Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 55171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
“He’s mine and not yours today? He must be giving you a run for your money.” The long burnt-orange dress she’s wearing shows of her swollen belly. It wasn’t long after we got married that Stormy sat me down and said it was time for her to make an appointment. An appointment I went with her to watch as the doctor took out her birth control. It took all I had not to come unglued watching as they numbed Stormy beneath her arm, made a small incision, and remove the implant. Never fucking again was she doing that. My wife was ready to start a family. Not even a minute later, I had us both stripped naked and took her against the first available surface.
“I could barely bend over.” She has a new feather in her hand, one to add to her collection. The addition of them is more prevalent now than when I met her; the brick she created before moving in is now mostly full. I swept up one the day I told her I loved her, giving it to her later in the evening. Another one when I asked her to marry me. And the last one before today was when we found out she was pregnant.
“You got the feather, though,” I respond. My hand moving to cup her stomach, and I dip low to kiss my wife. There’s something about watching her waddle, seeing the glow in her face, and knowing she’s nurturing our child with her ever-changing body.
“I got the feather. We keep adding so many amazing milestones, I’m going to need another display.” She rubs her fingers together, making the feather swirl. There’s no way we’ll be on time now. Stormy will need to wash the feather and undoubtedly go to the bathroom again, whether it’s due to our boy or to make sure her hair is in order.
“I’ll work on that tomorrow. Now, hand over the feather. I’ll wash it, you go do what needs to be done before we’re any later than we already are.” Finn comes up behind me, barking, trying to get our attention. Stormy thought about bringing him with us today, but after thinking it through, she figured it’d be too boring for the lazy lug.
“Fine. I’m not sure why I’m feeling nervous. Everything’s done, the place was set up, and the caterer is meeting us there. You made sure the alcohol would be ready, right?” When Stormy bought the salon from Kitty, she did a massive overhaul. While Kitty was more into a country style theme, Stormy brought her own style to the table. Unfortunately, it meant a whole lot of blood, sweat, and tears. The later from her and others from me. No fucking way was I letting her climb a step stool to paint. Even if she wasn’t pregnant, I wouldn’t have allowed it. Now that she is, my protective side is a lot worse. And it’s made us have a few arguments over the last few months.
“Barbie is there now. She said the place looks great. There’s wine and beer in the coolers, and Nav is on his way to play bartender.” Stormy had an idea where we’d serve mixed drinks. I nixed that idea. No way would she want to pull the permits in order to deal with that headache. Wine and beer, you don’t need one, and it’s less of a headache for her, along with not having to worry about people getting shit-faced drunk.
“You’re a lifesaver. In case I haven’t thanked you lately, thank you.” Her hand touches my cheek, pulling me down as she reaches for my mouth.
“Quit thanking me, woman. I’m here. Always,” I tell her before taking her mouth with mine, unable to make this short and sweet. Fuck it, we’ll be late for all I care. Her mouth is too sweet, her moans too tempting, and knowing that she gives in to me so easily, it’s no wonder I’m always buried inside my wife.
“Griff,” she moans, allowing me access to lick my way inside, deepening our kiss. Anytime I’m with Stormy, I forget everything; it falls to the wayside. The noise in my head about the bar, her salon, her impending due date in the next two weeks, it all quiets down.
“We’re coming back to that, but first, you gotta appear at the salon. At least for an hour, then I’ll take you to the back room and make good on my promise.” Her hands clench my shirt, silently begging for more. Damn, we seriously should have rethought opening the salon until after Heath was born. As it is now, if we don’t show up, her mom and aunt will come running toward the house thinking she’s in labor. They’re not above using the keypad and gaining entry, a code my wife keeps giving them even though I change it monthly. Stormy just gives them the code again, just in case, or some measly excuse.