Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
I slid my hands up her side, feeling and groping at every inch of her, till I reached around and seized her by the shoulder, my arm now pressed tightly against her chest. My other hand gripped her leg right where her thigh met her crotch. And I thrust, my cock filling her, my pelvis smacking into her firm ass while I pulled her back to meet me yet still squeezing her tight with my arm around her chest. “God, you feel so good.” I kissed her on the temple.
She turned her head to the side. I put my hand on her cheek, cupped her face, and kissed her beside her eye. I kissed her cheek. I kissed her jaw. I pumped, and I bucked, and I thrust. I stroked her wet pussy. And I kissed her, and I fucked her greedily against the wall.
“Oh, God, Holly. I’ve needed you so badly. So badly.”
The life of a doctor in residency is a tiring, stressful life filled with long shifts and short rests, and long shifts and shorter rests.
I’d come home exhausted, my head still buzzing with the thousands of things I needed to track during the course of a day at the hospital. I would shower, hoping that would give me another boost of energy—which it usually did, although the boost would only last a matter of minutes. Then I would collapse either onto the living room sofa or directly onto the bed.
Sometimes when I got home, Holly would still be working on her book, and she’d continue till the early hours of the morning. Sometimes, she’d be tired of writing, and she’d come to sit with me or to lie with me, and she’d read me the passages she’d written earlier that day.
It was fun hearing about the events I had lived through, the events I’d been an active participant of, but hearing about them from someone else’s perspective. I especially enjoyed the part where she hadn’t wanted me to tell her my name because she’d wanted to continue entertaining her fantasy that I was Ryker. That made me smile.
The passages from her book, the passages of our life together would make up the landscapes of my dreams. I would fall asleep and find myself again on the trail with Holly at my side. The snow would come down, and we would settle snugly in our tent. And we would make love while the wind whipped around us, unable to touch us, unable to interfere or interrupt our communion.
Those first few months of my residency were the hardest, but Holly gave me strength. I’d spend all my energy at the hospital and would arrive home with little to none left for Holly. But, at least, I could feel good and proud that I was providing for her. She lacked for nothing. As for her physical urges that I was either absent or too worn out to satisfy, I could rest assured that I had nine brothers who cared for her, eager, willing, and able to provide her with what she needed.
Epilogue
Holly
When the Chandlers say they share everything, they mean they share everything. That had included babysitting, feeding, burping, washing, diaper duty, singing lullabies; you name it, they did it. I understood that raising a baby was not easy. It could be stressful and tiring. But the mothers who say they’ve had to give up their social lives or their career in order to raise their child, I suspect they weren’t raising their baby with ten devoted and caring fathers at hand. Believe me that makes things a whole lot easier.
Baby Denise was a beautiful little girl. She had her mother’s amber eyes. But she also looked very much like her father—whether he be Ted or Will, Miles or Lawson, Owen or Brock, Gannon or Carson, Shaun or Ryker. Asked who the father was, each of the Chandlers would claim that he was the father. And they’d all be right. Fatherhood, as well, can be shared.
Denise was still too young to take her out with me into the mountains, into the isolated communities where Claire and I would bring much needed medical and dental care. But I would show the children pictures of her, and they’d all agree that she was a beautiful baby.
The book was a huge hit. Of course, it was. That was a surprise to nobody.
I wanted to send a signed copy to Wendy. After all, if she hadn’t published her story about us, I wouldn’t have had the nerve to go public. Unfortunately, I was not able to get her address. I contacted the magazine she used to write for, but the editor told me that she’d had to fire Wendy shortly after the story was published: something about Wendy’s provoking “Mirror, Mirror” to deny them or anyone affiliated with them an interview.