Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Wrapping his arms around my waist, he looks me in the eyes, and I watch his blue gaze turn dark with passion. I feel my breath begin to quicken, aligning with the new beat of my heart. It seems like forever passes before he moves. I wonder if he will ever speak, or kiss me, or if we will just stand here lost in each other’s eyes for eternity.
But John is an alpha male. Soon, he’s fiercely kissing me, and I’m moaning with pleasure in his arms. Our robes fall from our shoulders, and he takes me again and again, showing me just how much he appreciates having me in his life.
10
Megan
* * *
I sit on the subway listening to the hustle and bustle of the city above. I typically have headphones in so I can listen to my music or a podcast. Sometimes I even play Netflix shows on my phone. But today, I am deep in thought and choose to go without the extra entertainment.
After all, the weekend that I spent with John at his estate was wonderful. He ravished me again and again, and to my embarrassment, we barely even left his bed. Meals were wheeled to us on silver carts, and I could hardly even meet Jocelyn’s eyes whenever she appeared.
But John wasn’t bothered at all. He merely ate his steak, drank some wine, and then pulled me back to bed.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he whispered hoarsely in my ear. “I need you, Megan.”
I shiver hotly again, remembering the hours of passion. Even now, I wince a bit on the subway seat. John rode me hard, and I loved every second of it.
But now, I’m back to real life. I’m Megan Flowers, and I’m on the New York City subway with lots of people sharing the ride. This is my normal mode of transportation. As the underground train car goes above-ground for a small stretch, I can make out the varying noises of after-work traffic: cars zooming up to stoplights, buses setting off their loud air brakes, taxi drivers leaning out the window to yell at pedestrians, and of course, the street folks busking on the corner hoping to earn a few dimes.
My senses have grown used to all the stimulus, and I’ve developed the ability to zone out. To ignore these extraneous sounds, basically, so that it doesn’t bother me. As a result, I sit on the subway, removed from it all. I have an array of grocery bags at my feet, although they’re not for me. Every Monday after work, I bring groceries and a prescription to the elderly woman down the hall, and I’m looking forward to seeing her.
Maria is a petite lady, standing at a mere five feet tall. She probably only weighs one hundred pounds soaking wet. Her hair sits in curls on top of her head, but photo albums displayed on her coffee table show a younger, livelier version of herself with long curly hair and the excitement of life lighting up her eyes. Her eyes now show some of the weariness that comes with age, but they still shine with love and kindness and I value her advice.
She always insists on meeting me at the front door to help carry the bags. She walks with a cane in one hand and struggles to keep herself balanced with a grocery bag in the other, which makes me feel terrible. But I rearrange the bags before I get there to make sure there is one with barely anything in it. I let her carry that one, and manage to shoulder the rest.
Maria’s an amazing person, and I’ve spent many hours with her, listening to her stories. She’s told me of her life as a child in Oaxaca, Mexico. Her family sold hand-crafted hammocks at the local market, their most affluent customer the American tourist. But then, her parents suffered an abrupt death. Evidently, a city bus driver was drinking on shift and ran right off the highway. The bus overturned and the passengers were thrown from their seats, many ejected from the windows. Her mother and father were two whom lost lives that day.
As a result, she and her brother, Manuel, decided to start a new life. They came to the United States penniless but were able to eke out a living over the years. Maria doesn’t have much, but her gratitude shows. She’s never unhappy, and I have a lot to learn from the elderly woman.
As we unload groceries, she turns to me.
“What’s wrong, mi querido? Why are you so silent today?”
As always, she’s able to sense my mood, and I take a deep breath.
“Maria, I would like to ask you for some advice if you would be willing to lend me an ear.”
Her face lights up with gentle kindness. “Of course, mi querido. What is it?”