Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 36964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
“How could you!” I shout again when I’m closer, my voice carrying along the street, the water only echoing it more. I’m about over today and all these unwanted emotions swirling inside of me. The father of my child, who impregnated me unknowingly, or did he? No way. He couldn’t be capable of stealthing me, right? Why would he purposely poke holes through a condom? You only hear about that stuff on social media, at least that’s where I’ve heard it. The plethora of questions are now making me second-guess every single thing. I mean, if he’s so willing to purchase a piece of property from my father, then I suppose there’s a possibility he’d be capable of anything.
“Hello to you, too, Amelie,” Boston responds, standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking like the perfect gentleman in what I’m sure is his five-thousand-dollar suit, his dark hair clipped short on the sides as well as the top. The beard along his jaw has my thighs clenching, which is no easy feat when I’m steadily marching toward him, ready to smack the smugness off his handsome face. His obsidian-blue eyes twinkle, making me recall the last time we slept together, not that much sleeping actually happened. Boston was leaving, unsure of the next time he’d be back down here, but he was adamant he’d be back. I began to lose faith after two weeks. We had a marathon of sex, him powering into me from behind, hand wrapped around my throat, the other gripping my hip so tightly I was left with marks the next day. That was only the first round. The second time was just as hurried and frenzied, me riding him, his fingers working my nipples, my thighs aching so badly I was tempted to ask him to take over, but there was no way I could have or would have. Instead, I rode him hard, bouncing on Boston’s thick cock. No wonder I’m pregnant. The man is impressive in the length department. I swear he hit my cervix a few times. The third time is one that will last in my memory for a lifetime. We held each other’s eyes for the majority of the time, and it seemed he needed to be as close as possible, sitting inside me well after we orgasmed together. I stomp out the memories. I’m too upset for more than one reason.
“Don’t you ‘Hello Amelie’ me. I know what you’re doing here. How could you get Amelie Boudreaux in bed, mess with her head, then go straight to my asshole father?” I get closer, my pointer finger hitting him right in the chest as I lay into him. My radar on picking a good man is obviously off, unlike Eden, who is now completely and totally head over heels in love with her judge. Sadly, it doesn’t look like the man in front of me will ever be that for me. It’s not like he gave me the slightest clue that he was Mister Forever, more like Mister Right Now.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I take a step back at his question and see the flare of anger in his eyes. Me backing up is what’s making him upset, unlike me raising my voice.
“What do you mean, what am I talking about? Boston, who can’t so much as use a phone to text and say hey, I’m going to buy your mother’s building from underneath her, that’s what I’m talking about!” Shit, I did not want to show my cards. A poker player I am not. I could have used the phone as well. Him leaving without so much as a goodbye made me lock my cell each time I hovered my thumb over his name.
“You’re going to have to clue me in, Amelie. I’ve got no damn idea what you’re talking about.” He closes in on me, is moving closer. I have to take two steps for every one of his. The only scents around us are that of the river and the unique scent of the domineering man in front of me. My back meets the brick wall of my great-grandparents’ building. The heat coming from both the building and Boston does little to calm my rapidly beating heart.
“My father, the asshole you’re supposed to meet to buy this building. Ring any bells? It’s not like there are a lot of people with the last name Boudreaux running around in New Orleans.” My father is the last in the line to carry the family name. Good freaking riddance. If there were a picture under the term narcissist in the dictionary, you’d find Noah Boudreaux the Third. The man will tear you down, not with his fists; that would mean he’d have blood on his hands, and he would never. Dear old dad likes to use his words, ruining your confidence with one biting sentence at a time.