When he reads to me, p.1
When He Reads To Me, page 1
“My book boyfriend reads the smutty scenes to me, what does your husband do?”
COPYRIGHT @ T.L. SMITH 2024
All Rights Reserved
This ebook is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the Author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organizations or places is entirely coincidental.
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Warning
This ebook contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. This book is intended for adults ONLY. Please store your books wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
Blurb
I loved him from the beginning.
In the middle.
But maybe not at the end.
His love for me was full of possibilities, hopes, and dreams a girl like me wasn’t accustomed to.
He was a nightmare that cracked and bled through my hands, and I stood there watching as it seeped into the ground.
Until him.
He put me back together.
Without even knowing he was doing so.
And he wasn’t even my husband.
Contents
1. Lissie
2. Lissie
3. Lissie
4. Milo
5. Lissie
6. Milo
7. Lissie
8. Milo
9. Lissie
10. Milo
11. Lissie
12. Milo
13. Lissie
14. Milo
15. Lissie
16. Milo
17. Lissie
18. Milo
19. Lissie
20. Milo
21. Lissie
22. Milo
23. Lissie
24. Lissie
25. Milo
26. Lissie
27. Milo
28. Lissie
29. Milo
30. Lissie
31. Milo
32. Lissie
33. Milo
34. Lissie
35. Milo
36. Lissie
37. Lissie
38. Milo
39. Lissie
40. Milo
41. Lissie
42. Milo
43. Lissie
44. Milo
45. Lissie
46. Milo
47. Lissie
48. Milo
49. Lissie
Also by T.L. Smith
T.L. Smith
Chapter 1
Lissie
“I hate my husband.”
Chapter 2
Lissie
“I hate that I love the way he talks to me. Especially since he isn’t my husband.”
“Read it to me,” he says, sitting across from me.
I look up and see him watching me with those brown, almost chocolate-like eyes.
“Now,” he demands.
He is always so demanding!
I lift the book, my gaze leaving him for just a moment before it finds its way back.
Gosh, this man.
He’s covered in tattoos that skate up both arms. It’s as if each drawing was imprinted on him, etched into his very soul, shaping the contours of his thoughts and emotions with every stroke. His beautiful, tan skin seems to be without imperfections apart from that one scar on his upper lip, which makes me wonder how it stays so… full?
He is wearing his usual black jeans and black boots, and his legs are crossed at the ankle.
His arms are folded tightly against his chest. “Read,” he says again, although slightly less demanding this time.
I avert my gaze, not even bothering to care that he caught me looking.
He always does and never comments on it—it’s strange, really.
He pays me well—to sit here and read to him, but I don’t know why.
Not that I see much of the money.
My mind returns to the book, and I continue…
“Her hands slide up his shirt, skating over the ridges of his back before they slip down to his hips. She feels it as he sucks in a breath and loves the fact that she holds that power,” I read from the book exactly as written, using inflection where needed and pausing for emphasis to bring the words to life.
“Continue,” he says.
I look up again, and his eyes are glued to me, an intensity in his gaze that makes me pause for a second or two. Focusing back on the book, I take a deep breath before I start, “To have a man, this powerful man who is all mine, come undone beneath my fingers is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.”
I stop and peer up at him.
“What?” he asks, knowing I want to ask him a question.
“Have you ever come undone for a woman like that?”
Should I be asking this type of question? I guess if he can pay me to read this stuff, I have a right to ask. He does this thing with his tongue—it darts up and licks the scar on his lip, and I watch the action, wondering what it tastes like. Wondering how it would feel if my tongue touched that scar.
“No,” he finally answers, grinding his jaw before he nods for me to continue.
“You’re weird,” I tell him.
“And you aren’t reading,” he throws back.
I give him my best eye roll, showing him how annoyed I am, before pushing my black hair behind my ear, then find where I left off and continue.
“He grunts something, but I’m so lost in touching him that I don’t hear what he says…” I pause. “But then I hear it clearly when he repeats it. ‘My perfect little slut.’ I freeze at his words. Did I really think he would say something sweeter to me? I am, after all, here for one thing—” I stop. “Time is up,” I announce, closing the book.
“Read,” he says, his voice husky and commanding.
His demanding tone literally sends a shiver right through me.
“No.” I look him directly in the eyes.
“Do you speak to him this way?” he asks, his head tilting to the side. His mouth is pressed into a straight line with no hint of playfulness or anything else. He doesn’t really give me much of anything, never has, even though I have known him longer than my husband. “Your husband. Do you speak to him this way?”
“You know I don’t,” I snap as I stand. Milo has seen me with Cody more than once.
“You should take some of that fucking attitude you have for me and throw it his way.” He stands, walks to the door, and holds it open. “Now, leave.”
“I was going anyway.” I reach for my bag, pulling the strap over my shoulder, before I walk over to him.
He’s taller than me—always has been. I’ve known Milo for years, longer than I’ve known my husband. Back then, though, he was just one of those boys who was always in trouble, and I guess that hasn’t really changed. He still gets into trouble, but now he’s a man. And not only is he a man, he’s a fucking scary one.
Terrifying.
Spine-chilling.
Deadly.
He’s head of the local chapter of a motorcycle club, and even the police fear him.
“Good,” he says and waits for me to walk past.
Feeling the anticipation build with each step, as I reach him, I take a deep breath. His scent envelops me, a captivating blend of rich leather and something fresh, like an ocean breeze on a summer’s day. The combination is intoxicating, grounding me but also sending a thrill through my senses.
“Goodnight, Milo.”
His tongue slides over his teeth as he looks down at me.
“Goodnight, Elizabeth.” No one calls me Elizabeth. Only him, and no matter how often I try to correct him and tell him to call me Lissie, he never listens.
He shuts the door behind me, and the click echoes into the quiet night. I glance back as I reach my car, taking in the stillness around me. The parking lot of the clubhouse is usually bustling with club brothers, but no one is here. It’s like we are wrapped in a cocoon of secrecy while I’m here, and I love that it’s just us. I breathe in the cool night air as I unlock my car, and I can’t help but smile, knowing these moments are our own private bubble—ours alone.
Reading to him is my favorite job.
Even if he hates me.
Even if my husband hates him.
Chapter 3
Lissie
“I just wanted him to tell me how much he loved me. The things I would do for those words…”
“You’re finished early. Luckily, he paid already,” Cody, my husband, mumbles, barely glancing up at me as I walk in the door. His eyes remain fixated on the computer—porn being his go-to most nights. This man—my so-called husband—he stopped seeing me a long time ago when he realized what he could get out of me.
Or better yet, what I let him get out of me.
As the years go by, our marriage gets worse. Each passing day feels like another brick in the wall between us, solidifying our indifference toward each other.
I wonder why I stay.
Putting my bag on
“Cody, where is the food?” I ask, trying to keep the frustration out of my tone. He was supposed to go grocery shopping. He told me he would.
Cody barely looks up from the computer. A dismissive wave signals his indifference. “Fuck off, Lissie, I’m working,” he says, and I watch in disgust as he reaches into his pants and pulls out his cock. His hand circles his shaft, and he starts to stroke it.
He hasn’t touched me for years, not that I’m complaining. I know I’m not with him because I love him. I’m with him because he manipulated my young heart when it was at its most vulnerable, and then he put me in a position where it’s hard to walk away.
Even though I know I should.
Cody is my pimp.
I think that’s the best and only way to describe what he is to me now. We sleep in separate beds, bringing even more distance to a fractured marriage.
He charges for the time I spend reading with Milo. I refused to have sex with Milo, even though he’s never asked. That much I stood my ground on.
I’m twenty-five and have realized I need to leave this relationship—evict myself from it. The thought has been growing in my mind, festering like rotten fruit and gaining strength with every disappointment.
Cody grunts, and I sneer at him as two women take up his screen while he strokes his cock.
Working.
Ha! Yeah, whatever.
He’s probably out fucking whatever is served up to him, and I would never question it—to be honest, I don’t care.
When I was seventeen, I found my mother dead in her bed, with her wrists slit and blood soaked into the sheets. She always had issues, but I never realized how bad they were.
I should have.
Cody had entered my life just before my mother took her life. He was older, charming, and knew what to say, and he was everything a young girl was looking for—trouble and fun. It didn’t immediately start off hot and heavy, but soon, that’s the direction it took.
Cody had a car; he had access to alcohol, drugs, and all the other things that would eventually numb my heart and mind from the pain of not knowing how to save my mother.
Or why I couldn’t.
He would buy me flowers once a week, and in return, I would let him touch me. I thought I was in love with him. He thought of me when no one else cared, and that drew me to him.
It was fun, and when I turned eighteen, he asked me to marry him. I said yes immediately, and then he took all my mother’s money that I received from selling her house and blew it.
And the most fucked-up part?
I let him.
Shaking my head, I grab my bag and stride to the door. The idiot doesn’t even notice I’m leaving.
“You should take some of that fucking attitude you have for me and throw it his way.”
Milo’s words hit me with such force that I pause with my hand on the doorknob and glance back at Cody.
He comes, white semen shooting from the top of his cock—
His fucking ugly cock. The noises he makes disgust me so much that I make a gagging sound.
At the sight of my revulsion, I turn away, slamming the door as I leave. The loud bang echoes with the finality of my decision.
Fuck him.
I work for him and do what he says for the sole reason I owe him.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
My sister needed help.
She got into deep debt and asked me for money, thinking I had some left over from the sale of our mother’s house. But when she asked me, I was high. She didn’t know Cody, and I wasted all the money. But Cody—slimy, disgusting, manipulative Cody—was next to me at the time and offered her money. I was too shocked at his words to tell her I didn’t have it. I thought at first maybe Cody did; little did I know it was merely another trap.
Money we didn’t have.
And now, to pay back the debt he owes, I work it off.
Little by little.
Piece by piece of my damaged soul.
I chip away at what’s left of me, sacrificing my dreams and happiness for his mistakes.
My sister has no idea that we owe money to the Savage Villain’s MC, which is the club where Milo is the president. She’s in law enforcement, and if she found out where the money came from, not only would it affect her, it would affect us as well. I’m pretty sure she would never want to come near me again, and I don’t think I could handle that. She’s all I have left, one of the only people Cody hasn’t destroyed my relationship with.
Cody is a pimp for other women too, but not in the same way he is for me. His other women don’t read to men, they fuck them. And while he has tried to make me do the same, I’ve refused, much to his chagrin.
Walking down the street, I grip my bag to my side, wondering how much money I have in there. Shit, will I be able to even afford a loaf of bread?
I shake my head, wondering how my life is still like this.
Why do I stay? I think it’s because I’m used to how my life is, and more importantly, I’m afraid of change. I’m afraid I will have no one again if I leave him or he leaves me. I never had my sister to rely on. Growing up, it was only my mother and me. My sister is ten years older than me and was raised by her father.
“Lissie.” I hear my name as I reach the center of town.
I’ve lived in this small town all my life. It’s quaint and the kind of place where everyone knows your name. The trees on Main Street are old, and their gnarled branches tell stories of decades gone by. They all have fairy lights strung through them, casting a warm, magical glow on the brick buildings with their faded signs and flower boxes behind them. The buildings are mostly historic and aren’t allowed to be demolished, despite the fact that some of them should be. And while parts of it are beautiful, it also has areas that are nothing but darkness.
I lift my head to find Vogue, a friend from school, holding her round belly. She once worked for Cody, not long after we got married, but disappeared on him shortly after that. I only remember because he was complaining about it.
“It’s good to see you. You look well.” Her words are condescending, and rudeness is etched in her tone. I know she hates the tattoos on my skin and the way I hardly wear makeup. Despite knowing she thinks she’s better than me with her piled-on makeup and designer clothes, I smile at her anyway. She was one of the cool girls in school—I most definitely was not.
Now she is married to some lawyer and clearly having his baby.
“Good to see you, too.” I go to step past her, but she moves in front of me, blocking my path.
I’m trying to count how many coins I think are in the bottom of my bag when she says, “Where are you living now?”
“With my husband,” I say, confused, because she knows exactly who Cody is. She tried to sleep with him just after we got married.
“Cody?” she asks, her brows rising in surprise.
The revving of bikes makes us both turn. I stare at the group of over ten Harley-Davidson bikes approaching. The townspeople are used to them, but I still look. Even after all these years, I still watch him. He’s always at the front, always in his black leather. He gets closer, and I know from behind that helmet, he sees me as well.
“Lissie.” Vogue smiles at me, but behind that smile is a flicker of something else.
I’ve torn my attention away but feel a distinct need to leave. Immediately. “I have to go,” I say, stepping past her this time and heading straight for the local grocery store.
Walking into the store, I pass the cashier before heading past the frozen food aisle and straight to the stand that holds the bread. Searching for the cheapest loaf, I grab it and then quickly open my purse to fish out the coins I saw at the bottom. Counting them, I am short, but just barely. Dropping to my knees, I tip my bag upside down. A book falls out, and my empty and very sad purse falls with it.
Shit.
My hands are pressed to the dirty floor, and I take a deep breath to try to center myself. I put my purse back in my bag, but as I reach for the book, someone else grabs it before I can. The first thing I note are black boots, followed by a pair of black jeans I know all too well. He picks up the bread that’s next to me and walks to the cashier. Still kneeling on the floor, I watch as he adds a few other items before he pays for it, and the cashier puts it all in a bag. Managing to stand on shaky legs, I walk over to him and hold out my hand.
