Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
I held up my hands for him to inspect more closely.
“They’re swollen again,” I told him. “I couldn’t get any of them on today.”
And there were a lot.
As each year passed that we were married, Zee would buy me a ring. Since two of those years I was pregnant, some of them were even on the larger side so they would fit me.
But this pregnancy?
It was definitely worse than all the rest.
I was tired more often. I was irritable all the time, and Zee had to be a saint or something because I hadn’t had sex with him in six months.
Not because I hadn’t wanted to, but because I was too nauseous. All the damn time.
Any time he started to get on top of me, or I started to make my move on him, the nausea would hit. At this point, he’d stopped trying.
I missed him.
Missed the way he felt inside of me.
Just thinking about it made me want to jump him.
I dropped the towel back into the dryer and walked to the laundry room door. Once I looked both ways, I closed it quietly and then locked it.
But just as I walked over to Zee and started to take off my shirt, the doorknob jiggled and a whining voice said, “Mom! Dad! You should come see what your son is doing!”
Aggie’s voice stopped us both cold, and I sighed.
“Next time,” he growled. “We make sure they’re all otherwise occupied.”
I laughed, throwing my arms around him and holding him tight.
“I love you, Ezekiel McGrew!”
He placed a kiss on my cheek. “I love you more, Jubilee McGrew.”
I looked down at our hands wrapped around each other, and I spotted the tattoo that he’d not only drawn for me but also tattooed permanently onto my body.
It was a cover-up of our scars, so to speak.
Well, not really.
More like an enhancement.
He’d lined the scars with beautiful colors, starting at a dark, vivid blue at the top, and dimming into an almost icy blue at the bottom. Then he’d had a good friend of his tattoo the same design on his, starting with the vivid blue on top, fading into the light, icy blue at the bottom.
When we held hands, it looked like mine connected with his, and vice versa.
Though, technically it did.
And around my tattoo on my hand was a name—Annmarie. On his hand was also a name—Eitan.
It was, by far, my most favorite tattoo that he’d ever done for me.
I had many tattoos.
There was another one on the top curve of my ass, and another on the inside of one thigh.
Pretty much when he needed a human canvas, I was it for him.
And I always would be.
Because, despite our differences, we were made for each other.
“Mommy, I’m serwiwous!”
“Better go, baby,” I whispered. “I have some laundry to do.”
He growled into my neck. “I love when you talk dirty to me.”