Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 151845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
I fill their water bowl and try to distract Winston from his fretting with a pig’s ear. He turns his nose up and nuzzles Clementine. ‘You should eat. I’ve only got one ankle biter and it’s fucking exhausting. You need to keep up your strength, because something tells me there’s more than one pup in there.’ Jesus, looking at the size of Clementine, there could be an army of them. I place the treat next to his paw and get myself a whisky. ‘See you in the morning, guys.’ I flick the light off and bump into Dorothy on my way out the kitchen. ‘Gramps okay?’ I ask.
‘Tired,’ she confirms, pulling her fascinator from her hair. It’s about time. Her vibrant headwear – a mix of a million different coloured spring flowers – clashes terribly with her blue rinse. I’ve had to put my shades on every time I’ve looked at her today. ‘It’s been a long day, but so wonderful!’
‘It has,’ I agree. ‘Thank you for keeping tabs on Winston and Clementine.’ She’s been fussing over them all day, going back and forth to the kitchen to make sure both are well.
‘She’s glowing,’ Mrs Potts remarks. ‘Positively glowing.’
‘Winston isn’t.’ I laugh, taking a swig of my Haig.
‘He’s a worry-wart.’ She waves a hand flippantly and pulls her giant carpet bag onto her arm. ‘I should be going.’
‘It’s late, Dorothy.’ I’m not letting her get herself home at this hour, and I’ve drunk too much to drive her. ‘Use the spare room, please.’ I walk past her before she can refuse.
‘If you insist,’ she sings happily as she gets on her way to the spare room. ‘See you in the morning.’
‘Good night, Dorothy.’ I take the stairs to our private space, rounding the steps quietly, listening for any signs that George might delay my plan. It’s quiet. Beautifully fucking quiet. I grin and knock back the last of my drink, pushing through the door. I spot her immediately, standing at the foot of the glass wall looking over our grand hall, the train of her dress spread perfectly around her. She looks like a fucking goddess. Good God, just look at her. My wife. The mother of my boy. ‘You’re a lucky fucking man, Becker Hunt,’ I whisper to myself, placing my glass down blindly and approaching her quietly, seeing her shoulders rise as I near. She feels me.
‘Boo,’ I whisper, slipping an arm around her waist and tugging her back. Our bodies meet and mould together, her perfect arse pushing into my groin. ‘I have something for you.’
She pushes her backside into me further. ‘I can feel it,’ she replies huskily.
Biting at her ear, I lick the outer shell and relish in her shudders. ‘Soon,’ I promise. ‘Come.’ I take her hand and pull her towards the door.
‘Where are we going?’ she asks, looking back to George’s nursery area.
‘Somewhere.’
‘But he might wake.’
I grab the intercom as I pass the shelving unit that separates our bedroom. ‘He’ll be fine.’
She comes willingly, following a few steps behind as I lead her back down to The Haven and through the corridors towards the underground garage. ‘Becker, where are we going?’ she asks again, but I ignore her pleas for information, pulling her on silently. When we reach the door to the garage, I let us in and smile as I hold it open for her. She’s frowning. Picking up the bottom of her dress, she wanders in, keeping suspicious eyes on me. ‘What are we doing in the garage?’
‘Shhhh,’ I order, holding my finger to my lips. I see the hollows of her cheeks pulse on an impatient bite. ‘This way.’ I position her carefully at the back of the only car in the garage that’s concealed by sheeting.
‘Wait,’ she says, looking to the side and noticing Gloria and my gorgeous vintage Ferrari uncovered. ‘If your favourite women are there, then what’s under here?’ she points to the car before her.
‘This, princess, is your wedding present.’ I take the sheet and pull it off, relishing in the gasp she releases. ‘Happy wedding day, Mrs Hunt.’
‘You bought me a Ferrari?’ She looks at me with wide eyes. ‘Becker!’
‘Yes, and it’s black.’ I point out the obvious. ‘Because, you know, my red one clashes with your hair.’
She laughs and runs to the driver’s side, peeking inside. ‘You trust me with it?’
I roll my eyes. This gorgeous woman has managed to scratch every car I own getting them in and out of the garage. It got to the point I had to ban her from driving all except the Audi. I never did get it repaired. There was no point until she got the hang of the hydraulic lifts. I think that day has finally come. There’s been no new scratches on the Audi for over a year, and she’s nagged me constantly to drive my pretty red Ferrari. My face each time she asked told her the answer. ‘I trust you with it,’ I confirm, joining her by the car.