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Matt gently tapped his knuckles on the bedroom door. From inside, he heard a muffled groan, and then a hoarse voice called out: “Come in.”
He did so, and was greeted by the sight of Monika buried beneath the covers. In the middle of the day he had received a text at work from her, explaining that she had gone home sick. He hadn’t been able to ask how sick, but seeing her look so miserable under the blankets gave him a clear idea.
Shutting the door behind him as he entered, Matt headed over to the bed with a small grin. “Hey. How’re you feeling?”
Monika glowered. “Awful. I hate getting sick.”
“Yeah, I think everyone does,” he replied, bringing a hand to her forehead and checking her temperature. After finding her skin hot to the touch, he pushed back some of her sweaty bangs. “Have you eaten anything today?”
“I had some soup earlier,” Monika mumbled, and pointed at the bedside table. There was a near-empty bowl sitting on top alongside a glass of water. She frowned at him. “It’s not four o’clock yet, is it? Did you come home early?”
“Yeah. Didn’t know how sick you were, so I decided to leave early. Don’t worry,” Matt then added at her disapproving look. “I got Carlos to cover my shift.”
Monika huffed and tried to sit up, only to be pushed back down. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure you get rest,” Matt said, and grinned. “Need any entertainment? I can bring in my laptop and you can watch movies.”
She groaned and shook her head. “No, the light hurts my eyes. Maybe a book would be better.”
His eyes lit up. “Want me to read to you?”
“Would you?” Monika sounded a bit surprised at his suggestion, but all the same, grateful. “That would be nice.”
Matt nodded and turned to head back out of the room. “Wait right there. I know just the book.”
With not much choice, Monika laid there and waited for him to come back. It took a few minutes, but then he returned – brandishing an all-too-familiar paperback novel. She groaned loudly in protest. “No, Matt.”
Matt gasped, feigning offence, and brought a hand to his heart. “Do you have something against romance novels, Monika?”
“I have everything against that novel.” Monika scowled at the cover depicting a tan man’s chiseled abdominals: Sandra Hill’s Rough and Ready.
He grinned, much to her annoyance, and walked over to the bed to sit down. Ignoring her continuous protests, he opened up the book and skimmed through the chapters. “Let’s see if I can find your favorite part.”
“Matthew, no.”
Still ignoring her, Matt cleared his throat and brought a serious look onto his face. Then, he began to read.
“‘Her long hair, still wet from the shower, had been combed down her back in a wet swath. Hilda was sitting on the floor, her round, wet boobs still wet from the shower’s water’—“
“Matthew, I am going to throttle you if you keep going,” Monika interrupted, and glared when her boyfriend simply shushed her. She then tried to get up from the bed, only to let out an ‘oomph’ when he sat on her back and pinned her down.
“Where was I? Oh, yeah. ‘She stood and spun around, her breasts swinging heavily with the momentum’…”
As Matt continued, Monika hid her face underneath a pillow and continued to curse him out. But he persisted, even as the erotic novel got worse and worse with each passing moment.
“… ‘Torolf flexed his rough-hewn abs and Hilda found herself being guided to her soft bed by the sheer force of Torolf’s undulating midsection. She parted her thighs in anticipation, exposing the soft pink petals of her clunge.’”
“That’s not even a word,” Monika moaned beneath her pillow, and Matt paused momentarily to snort.
“‘Her spongy love mountains hurled to and fro with each pounding.’” Matt went on, his voice dripping with emphasis. “‘Her body was like a beautiful flower that was opening and somebody was pushing their dick inside it. Then Torolf moaned, arched his back, and suffered from dick Parkinson’s.”
He heard a strangled sound from under the pillow. It sounded extremely like Monika was trying to hold back a laugh and failing. He couldn’t blame her, but he still pressed on, trying to keep on his serious façade.
“‘Hilda got out of bed, still shimmering with orgasm. She glowed with contentment, like a cat who ate the cream of the crop. She walked across the room and picked up her towel, still wet with shower water. Torolf,’” Matt brought his voice to a falsetto for the protagonist. “‘there’s something I have to tell you.’”
The pillow Monika had been hiding under smacked him in the shoulder, and for the first time since he started to read, a grin cracked across his face. “Dammit, Monika, I’m almost done.
“‘But her bed was empty. Torolf was gone, escaped out the bedroom window. In the distance, Hilda heard the fading sound of galloping abs.’”
He shut the novel and turned to look at Monika. An exasperated glare sat on her face. “I hate you.”
“Love you too, Monika.”