Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 48017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Makes me want to take her again. To keep filling her until it’s running down her legs.
Those babies I’ve been trying to put inside her for months now.
She’d have to triple, quadruple in size before she was anywhere near as big as I am, so I just can’t see it.
To me, she’s tiny. Curvy, but still tiny.
Thinking about her curves, and the show she just gave me fresh in my mind, I groan to myself helplessly.
Another raging hard on to contend with.
See?
Even just thinking about her has the same effect as touching her, seeing her.
I finish hanging her picture, straightening it, and take a few steps back to make sure it’s just right.
The whole house is quiet now. Too quiet.
I hate it when I say the dumbest thing instead of just holding her or finding the right words.
I can usually sense how she’s feeling, but I’m no wordsmith, and I always say the first thing that pops into my head.
Coming off as insensitive or just making her more upset most of the time, lately anyway.
I figure I’ll get some dinner cooking, maybe a decent meal and a hot bath afterward will make her feel—
Ashlee’s screaming from the bathroom sees me dropping everything I’m holding, bounding down the hall and into the bathroom in three seconds flat.
She’s sitting on the edge of the tub, her chin to her chest.
Crying.
I’m on my knees in front of her in another second, holding her by the waist and lifting her chin with my thumb so I can see her eyes.
“Baby, what is it? What’s wrong?” I ask, more than worried now.
I’m fucking scared.
She puts a hand to my face. Stroking my cheek as she smiles softly. Her tears shining on her cheeks, but she’s not sad.
They’re tears of joy.
I’m confused, as she holds up what looks like a pen or a thermometer in front of my eyes.
“It’s not the detergent,” she says again, her smile widening but I’m worried she might be having some kind of breakdown, even a stroke.
She notices my confused look and her whole body starts to shake with silent laughter as she holds it up, whatever it is closer in front of my eyes.
I take it from her, and letting out a little sound of my own I realize what it is.
A pregnancy test, with a big blue plus sign on it.
I feel my heart swell so big it feels like it’ll burst. I love her so much.
It all makes sense now. Her moods swings, my stupid questions annoying her. The sex we’ve been having (which is incredible. Better each time I might add), plus her imagined weight gain, which I guess I have to realize might be real after all if she’s carrying our baby.
I hug her, hard. Until I remember and relax my grip. I don’t want to hurt her or the baby, but I’m so damned happy I don’t know what else to do.
Except…
“Wait right here,” I order, kissing her quickly to prove my point. Hoping she stays put until I get back.
I’ve been waiting for the right time, the perfect moment, and now is as good a time as any if not perfect.
The little velvet box is in a plastic baggie at the bottom of my toolbox. The one place I know she’d never look or come across by accident.
I watch my shaking hands tear it from the plastic and race back to her, still sitting on the edge of the tub, staring in amazement at the test and holding her belly with a glow of newfound meaning.
I kneel down in front of her again, on one knee this time, and open the lid of the box.
The ring I bought the week after meeting her, knowing she’s the only one I’ll ever love and marry in this life.
“Just say yes,” is all I can manage, the emotions running through me too much to even make proper words right now.
Her eyes widen for a moment on the ring, then focus on mine. Her tears dry instantly and she sniffs a little before nodding her head straight away.
“Yes. Yes Brandon, just… Yes,” she says, and with both our hands shaking a little, I slide the ring onto her finger.
Sealing it with a kiss and guaranteeing that no child of ours will come into the world without a loving, married mom and a dad.
A proper family.
The one thing we’ve never had ourselves but can only give each other.
“Oh, Brandon. I love you so much,” she sighs.
“I wish there was a stronger word, baby,” I whisper to her. “Because I’d shout it from the rooftops. I’d carve it in stone ten feet high. I love you more,” I tell her.
Tell them both, leaning down to kiss her belly. Kissing the tiny life already inside her before joining my lips to hers.