Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Food. After that horrific incident with Ricky when he shamed me for eating my entire sandwich, I was a little wary about eating in front of another man. What would Dylan say if I devoured everything on my plate? Would he think it was gross? Unladylike? Or something even worse?
Because even though he was so different from Ricky, I just didn’t know. My self-esteem has been damaged, and it crossed my mind that maybe all hot guys hate girls who eat food. I hadn't really dated enough of them to know, so I was nervous.
But as soon as we got to the surprise restaurant during our first date, I knew I could relax and be myself. Not only was Dylan abundantly clear about loving my curvy body from the very beginning, but he encouraged me to order any and all food I wanted, including multiple desserts. Plus, the man took real pleasure from seeing me enjoy my food. Not only have I never experienced this with the few guys I’d dated, I also didn't know it was possible for a guy to be this okay with me being myself. I don’t know if that’s really sad to admit, but at least it’s all over now.
Because everything about the man is incredible. He’s so hot and thoughtful and gentle, yet commanding and sure of himself. He knows what he wants, and clearly, he knows what I want, too. And oh god, the things he does to me… I can feel my pussy tingle merely thinking about it. His cock is enormous and every time we have sex he makes me come harder than I thought possible. And what’s even more of a turn-on is how horny he is for my body. He can’t seem to get enough of my huge tits and wide ass. All I have to do is walk into the room with a slightly open bathrobe, or tight dress, or anything that shows off my curves, and he’s as hard as a rock. He’ll grab me and fuck me right then and there, no matter what we were doing. Bending me over furniture, pushing me up against the wall, pulling me down onto his lap as he pushes my tight pussy onto his rod, always wet for him. He never hesitates and I love it.
So lying here in my own bed, I miss Dylan. He’s away on business and even though he tried to convince me to stay in the penthouse and make myself comfortable, which was very tempting, I thought I’d better go home and get some laundry done. I basically haven’t been home since that first date three months ago, as crazy as it seems. And I can’t just let Dylan keep buying me new outfits, even though I now have a fully stocked, fabulous designer wardrobe at his place.
But I can’t help wondering about what’s going to happen between us. Because call me girly, but we still haven’t had “the talk.” The one where you “define the relationship” and put labels on things, such as “boyfriend,” “girlfriend,” “couple,” and “together.” Dylan clearly hasn’t felt the need to instigate it, and I’ve been reluctant to jinx things. Besides, I’ve been feeling nauseous the last few days and figured that if I was coming down with something, it would be perfect timing for me to sweat it out while I’m at my own place, and not his. No one needs to see me vomiting while running a fever, especially not someone as amazing as Dylan.
And suddenly I’m overcome with a strong wave of nausea. I scramble out of bed and rush to the bathroom, where I violently throw up into the toilet. What the hell? I clean myself up and feel a bit better, so I check for other symptoms of illness. But there are none. No fever, no sore throat, no aches and pains. Just this queasiness. So I step into the shower. Gross, chunks of vomit got into my hair, and my hands grab the soap for a good scrub down. But as I lather myself up, I notice that my breasts are very, very tender. I cup them gently, observing how they’re even bigger and heavier than usual, and painful to the touch.
Holy shit. I suddenly freeze, my soapy breasts in my hands and the hot water coursing down my back. Holy shit. It can’t be. I can’t be pregnant. But I can’t turn back time, all I can do is stand there as the reality of the situation comes crashing down over me along with the water. Because of course I could be pregnant. Dylan and I try to be careful about protection, but sometimes, we forget to use the condom. I hate being on the pill and resisted when he even suggested it.