Because the entire time I was with Dean, for six whole years (seven if we take dating into account), I've never gotten wet that easily. Heck, sometimes even after he has heated the engine for some time, I was still as dry as the Sahara. So yeah, bull-fucking-shit, you liars (authors) !But now, oh my God. When he said it like that, of how delicious I tasted, Oh. My. God. I finally realise my panties are actually wet. Soaked. He, this man, this Mr Sinclair, who's still looking at me with his captivating hazel eyes, is the reason of my soaked panties. What else can he do? Make me come merely by using his tongue? Fingers? Because those too, are two other bullshit romance novels have been selling to the
Doesn't matter what happens, I would always clean myself after having sexual intercourse with my husband, now ex-husband. The byproduct is seriously ew (which of course I'm referring to his cum since I barely get my release), there is no way I can sleep with my private part feeling sticky all night long. I'm also too obsessed with having my bedsheet to remain clean at all times just so I can sleep without worrying over germs, bacteria, or anything that will crawl on me at night when I'm sleeping on the bed. But all bets are off tonight. None of those germs, bacteria, or possible insects attacking me later on matters because I really, reaaaaally have no energy left after he sprayed his mini Sinclairs into me for the second time. My legs are shaking, my eyes are tightly closed, all I want right now is to stop orgasming and just sleep. Purely sleep without any other meaning behind it. "Abigail," he whispers to my left ear with his hands wrapped around my middle; he's currently spoon
Be careful what you wish for. Just one month ago, I had enough of my boring weekends. Netfl!x, comfort food, afternoon naps, hit REPEAT. I was miserable when I was still married to Dean. I didn't have time for myself. His line of work requires him to always be away either for a month or two, sometimes up to six months if it’s an overseas assignment. I was lonely, I was tired, I was raising two toddlers on my own. Though to be honest, even when he was home, I was tired too because he's that typical man who has his wife doing all the chores, taking care of the children, while he sits on his gaming chair claiming this is the only time he has for himself since he's been tired working his ass off for weeks. Oh yeah? He didn't think about how tired I've been taking care of the house, the kids, all while working full time. At the end, it felt the same either he was home or not, in fact I felt better when he wasn't because then I would only need to take care of two boys instead of three.
"Hi," he greets me with a smile while approaching me at the breakfast bar. I've been observing him since he was at the shoe cabinet, didn't even dare to say anything afraid if I'd stupidly blurt out something weird because there's a chance he didn't even hear Abby just now. "Eating cereal?" He asks when he notices the bowl in front of me. "Uhh yeah. I'm so sorry, but, uhh, can I have some? I didn't know if you were home so I just grabbed it because I was too hungry. I'd go upstairs to look for you, ask for your permission if I can have it but since I'm not allowed to go up, so," so I just gobble what I found. He grins at my lengthy apology, "It's okay, you can eat anything in this house, no permission required." Including you? "How about I cook you something proper? A real lunch." He heads straight to a kitchen drawer, pulling out a pan. I was so nervous, so scared, I hadn’t realised he’s in his usual outdoor outfit; a pair of jeans with a cotton t-shirt. It’s simple but this i