Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 46716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
I wonder what Dane is doing right now. Frowning, I roll onto my belly and bury my face in the pillows. If I concentrate hard, I can still taste him. The salty, musky flavor of his skin. The scent of wood smoke in his hair and beard. It makes me feel better to think of Dane in fact. At least someone wants me in this world.
And just thinking about the man is enough to make me wet. I lick my lips and roll onto my back, staring at the pristine white ceiling. I know that I should get up and start working soon but with Dane on my mind, work seems impossible. How the heck am I supposed to concentrate on studying when I can still feel his cum trickling out of my body?
With a heavy sigh, I sit up. The blood rushes to my head and I rub my forehead. I wish that I could just go to sleep and forget about everything other than Dane. Heck, I wish I could drop out of school and go live in the woods with the wild man who has captured my interest.
I get to my feet and reluctantly trudge across the room to my desk. My laptop is sitting there, next to all of my books, and I stare at it for a moment in hopes that the sight will inspire some kind of scholarly passion. But all I feel is a complete lack of motivation – if anything, I’m exhausted.
“Maybe I should take a nap,” I muse aloud, gnawing at the inside of my cheek. My bed does look nice and comfy and inviting – the only thing missing is Dane Lowe. But just as I’m slipping out of my clothes, there’s a knock at the door.
Grabbing a bathrobe, I wrap it around my curves and open the door. My mother is standing there and she’s holding a freshly-baked platter of chocolate cookies.
My favorite.
“That looks good,” I mutter.
Ramona smiles.
“I wish I could take credit but Gina whipped them up while your father and I were eating,” she replies. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.” I step back from the door and Mom walks in, gently closing the door behind her.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she says. She looks over to my desk and frowns. “Were you getting a lot of work done?”
“To be honest, not really,” I sigh. I reach for a cookie and take a big bite, savoring the way the chocolate melts over my tongue. Something about eating sweets has always made me feel better when I’m down, which is probably why I’ve been shopping in the plus-size section since the age of twelve. It wasn’t fun going into the store and having the saleslady look you up and down before directing you to the Women’s Section – when you’re not even a teenager yet.
But Ramona’s always indulged my sweet tooth. “It’s okay,” she says. “I won’t tell Daddy.” She takes a cookie and bites down before chewing thoughtfully. “How are you doing, sweetie?”
What should I say? Um, I’ve been sneaking out to have sex with a hermit who lives in the woods? He’s super hot and he makes my pussy cream so hard? So of course, I lie.
“I’m fine,” is my murmur. “I’m just worried about finals.” That, at least, isn’t a lie. Unless some miracle happens, there’s no way I’ll be making the Dean’s List this semester.
Ramona gives me a sympathetic smile. It’s funny – we haven’t always had the best relationship, but I still love her more than anything else in the world. Deep down, I know my mother is a kind person. But the way she lets my father steamroll her is always hard to watch.
“You’ll be fine with school, sweetheart. And don’t listen to Daddy about taking business courses. You need to follow your heart, so if Medieval Literature is what makes you happy, then take it and have fun,” she soothes. “Plus, don’t listen to your dad about your weight,” she adds. “I had Gina box up your plate and leave it in the fridge, so you can have a snack later if you want.”
“Thanks.” I take another cookie and eat the whole thing in one bite. “I know you’re probably judging me right now,” I add softly.
“Honey, why would I judge you?” Mom asks quietly. “You know how much I love you. You’re my only daughter.”
I look down at the way my belly bulges under the bathrobe and flush. “I know you think I eat too much.”
“I don’t,” Mom says firmly. “Your father has outdated ideas about how he feels women should look. But you’re beautiful at any size, Emma, and I want you to know that.”
I stare at her. Now that we’re alone, I can tell that she’s being honest. Or at least, I can believe that she believes she’s being honest. But deep down, I can feel her disapproval of my size. After all, who wants a daughter who looks like a whale? It sucks, for me most of all. I don’t like having to wear clothes that resemble tents, and I hate summer because of how my thighs feel when they rub together.