Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
I guide her to the shower, stripping my clothes off before urging her inside.
I wash her, reverent hands running over every inch of her body, pausing over the tiny swell of her lower abdomen, and I’m grateful for the water raining down on me because it means she can’t see the tear that falls when she covers my hands with her own.
I know it’s not full acceptance of what I need from her, but it’s a hint that we may be getting a little closer.
Our shower isn’t sexual. I don’t slip my fingers inside of her when I wash her there, even though I love nothing more than feeling my cum inside of her. She doesn’t bite her lip and stroke me when she washes my body. It’s like we silently agreed to just be in the moment together without distracting ourselves with physical intimacy.
“What now?” she asks as we dry off. “Are you leaving?”
I grin with my back to her as I pull my boxer briefs and jeans back on. There’s a desperation in her voice that makes my heart swell.
“We need something to eat, baby. How does pizza sound?”
“We could get delivery,” she offers, and I read the uneasiness in her voice as fear that I’ll walk out and never come back.
I turn to her, opening my arms and wanting to jump up and down in glee when she steps into the circle of them.
“Last time we got delivery, you cried because a pineapple ended up touching your half.”
She jerks away from me, and I can’t help but smile at the fire in her eyes.
“First off, pineapple on pizza is fucking disgusting. Secondly, my pregnancy hormones were making me a little crazy.”
“Are they better now?” I ask, once again letting my hand travel down her belly.
I want to tell her I noticed the bump, but I would never run the risk of opening myself up for the you think I’m fat argument. I watched my brothers go through that numerous times while their wives were pregnant, and I’ve learned from their mistakes.
“I’ve felt better this week,” she says. “Physically, I mean, but I missed you.”
I swallow roughly with her confession, knowing just what it took for her to admit that.
“I want you to pick a good movie, not any of that cartoon bullshit. I’ll call in the order before I leave and make sure it’s perfect before I bring it back to you.”
“You make me sound like a diva.”
“It was a tiny piece of pineapple,” I remind her.
“It ruined the entire slice,” she argues. “But I won’t cry if it happens again, promise.”
This woman really doesn’t want me to leave, and I’m not in the mood to cause her anymore discomfort, especially after what just happened in her living room.
“Okay, baby,” I tell her, pressing my lips to hers.
She heads to the living room while I call the local pizza place, opting to not have pineapple put on any part of the pizza.
When I leave her room and enter the living room, I find her curled up on the sofa, a soft blanket wrapped around her.
I take a moment to stand there and just drink her in. Her hair is piled high on her head, messy and utterly fucking perfect. A soft smile teases her lips as Shrek starts on the television. Emotion gets caught in my throat, and I have to clear it, drawing her eyes to me.
“Everything okay?” she asks, concern drawing her brows together.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “It’s perfect.”
She watches me as I walk toward her, and my chest burns to tell her that I love her, but what I thought was love all those years ago was just infatuation. I had no idea I could love her the way that I do right now, but that seems like too deep of a conversation to have while Smash Mouth is belting out a song while an ogre uses the torn pages of a book to wipe his ass.
“I thought I mentioned no cartoons,” I say instead.
“It’s a classic.”
“It’s a cartoon.”
“It’s one of your favorites,” she says, biting her lip and comically batting her eyes at me.
“It is,” I say, a little awe on her face with her remembering.
I settle on the sofa, immediately drawing her into me, feeling like the king of the world when she curls around me, resting her head on my chest.
Maybe words are overrated. Maybe telling her things and asking questions is just too much. I can read her reaction to me, I can feel the comfort she takes in my touch, and for now it’s enough.
It doesn’t take long for the pizza to arrive, and Jules must be starving because she’s practically bouncing on the sofa when I carry the box in her direction.
We eat slowly, laughing at the antics on the television.