Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
My phone buzzes thirty minutes later. The buzz sends a shockwave through me teasingly. On the corner. Black car. Tinted windows.
My heart starts beating so hard. Lust tries to take over, making me think of how sinful we get with each other. His hands sink greedily into my breasts, his groaning, his attention, his obsession when I had him in my mouth. The crush made me want to own him, and I did for those minutes. I had control like he did when he burned this storm into my skin, and his ink claimed me.
Taking a breath, I sneak out of my hotel room. I’m going to be calm and collected, the type of person my child will be proud of.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
RUST
It’s almost midnight, but I wear a baseball cap anyway. The last thing I need now is somebody recognizing me. It’s difficult to remember why I’m here, difficult to think about anything other than her body, her hips, the life growing inside of her. But I need to focus on the fight.
Oh, hell. She’s walking across the street. Her dark sweater and jeans do nothing to hide her shape. She’s tied her hair up, emphasizing her natural beauty. She climbs into the passenger seat and glances at me, her hands in her lap.
It’s almost impossible not to lean over and kiss her. I start the car and focus on the act of driving because otherwise, I won’t be able to stop myself. She wrings her hands in her lap.
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
“Sorry about last time. The stuff I said. Yelling at you.”
“I don’t care about that,” I tell her honestly. “I heard what you told Brad about the videos and what Brad told you.”
“Did you know?” she asks.
“I guessed,” I tell her. “I’d seen your mom during some of her episodes. She’d been suffering for a while.”
“I’d always suspected,” she says, in a cold voice… or not cold, but more like she’s trying to contain her fire forcibly. “But it’s different hearing it. Where are we going?”
“I thought we could drive around,” I tell her. “Honestly…”
I stop myself, but it’s too late. I’ve already said too much.
“Yeah?” she murmurs in her sweet voice, her tone making me think of sex, of wedding bells, so much I should bury.
“It’s the only way to keep my hands off you.”
I purposefully don’t look at her, but I see her curvy shape tremble in my periphery. She’s never going to be able to hide her lust from me. My rod starts to stiffen right away, pushing against my pants.
“I guess we should talk instead of that,” she murmurs. “I guess this is the part where you tell me I’m too immature, and you’re a perv for wanting me, huh?”
She turns with a challenge in her sassy eyes. I almost pull the car into the nearest alleyway and collapse the seat. Push her onto her back and finger her receptive body.
“A perv,” I repeat, shaking my head. “I wouldn’t exactly class it as that. I was basically asexual before I met you. Not met you. You get what I mean.”
She touches my arm. It’s our first contact since she’s been in the car. It almost shatters something in me. My balls are swelling, and the seed is pulsing up my shaft as if wanting me to take her again, make her pregnant twice if it’s even impossible.
“You hate my age, though.”
“I don’t care about your age,” I tell her. “I care about you, and you’re young, but I don’t feel like a perv. It’s not about that. It’s about you.”
“What about me?”
“I heard what you told Brad—those videos. You have no experience in the world, Mary. You might live the next ten years and become a completely different person. One who’d never want to be with me.”
“You’re not trapping me,” she hisses, with so much fierce passion in her voice. “I want you. I’m choosing this. You’re not making this decision for me. Anyway, it’s not about us. It’s about the baby. We’re all going to have to grow together.” She pauses, and I think she’s fighting off tears. I keep staring at the road, the hardest thing I’ve ever done. “As a family.”
She swallows her sobbing as I turn the car to the waterfront. We drive along the water, the soft waves shimmering, just like the surface of the lake way back when Brad was my friend, nothing else. Mary was a baby, and Vanessa was alive—before I ever dreamed I’d want this woman so badly that my soul would bleed.
“How am I supposed to convince you I’m mature enough for you?” she snaps.
“It’s not about convincing. You’re eight—”
“Oh my…” she trails off as if she’s going to correct herself. Then she forcefully says, “God, I get it. I’m younger than you, but maturity isn’t just about age. You’ve got the emotional maturity of a five-year-old, Rust, and experience? What experience? You’ve spent the last ten years doing nothing but fight, think about fighting, and meditate about fighting. Anyway, I’m nineteen now. It was my birthday two weeks ago.”