My Dismissive Fake-Love Marriage
Jackson looks over at her, horrified.
“That is not dating. That is not even fucking. That is . . . épouvantable.” When she lifts her brows, he remembers his English, “Appalling.” She shrugs and confides, “That’s why I don’t date much.” “You deserve to be pursued, your body cherished, and your mind celebrated. When we fuck, my sole desire will be to make you come until you are fully satisfied, physically and mentally. I promise this.” “Holy shit,” she whispers. “Maybe you can show me your dick. Like pull over or something. Or is sex in public a felony in Paris?” She looks gobsmacked, her face vacant but her eyes glassy and full of desire. Jackson reaches over, placing his strong hand at the b
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