Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“Well, goddamn.”
“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” she said breathlessly as her pussy clung to my shaft, still pulsing around me. I grunted as an aftershock tore through us both. “And do not tell me not to lecture you. That is my prerogative.”
“You can lecture me anytime you like, darlin’,” I said as my hips jerked again as a jolt of pleasure rocked through me. My body had a mind of its own when it came to Cynthia. My cock was starting to rise again, too. I kissed her neck and whispered in her ear, “Especially if you aren’t wearing any clothes.”
The woman distinctively said, “Humph,” which melted into an, “Ahh!” as our bodies continued to shiver with pleasure.
“I want you to lecture me for the rest of my damned life.”
“You’re not damned,” she whispered.
“I know that, sweetheart,” I said as my lips found hers and I started to slowly fuck us both into oblivion. “I’m fucking blessed.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Cynthia
“Time to go thrifting,” Clarice said as she looked me over with a critical eye.
“What? Why?” I demanded distractedly. I was counting money from yet another bake sale to buy uniforms for my dance crew. And now, Preacher had big plans for the neighborhood cleanup, but that cost money.
Lots and lots of money.
So far, Preacher’s list was long.
Extra lights outside of businesses, cleaning up windows and store fronts.
Helping landlords and tenants spruce up their façades and stoops.
Planters filled with flowers.
Hanging plants on the streetlights.
Security cameras to be monitored by Preacher’s friend who ran a big-time security firm.
Painting over gang graffiti with murals painted by the local graffiti artists.
Benches strategically placed to encourage folks to sit and talk, meet each other, and keep an eye on things. More people on the streets meant less opportunities for crime.
Volunteers to maintain plants and pick up garbage several times a week.
The way he thought amazed me. I always believed that security was the police’s job and that neighborhood watch groups could only do so much. But he told me that when New York City cracked down on graffiti and garbage, crime rates went down. It was as if people were afraid to behave badly when the streets were . . . well, pretty.
But that took lots of elbow grease, which we had, and lots of money, which we didn’t. Not yet. But we will, I told myself with determination.
It was going to be amazing when it all went down. It was going to change things. It was going to work.
Every little bit counts, I thought as I wrapped up another hundred singles and put them in the safe in Preacher’s office.
“Because, honey child, those tits are about to break free and sing Hallelujah.”
I stared down at my chest and then back at Clarice. We both had the same thought at the same moment. The whole Cynthia-is-knocked-up-and-too-stupid-to-notice thought.
Neither of us would say it out loud, though. Once we said the word, it was real. Once we said it, there was no going back.
“Let’s take a quick trip to the drug store. I need some new Tutti-Frutti nail polish,” she added with a little wiggle of her tropical colored nails. Each had a different pattern on it in a different color. Polka dots. Squiggly lines. Tiny stars.
I stared at those brightly colored nails as the reality hit me. The whole ‘almost fiancé’ getting shot thing had distracted me. I was now officially a week late. My boobs were aching. A lot.
I was totally, 100% pregnant. I knew it in my gut. I had been from the very beginning of my relationship with Preacher, judging from the timeline.
Good Lord, that was fast. Please tell me I am not making a mistake. Send me a sign.
Other than Tutti-Frutti nail polish, I amended.
“You okay, girl? You knew this might happen.”
“I know. It’s just . . .” My eyes widened as my stomach turned over. “Oh, crap.”
Clarice pushed the waste can over to me as I bent over and threw up my breakfast in one foul swoop. Gross.
As soon as I was done, though, I felt better.
I wiped the back of my mouth with my hand and took the bottle of water Clarice handed me, rinsing out my mouth. I grimaced as I stared at the wastebasket. It was going to have to be tossed.
“Oh, my God,” I groaned. “That was disgusting.”
“The miracle of life,” Clarice chortled. “I can’t wait to be an Auntie!”
I gave her a dirty look and went to the bathroom to splash water on my face. Thankfully, I kept a little toiletry bag with a toothbrush and mouthwash at my desk. If I really was pregnant, I was going to need it.
Pregnant. With a hell-raising, hard-drinking, motorcycle-riding, bullet-stopping madman’s child. I stared at my reflection.
What the hell are you doing, Cynthia?
You are in a sex haze. That’s all this is.