Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
“There’s no such thing as too much anime for one day.” June’s flopping on the edge of the mattress feels more like behavior from her youngest sister than her. “That’s like saying there’s too much Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles for one day.”
“Six-year-old me sees your valid argument.”
Her smile is prematurely triumphant.
“Twenty-six-year-old me would rather give you your gift, get you naked, and get into bed with you.”
Sobriety comes soaring back to her, folding her frame forward. “What gift?”
“Did I forget to mention I made you something?”
Loud squawks instantly reverberate around the room.
“You trying to wake up Koose Koose or what?”
My girlfriend doesn’t hesitate to give me a lighthearted glare. “Did you really make me something?”
“I did.” Folding my arms across my chest is done at the same time I somewhat chortle. “In secret which was hard considering how much time we spend together.”
“Are you saying that we hang out too much?”
“I’m saying that my gift is extra special because I had to figure out how to concoct it without you catching wind.” Cockiness attaches itself to a brow wiggle. “And I did it seems.” Before she can say anything in return, I instruct, “Cover your eyes.”
June slaps her hands over them, an action that conjures a quiet, “Ou…”
This woman.
Maybe we should go somewhere that requires mittens?
Give her extra cushion for the day-to-day protection?
Going to grab the painting from where I managed to stash on the top shelf of the closet only takes a second yet bracing myself in front of her for her reaction requires a few more.
What if she hates it?
Normally, I don’t give a shit about what others think of my work, but for the first time in years, I made something for someone else. Someone who I love and trust and loathe the idea of letting down.
Disappointing.
Clearing the anxiety out of my throat is difficult; however, once I have, I announce, “You can look now.”
June lets her hands fall to her sides on the bed and shortly after, her mouth follows suit. “Is that…” Speechlessness continues to win during a couple of headshakes. “Is that…Is that really us?”
Timidness tints every inch of my expression prior to me sheepishly nodding. “Me, you, and Koose Koose.” She cups her mouth in what I hope is awe prompting me to ramble something to fill the silence. “I uh…I figured…I’d try my hand at a Manga style since it’s your favorite of modern artwork – whether you realize it or not – so I um…pulled inspirations and characteristics from your favorites like all of Kozzmo’s shit and a little Sailor Moon and-”
“One-Punch Man,” she adds from behind her splayed fingers.
“-yet still needed to add my own soul to it and our story and this uh…This is what I came up with.” Giving the colorful painting of the three of us watching the sunset a quick glance provides me with a little more peace. “I figured we could hang it up in our own place someday to remind of us where it all began.”
My girlfriend’s question is almost a whisper, “Our place?”
I send my stare back to see hers sparkling.
“That…that sounds like you wanna live in one place someday.”
“People hear what they wanna hear.”
There’s no ignoring the sight of her shoulders falling is discontent.
“And sometimes what they hear is exactly what is being said…”
Excitement rapidly expands throughout her expression.
“I think…having somewhere to touch back in when I come to Highland would be better than renting random spaces all the time, especially if it felt like home when I got there.” I take a couple steps forward to begin to close the gap. “And even if you aren’t ready to travel the world with me, I’ll always come back to you because home is where the art is.” Transitioning the painting from my clutches to hers is gingerly executed. “And you, June Bailey, are the one piece of art I don’t think I can live without.”
Tossing the painting to one side of the mattress hastily happens before she’s throwing herself into my arms. The barriers known as clothes aren’t being removed fast enough no matter what it is we do, and the echoing of stitches being torn reiterates that. Desperation to be balls deep erases any internal debate on whether to take her sitting or standing or from the back or the front or fast or slow. The instant June’s lower half is exposed for the taking its all I can do. With my jeans jangling around, I hoist her forward until my arms can wind themselves aggressively around her bent legs and yank her to me, cock piercing her sopping wet pussy like a brush into the freshest paint. Manic, avaricious grunts pour freely as I possessively pound the soaked territory, boorishly spreading around the juices on every furious pump. My mouth twitches to do the praising I love to do but an uncontrolled primordial force cuts off my ability. Shoves my head forward to rest it on her flexed feet. Pushes me to dig my arms into her flesh wanting – no – needing for her to see the bruises at breakfast.