Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 182(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 182(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
“Yeah, I want kids,” I tell him. “It’s never gone away, the longing I felt. If I found the right man…” Are we speaking seriously here, or is this all head-and-heart-in-the-clouds stuff?
He says nothing, and we stand together without discussing it. He brushes down my clothes, his hand lingering for a moment on my leg, but then he snatches it away as if I’m going to burn him. I dart my hand out, grab his wrist, and guide his hand to my leg.
“We can be emotional and intimate,” I say, my feelings mixed up and looking at him bravely.
He shudders, then glides his hand higher. He stops near my sex, causing me to ache despite the conversation, despite the emotional dread. Isn’t that something, a miracle, that we switch so effortlessly?
He removes his hand, takes mine, and presses reassuringly. “I’m here if you want to talk.”
I fall against him, closing my eyes, laying my cheek against his chest, and listening to his powerful heartbeat. I used to dream about what it would feel like, his chest pressed against my face, his heart beating, pounding, strong and passionate, and all for me.
“My parents abandoned me when I was a kid. I was nine. They just walked out one day. They were junkies, and later… the people at the orphanage told me about it. Mom OD’d. Dad died in a failed robbery. I’m messing this up and telling it all wrong.”
“Tell it however you like,” he says huskily.
“I was on my own for a week. Seven days. I didn’t know what to do, didn’t even think about going to a neighbor. We didn’t live in the best neighborhood, but I should’ve thought to…”
“No blaming yourself.” He hugs me tightly. “You were just a kid.”
“I was so scared. I kept thinking I’d done something wrong. That, somehow, it was all my fault, and if I just sat there and thought real hard, I’d work out what it was, this wrong thing I’d done, and then I’d be able to make it okay. Eventually, a neighbor smelled the rotting food. We’d had roast chicken, a rare good meal. I guess they knew they were taking off and wanted to do something nice. It reeked, Luke.” I’m shuddering in time with his heartbeat, the powerful pulsing of it.
“I’ll never forget that smell. Sometimes, it’s like it’s clinging to me. It never leaves me the hell alone. Whenever I feel like I have to escape, it’s there, that stink, but now…”
Only when I look up at him do I realize I’m crying. He’s become blurry with the tears, his features dancing from side to side as I struggle and fail to keep him steady.
“I don’t feel trapped.”
“Good.” He brushes tears from my cheeks with his thumbs. “You’re not, and you never will be. Everything we do, we do together because we choose it together.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
He brushes more tears away and then leans down, kissing my cheeks. This is the moment for him to say it, to explain we were talking about us with the kid stuff and not having a general conversation.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you. I wish I could go back to that scared little girl and tell her that one day, she will be a confident, clever, funny, kind, and loving woman. I wish I could tell her she’ll meet a man who…”
Who what? Who loves her? Please, let him say it.
“Who wants to protect her, help her grow in her career, and be there for her.”
That’s enough. It has to be… for now.
“Shall we finish dinner?” I ask. “Maybe we can salvage this date.”
“Oh, I know we can.”
He takes my hand, and we share a moment before returning to the kitchen. Neither of us says it, but we don’t have to. There’s love here, unspoken and concealed, but it’s there.
During dinner, I ask him a difficult question. I don’t know if we can do it, but I want to try.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Luke
When she asked me, I didn’t know if I could do it, but I felt the genuine need beaming from her, like a light glowing from within. I’d feel like a monster if I ignored it.
Looking across the table, she softly said, “Do you think we could sleep together tonight? Not sleep together, sleep together, but in the same bed? I don’t want to be alone… and I don’t want you to be either.”
So here I am at one a.m., lying awake with my woman breathing softly. The first couple of hours were brutal, my balls expanding, cock twitching every time she let out a sleepy breath, but now, I can watch her chest rising and falling without thinking about tearing off her shirt and feasting on her tits.
Okay, that’s a lie. The thought is still there, but it’s not dominating me. Instead, I’m thinking about the scared little girl she was and the fact I never want her to feel that way again. I’ve got to do everything I can to protect her without making her feel trapped. Suddenly, she shudders, then lies still. Her eyes snap open, and she grows stiff, but her chest rises and falls softly.