Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 111768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
"I love that sound," he whispers, his voice gritty. "It's the best music in the world."
I wrap my arms around him. "Maybe that should be your ringtone, then."
He laughs, his face nuzzled into my neck. "That wouldn't work."
"Why?"
"Because others would hear it. That sound belongs only to my ears."
He makes love to me then, like only Naz can, alternating between slow and deep and rough and hard, sending me into a tailspin. It's a breath-catching, skin-slapping, soul-capturing kind of love. The man owns me. He consumes me. Every part of me was made for every part of him. It's the kind of love I can't imagine ever living without. It's raw, and real, and it's ours.
It's ours.
It goes on forever.
Life flashes before my eyes.
We're old and gray and happy. We're happy.
Nothing is going to get in our way now.
He shows me that, and I feel it, as he holds me tightly, making love to me. I'm sweaty, and exhausted, by the time it's over. My body is spent from orgasms, and my heart feels like it goes to explode. I say nothing, though, afraid to speak, afraid to offer him any words. Because if I do, I might spew a fucking rainbow. I might spout out the kind of nonsense found in Napoleon's romance novella.
Naz lies on top of me for a moment after he finishes before finally pulling out. He stands up, gathering our clothes, tossing mine to me as I lay on the bed.
"I'm sure now," I manage to say, as I watch Naz getting dressed.
He turns to me. "Yeah?"
I nod as I sit up, clutching a hold of my necklace. "I've got everything I want."
I'm going to tell you a story, a story about a hunter that killed a powerful lion not long ago. The hunter gave no thought to the consequences, gave no thought as to how it would affect the future.
You see, the hunter only cared about one thing... her.
To him, nothing else mattered except for her safety. He would've slaughtered entire prides, caused mass extinction, if it meant saving the one he loved. Because while the hunter might've learned his lesson, while he might've ultimately put down his gun, there's something innate about survival.
Something instinctive about protecting her.
I stand on the second-floor terrace at the back of the beach house, facing the dark blue ocean. The water blends into the night sky, a wall of darkness accentuated by crashing waves. This stretch of beach is quiet, very few strangers ever wandering this way. It's isolated, most of the neighboring houses vacant, used sparingly for vacations.
It's like our own little world out here.
Karissa stands on the beach, barefoot, no longer pregnant. She's wearing a pair of cut-off jean shorts and a flowery bikini top tied around her neck. She's beautiful, her long brown hair whipping in the wind. Even with sand clinging to her sweaty body, stretchmarks marring her tanned skin, she's still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.
I can hear her laughter the whole way up here. It's light and carefree. Happy. She never used to laugh that way. Not before. She's throwing a tennis ball down the beach and watching as Killer excitedly chases after it, showing no fear as he dashes toward the water.
She glances up at the terrace, smiling, as she pushes her hair out of her face. The beach house is two-stories, open and airy, the entire back wall made of glass. We can sit in the living room and look out at the ocean, can lie in bed and stare up at the starry night sky.
Karissa stares at me from her place on the beach, and I stare back, taking in the sight of her in the moonlight. I almost want to go down and join her, but a noise behind me, in the house, rules that out.
Turning, I make my way inside, out of the main bedroom and across the hall, carefully heading into the only other bedroom. It's dim, only a small lamp on, illuminating the white wooden crib by the door. I step to it, pausing as I look down in it.
Looking right at him.
He's wide-awake, his big bright blue eyes open, zeroing in on me the second I appear. He looks a lot like his mother, I think, although Karissa claims he's a miniature version of me. He's quiet, maybe unnaturally so, rarely ever crying.
Happiness seems to radiate off of him.
Fabrizio Michele Vitale
He's three months old today.
He's perfect.
"Hey, little man," I say, reaching toward him. "Shouldn't you be asleep?"
He smiles at the sound of my voice, flashing his toothless grin, and grabs a hold of my pointer finger, wrapping his fist around it. Picking him up, I cradle him in my arms as I walk through the house, rocking him to sleep.
It's so quiet in here.
It's almost too quiet.
I find myself humming.
What can I say? He likes it.
I hear Karissa come inside, hear her approaching. I stop humming and turn to her when she enters the kitchen where I am, but it's too late.
She heard me.
"Just Walking in the Rain."
"Yeah, my mother—"
"I know," she says, tracking sand all over the floor. "Your father told me."
Huh.
Killer runs inside then, coming right into the kitchen, dropping his tennis ball at Karissa's feet.
He turns to me.
He starts growling.
Sighing, I reach up in the cabinet, grabbing a treat and tossing it at him. He silences, eating it.
Karissa laughs. "He's totally got you trained."
"I'm pretty sure it's the other way around."
"Is it?" She raises her eyebrows as she steps toward me. "Come on, Naz, he's been living with you for a while now. He's had plenty of time to acclimate to your presence, but he knows, if he growls, you'll give him a treat."
She reaches up on her tiptoes, kissing me, before snatching the baby from my arms, setting off to feed him. I stand there, considering that, as Killer finishes his treat. As soon as it's gone, he glances up at me.
He starts to growl again.
Son of a bitch.