Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 71289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“Hello,” I sang to the dogs.
Their tails swished in the dirt, and I touched each of their heads once as I walked past.
They didn’t move from their spot, and I was tempted to walk around them to see if I could get them to move.
But my eyes were already heavy, and my ankles were hurting from the walk.
Not to mention my back, which always seemed to hurt lately, was killing me.
And then there was my pubic bone.
That one felt like it was cracking each time I took a step.
I’d asked my doctor, on one of my many visits, if it was normal for a pubic bone to feel like it was about to crack in half, and he’d said it was more than normal. That it was the ligaments that were stretching and preparing for birth that were the cause.
Knowing that it was normal didn’t make it better, though.
I still hurt like a motherfucker each time I took a step. Or moved wrong. Or rolled over in bed. Or painted my toes.
Okay, it hurt all the fucking time.
I didn’t think there was a time it didn’t hurt, unless I was sleeping and able to ignore it.
Except I wasn’t sleeping all that much, now was I?
“Goodnight, doggies,” I called as I walked past them and down the driveway.
I went straight to the barn, closing the door behind me as I went inside.
My eyes went straight up the stairs to find the huge barn doors up top closed as well, which meant that Apple was likely in there with the air conditioner on.
He’d said he rarely closed them unless the air was on, and even though it was only February, it’d been in the mid-eighties all week.
It cooled down at night, but the big barn was fast to heat up, and slow to cool down, according to one of our few conversations.
So I climbed the stairs, wincing with each step.
Once I reached the barn doors, I slid one door softly open just far enough that I could squeeze inside, and closed it just as soundlessly behind myself.
Then I looked to the bed where Apple was lying, and I strongly urged myself not to do it.
I really shouldn’t have.
I swear to God, I was telling myself not to, but the way he was sleeping so peacefully with his hands tucked under his face like a fucking angel had my eyes narrowing.
“Apple!” I bellowed.
He sat up in the bed like he’d been cattle prodded, his eyes crazy, as he looked around the room sightlessly.
It was then I saw the gun in his hand.
I never said I made smart decisions.
Sometimes they were terrible decisions, in fact.
Like starting paralegal school. Or working at a gas station graveyard shift. Or having unprotected sex because I thought my medication rendered me infertile.
Yes, I made terrible decisions, and seeing Apple with a gun in his hand pointed at the roof had my eyes widening.
“Shit,” I apologized. “I’m sorry.”
His eyes finally turned to me, and he narrowed them dangerously low.
“What. The. Fuck,” he said through clenched teeth. “I could have shot you.”
“Well, aren’t you glad I’m over here waking you up rather than standing over you?” I asked, hoping making light of the situation would bring the tension level in the room down minutely.
It didn’t.
In fact, he got angrier.
“Next time, call,” he said through a growl.
I narrowed my eyes, then turned around and threw the barn doors open.
“Maybe next time I won’t come at all,” I threw over my shoulder as I started to stomp down the stairs.
It hurt like a bitch to do, too. But I did it.
I made it all the way to the bottom and about five steps into the hayloft before I felt him behind me.
I would’ve run if I wasn’t humongous elephant pregnant, but I did have some sense, after all.
So I continued my pace towards the set of barn doors that would lead outside, trying to ignore the impending doom I could feel baring down on me.
And bare down it did.
He had his hand around my waist, pulling me back against his chest - his naked chest, might I add - in the next second.
He stopped me with another hand in my hair.
“How about you check the attitude and tell me what was so important that you just scared the shit out of me and nearly got shot for?” He whispered gratingly against my ear.
His beard tickled my neck, and his words, although threatening, made my seriously in need of a fucking vagina, clench with need.
Shivers raced down my spine at the deadly quiet of his tone. The seriousness of it.
I was horny.
I was emotional.
I was in need of a good fucking.
That was the stitch.
I needed it, and he needed to give it to me.
But I didn’t want nice and sweet Apple.
I found that I wanted a rough and little bit angry Apple.