Sunday, July 14, 2019

The Kissing Contract

Marshall and Augusta are discussing what happened the night before on the pier where they’d pushed the boundaries of their no kissing/no sex napkin contract to the very limits….

“Last night was –” She stopped, dropped her gaze to the table again, fiddled with the handle of her coffee mug.
“I really hope you’re going to say, last night was fucking amazing, Marshall, let’s do it again.” He knew she wasn’t going to say that but a guy could hope, right?
She glanced at him. “ were feeling down. You know...feeling the loss of your mom and you needed something to get you through it and I was...happy to provide.”
Marshall blinked. What the fucking fuck? She was happy to provide. Oh, she’d been waaay more than that. This was some serious rewriting of history going on here. “I’m...sorry?”
“I think we should just look at it as...therapy.”
A nerve jumped at the corner of Marshall’s eye. His hearing went a little fuzzy. What the hell was happening right now? Was he having a stroke? 
“I mean it was good therapy. Like...” She shook her head and blew out a breath. “A really good session.”
Marshall stared at her. She may be a doctor, but he wasn’t entirely sure she knew how therapy worked. If she’d been dishing him out some therapy where the fuck was his orgasm?
Sure, he got off on her getting off – man, it’d been exhilarating - but he’d feel a shitload better now without the ache in his balls.
“And free,” she added quickly, her voice light and upbeat.
“So...I should thank you for not charging me to give you and orgasm?”
She blinked. “Oh. No...Wait.” She frowned. “I didn’t mean -”
“No, it’s okay,” he interrupted. “If it’s easier for you to justify putting out for me last night, then you do you.”
There was no doubt in his mind, Gus was trying to mitigate what had happened. She just hadn’t thought it through very well.
She gasped. “I did not put out.”
Marshall almost laughed at her expression. Haughty and horrified all at once. It was hard to maintain any kind of rage in the face of her mortification. She was such a conundrum. Looked like a pin up girl, talked like a virgin aunt. 
“No,” he said. “You were just pitying me, right?”
She sighed. “Now you’re twisting my words. I was just trying to say, last night was a one off occasion. An... extraordinary set of circumstances.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Marshall nodded. “Got it. Just don’t do me any more favors, okay? Let’s leave the therapy to the shrinks.”
“Fine by me.”
Her sense of relief was palpable. Marshall was sure, the whole therapy thing had sounded really good in her head and her embarrassment at cocking it up so badly was strangely endearing.
Fuck, even this woman telling him she’d let him muff dive out of pity wasn’t enough to turn him off. Was there no fucking end to this...obsession he was developing? 
“I want the contract to still stand, though. Sure, last night was a bit of a...slip, but there’s no need to throw it out. We need to recommit to it.”
“Are you sure, Goldilocks?”
Marshall didn’t think for a moment he’d be able to convince her to throw the whole thing out today but he wasn’t above planting the idea in her head to percolate.
“It is suitably vague, after all, and I don’t want to be smug or anything but I think you had a pretty good time.”
“Smug? You?”
Marshal smiled. “Jesus did say not to hide our lights under bushels.” He vaguely remembered that one from the five times he’d been in a church in his life.
Praise the lord.
“Pretty sure Jesus, wasn’t talking about cunnilingus.”
He laughed. Man, who knew that word could sound anything other than clinical? “We all have our talents.”


Marshall Dyson wants one thing and one thing only: to raze his grandfather’s island to the ground. Everything is ready to go—except for the freakin’ bunnies! Hundreds of the furry critters hopping about and multiplying before his eyes. And then there’s the American Bunny League, along with one distractingly beautiful veterinarian, taking him to court to save them...
Dr. Augusta “Gus” North can’t believe the grumpy—and annoyingly hot—builder she’s facing in court cares more about demo-ing some cabin than the lives of 200 bunnies. But when the judge orders Marshall to stay on the island and help her rehome the rabbits—the entire month—she knows they’re going to need to lay some ground rules.
Like, for example, absolutely no kissing. Might as well go ahead and get that in writing. Sure it’s on a napkin, but that still counts.
How hard could it be to keep their hands off each other amidst all the fighting? Surprisingly, harder than wrangling 200 bunnies...

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