Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“Hmm?” he hums, making my next breath stumble from my chest.
“Why do you love me?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Maybe he didn’t hear me over the water. Maybe he didn’t hear me because my words came out as nothing more than a mumble. With his mouth between my legs and his hands on my ass, I manage to stay solely in this moment. My mind likes this moment … so much.
I love you. You love me. Don’t complicate it.
My orgasm rips through every cell in my body until I think I might pass out. Colten kisses his way back up my body.
My breasts.
My neck.
My ear.
And he whispers, “I love you because I’m incapable of not loving you. It’s involuntary. It’s a deeply woven thread in my fucking soul.” His right hand grabs my leg, pulling it up as he pushes into me.
I suck in a breath, each thrust harder than the one before. He takes me all the way up again, blows my mind, and catches me when I start to fall, when my knees give out, when I just want to let him carry me forever. His hand moves from my breast to my hand on the tile wall, and his fingers lace with mine, squeezing hard.
“I love you …” I whisper while my lips brush his cheek. “I love you more than life.”
We kiss, our lips the only thing moving while the loop of pleasure spins out of control, his release warm inside of me … everything’s warm, yet a little shivery, like we’re floating. This cocktail of sensations holds my mind completely captive in this moment.
When I find my legs again, we share nothing but smiles, the kind we used to share as two mischievous kids. Then we quickly dress and head toward the stairs.
“Oh, wait.” Colten turns around, retreating to his bedroom.
I follow him, poking my head around the corner while he disappears into the closet for a few seconds, returning with something in his hand.
“It’s been resized.” He winks, holding a ring pinched between his finger and thumb. “Can you pretend that you’re not seeing it for the first time? Can you pretend that I had this the day I proposed to you in the donut shop? Can you pretend that you said yes in that very moment?”
It’s not a diamond. I don’t think. It has fern-like specks in the stone.
“It’s dendritic quartz. In honor of Artemis. A reminder of the forest she loved.” He slides the stone set in platinum onto my ring finger.
It’s a perfect fit. I don’t know how he did it.
“I’m glad it’s back.” I lift my gaze from the ring to him. “I missed it.”
Colten returns a slow nod, his expression a little more serious. “I know the feeling.”
Me …
He means me.
He wraps me in his arms, presses his hand to the back of my head, lowers his nose, and inhales like nothing has changed.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Two weeks before I turned eleven, I decided to trim my hair since my mom was too busy with Benji to take me to get my hair cut. Having no patience to wait until my dad could take me or watch Benji, I decided to figure it out on my own with my mom’s sewing scissors. My bangs were too long, so I cut them. They were crooked, so I cut them more … and more, and suddenly they were way too short. So I cut the rest of my hair, hoping it would even out the look, make it so my bangs didn’t look so short. Every cut led to another cut to even and straighten, but I had no luck getting anything to look even or straight … just butchered all to hell. And bangs about six millimeters long.
“Oh my god, Josephine Eleanor Watts!” My mom gasped after putting Benji down for his nap.
I stared at her reflection in the mirror. She surveyed the pile of hair in the bathroom sink and all over the floor before returning her attention to my reflection.
“It got away from me,” I mumbled.
With one hand cupped over her mouth, she nodded. “I told you I’d take you next week,” she said, her hand drifting from her mouth to my hair, barely touching it like it could break.
“I know.” I frowned.
“Sweetie, your bangs …” Her fingertips grazed the spiky ends of my barely existent bangs. The stubble on my dad’s face after three days was longer than my bangs.
“I can’t go to school.” Tears filled my eyes. “They won’t let me wear a hat. And everyone will make fun of me. I can’t. I won’t.”
“Shh …” she hugged me and caressed my butchered hair. “We’ll figure something out.”
Something indeed.
After working her magic on what was left of my hair, I ended up with a layered bob that reached no farther than my earlobes, and my new best friend was a headband. Mom combed hair forward from the crown of my head and secured it with a headband. Viola! Fake bangs.