Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
LEWIS
Iona
Hi.
Lewis
Iona! How are you doing?
I’m okay. How about you? Have you found the last two days tough without so much as a peep from me? Have you been thinking over everything, and is your head ready to *exploding-head emoji*?
It’s been a bit rough, aye. But I wanted to give you time. I didn’t want to rush you.
Wrong answer. The right one was: “Two days? That’s nothing compared to what I put you through. I didn’t tell you the truth about what happened for SIX YEARS!”
Shit. Sorry, that’s what I should have said.
Yep, it is. Clearly, I haven’t let you stew for long enough yet. I’ll be back in touch in five years and three hundred and sixty-three days. See you then!
Wait, don’t go! At least let me grovel for a bit and beg for your mercy?
*face-exhaling emoji* Fine. Grovel away.
Okay, imagine me as a character in one of your historical romances. “Oh, most gracious and benevolent Iona! Take pity on this wretched soul. I can’t sleep, eat, or think straight. Pray, forgive me for my transgressions!”... that any good?
Hmm, interesting approach, even if it doesn’t sound like the dialogue in any book I’ve read. Also, do you remember what happens in my smutty historical romances after the heroine forgives the hero? They ALWAYS bang. Is that what you think is going to happen here?
Well, if you were up for it, I wouldn’t say no... *grinning-face-with-sweat emoji*
Bloody hell, Lewis! We’re not teenagers anymore. Long gone are the days when, to score a handjob, all you had to do was stick a glow-in-the-dark condom on your dick. If you want to earn my forgiveness and repair the damage you’ve caused, you’ll have to work a LOT harder than that before there’s even a HINT of anything sexual.
I’m listening. BTW, are you at your maw’s? Because I’m at the hotel. We could talk in person—I can pop across the road, if you like?
But isn’t this how you prefer to have serious conversations? Are you forgetting how you broke up with me?
Okay, this is why I’d rather speak face to face. In texts, I can’t tell whether you hate me or whether you think there’s hope for us.
Seeing my face wouldn’t help. Still very much undecided about you.
That’s fair. Anyway, you were saying something about working hard to earn forgiveness? Tell me more.
Well... I was thinking of MAYBE letting you take me on a date. At some point. It’s still too soon after splitting with Richard, but I’m not ENTIRELY opposed to the idea.
Really?!
Don’t get too excited. Dating me is going to be a brutal, demanding process for you. Think of it like one of those reality TV shows. One wrong move, and you’re eliminated. And if you DO get through the first date, the second will be even harder. The third, worse still. Up for it?
Of course. If it means winning you back, I’d do anything.
I was hoping you’d say that.
That . . . sounds a bit ominous.
It is, but I’ll come back to that later. First, let’s talk about the date(s).
No need for the brackets. I’m confident I’ll smash the first one.
Wow, you’re cocky. I’m not nearly so sure. Anyway, here’s the deal. Back when I was a student, we never did the dating part of relationships, only the sex part. Now I want to do the exact opposite.
Which means . . .
Fine dining, spontaneous getaways to exciting places, surprise romantic gestures. You’ll be the perfect gentleman the entire time and will see to my every need. After, say, six months of impeccable behaviour, I MIGHT let you kiss me. On the cheek. Just a quick peck.
Okay. How long till I get to kiss you on the lips?
Hmm, another six months after that.
Jeez. And how long until we get to do other things?
Other things? Whatever do you mean? *smiling-face-with-halo emoji*
You know . . .
Oh, THAT stuff? That’s YEARS away.
Ha! You’ll never be able to resist me that long. I reckon you’ll be stripping my clothes off me a few dates in.
Ah, but this is where my genius plan comes into play.
Care to explain?
Sure. So, over the course of YEARS, you will treat me as a lady, satisfying my every whim, while receiving, in return, no sexual rewards whatsoever. Not even a peek at my cleavage—I intend to start dressing VERY modestly.
Right . . .
But when it comes to YOU, things are completely flipped.
And that means?
I won’t treat you like a gentleman. Nah, I’ll be pretty rude to you and will look at you with mild disdain the entire time—while leaving you to pick up all the bills, of course. But here’s my favourite bit. Whenever I ask you for a dick pic, you have five minutes to send one over. Fail to do so before the deadline and we’re done.
LOL!
?
You are joking, right?
Lewis, the first time you got naked in front of me, I made you put on a glow-in-the-dark condom. Does this sound like a joke to you? Or does it sound EXACTLY like the sort of thing you’d expect me to say?
Shit, the second one. But really?
Aye. And consider this a formal request for the first picture. Your five minutes start now.
Whoa, slow down! I need to know for sure if you’re joking or not. Sometimes I misunderstand humour when it’s written down. The last thing I want to do is send you a photo of my cock, only for you to be like, “WTF did you send that? I was only pulling your leg!”
Not pulling your leg. Any time, day or night, I might message you, and when I do, you have five minutes. No more. And as a reminder, the timer for that first picture is already counting down...
But I could be in the restaurant or talking to a customer! I can’t agree to this.
Jesus, you’re taking the fun out of it. Okay, I promise not to make a request when the restaurant is open. And at other times, if you have a VERY good reason not to send a pic, I MAY—at my discretion—grant an extension. But there will be no leniency for this first photo. So what are you waiting for? *camera emoji* *eggplant emoji*
Bloody hell, this is nuts. But okay, gimme a moment...