Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 36964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
“You’re welcome, Amelie. I’ll make sure everything goes smoothly for your mom and the court hearing, should it even go that far. I have a feeling with the case I present, it’ll be settled, and then Noah, his attorney, and the presiding judge will be more than likely prosecuted federally, meaning my job may be done in the next week or so.” Sylvester is a man of action, not so much words, which is fine with me. He can also be a little intimidating, and from what Boston told me, the only soft spot he has is for his secretary. There’s some juicy gossip no one is talking about. Maybe when we eventually go to Boston’s hometown, meet his brothers and their women, I can get the tea.
“Even better. Mom, I’ll manage the front until the new shift comes on. Boston, I’ll see you later.” Boston’s hand encompasses mine, pulling me down until his mouth is at my ear. My body lights up, and while part of me wants to blame the pregnancy-induced hormones, I can’t. It’s Boston. It’s always Boston.
“Keep your ass planted on the barstool I placed behind the desk. I come out and see you standing, your ass is going to feel the delicious sting of my palm, beautiful,” he whispers his threat in my ear. My libido soars, and I already know I’m going to defy him. Reaping the rewards in the form of another spectacular orgasm definitely has its appeal.
TWENTY-THREE
Amelie
One Month Later
“That was not in the What to Expect book.” Boston acts like he’s the one on the table, legs spread, feet settling in stirrups while a look-alike of a dildo is sliding inside his vagina, condom included. Nope, he’s sitting in the chair, much like last month, in slacks and a button-down shirt, ever the wealthy businessman. Unlike the state of my undress, a gown wrapped around my body and sheet over my lap as we wait for the ultrasound tech to come back in.
“I’m going to light that book on fire. That, or I’m going to throw it at your head. Never in my life did I think Boston Wescott would be the one who is proverbially shivering in his boots over an ultrasound or any other little nuance,” I tell him. Boston and that stupid book, bless Parker’s wife if she’s dealing with him like I am Boston and boy am I going to give her all the ammunition I can for her to use when she’s pregnant and Parker suddenly starts acting like Boston.
“Always threatening bodily harm, then changing your tune the moment my mouth, hands, or cock come out to play.” I did the unthinkable—I gave in, entirely too easily. There wasn’t enough room for Boston to stay in my room at the Inn and work there as well. His building is currently in the beginning stages of renovations and will take way too long for him to continue working at a small table. So, since the thought of not sleeping with Boston every night wasn’t what I wanted, nor did he, I moved out of the Inn. With that came on an off-switch I had no idea my body needed.
“Boston, sshh!” Thankfully, we’re saved from any more conversation when the ultrasound tech knocks on the door.
“Are you ready to see your baby?” she asks cheerily. In the past month, life has literally been smooth sailing, almost to the point that you know the other shoe is going to land in a pile of shit, or however that stupid saying goes.
“Yes, so much,” I tell her, watching as she sits down on the stool.
“We won’t be able to find out the sex today, will we?” Boston asks. I close my eyes as I lie back on the table, scooting down until my ass is almost hanging off the ledge. He knows very well we won’t be able to determine the sex yet. His stupid book gives him a play-by-play, and while he’s already itching to ask for the bloodwork in order to know the sex of our child, I’d rather wait. I’m not above getting my own way either.
“No, that would be at your next ultrasound appointment. Mom, this is going to be cold, I’m sorry.” She lubes up the probe. Boston grunts. The thought of a toy sliding inside me is not his idea of fun. Mine either, buddy. It’s not like I’m getting an ounce of sexual enjoyment out of this.
“That’s okay. It’ll be worth it. Boston, come hold my hand?” Maybe keeping him away from my legs and up by my head will calm his attitude down; all hopes of him staying seated were thrown out the window.
“I’m going to do a few measurements before we’ll get to the fun parts.” The room is quiet. Boston’s eyes are focused on the screen, squinting at the tiny plum-sized baby. Another one of his doings was putting an app on each of our phones, giving us a weekly reminder on the development, size, and what to expect, a version of that damn book he keeps on the coffee table in the living room. Believe me, I’ve tried to hide it, but he figures out where it is instantly, almost like he has eyes in the back of his head or cameras in the house, which I know he doesn’t. I even threw it in the trash can. He dug it out, used sanitizing wipes, and pretended I wasn’t standing there with my hands on my hips while trying not to laugh at his antics. I was ready to relentlessly tease him, even though I know Boston is coming from a good place, making sure he’s nothing like his father. All of those thoughts ended when he walked up to me, kissed me until I breathless before carrying on with his reading material.