Total pages in book: 199
Estimated words: 200280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1001(@200wpm)___ 801(@250wpm)___ 668(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1001(@200wpm)___ 801(@250wpm)___ 668(@300wpm)
“Yes.”
“So here I am, baby,” he says with a threatening tone. “Salivating over you. Sniffing around your skirts like an animal. Beating at my chest and snapping my teeth at any asshole that comes near you. But remember what I told you about animals, about bulls?”
“Yes,” I lick my lips, “You told me that I shouldn’t p-provoke them.”
“Exactly. Because I’m already half a beast for you, an angry bull, and if you keep provoking me, I’m going to be worse than any animal you’ve ever known.”
My panties are wet.
My pussy is flooded.
And I don’t think I can take another second of being separated from him. “So then why won’t you —”
“Now,” he says, stepping away from me. “I want you to go to sleep because you’ve had enough fucking excitement for one night and I need to go for a run until I can’t fucking think.”
“But you —”
This time, I can’t speak because I’m bent halfway down and throwing up all over the floor.
Which is what I keep doing for the next several weeks.
Chapter Thirty-One
Her Beautiful Thorn
My wife.
She’s my wife.
And it’s getting harder and harder to stay away from her.
Harder and harder to not touch her. To not make her mine, not only on paper but in life too.
To not do that one act that will dry the ink on paper and seal the deal in every sense.
Every day that passes I remind myself of the reasons why I need to keep my distance:
1. I’m not the guy for her.
2. I wouldn’t even know how to be the guy for her. The guy who can give her all the things she wants and make her happy.
3. She doesn’t want anything from me anyway.
4. And she shouldn’t because I’m lying to her.
5. I tricked her into marrying me.
Yes, it was necessary at the time. To keep my anger in check. To keep my jealousy at bay. Although I can’t say making her my wife has changed much of anything. I get still as angry, as jealous at the thought of Ezra fucking Vandekamp, as I used to before she signed those papers.
Actually it’s worse now.
Mostly because she’s my wife and I can’t tell anyone. I can’t shout it off the rooftops like I want to. I can’t write it on the walls and carve it into the ground. I can’t spray paint it on every building I pass.
My wife. My wife. My wife.
Which once again makes me think that my anger may really be a problem.
That my anger may destroy everything, if I’m not careful.
That maybe, just maybe, I should open up and talk to Dr. Mayberry. I have to see her anyway, right? Might as well talk to her and use her legendary wisdom that everyone keeps telling me about. Especially now that I’m allowed back into practice.
Maybe the good doctor can give me some pointers.
How to tell your wife that she’s your wife now? And how to stop her from running away from me?
Because when she finds out she’s going to run; I know that.
She’s going to take our babies away from me and I don’t think I could blame her.
She’s already going to leave one day — and yes, I still remember my promise of letting her go when she does — and this will only send her away faster.
So not touching her, not taking this one last thing from her is my puny effort to do the right thing. Not that it’s going to matter but when you do the wrong thing — the wrongest thing that anyone could ever do to someone — doing the right thing kinda becomes your only choice.
Besides, I’m not going to take advantage of her when she’s like this.
Sick and weak.
This first trimester is hard for her. She’s throwing up all the time, barely able to keep any food in her. She’s lost weight. She’s pale and lethargic. Her boobs hurt, she says. She can’t stand the smell of her once-favorite foods. She cries at the drop of a hat. Which I think is not only hormonal. I think it’s also because her asshole of a brother hasn’t come around yet and I could fucking kill him for that. For putting her through such a hard time in her condition.
Not to mention, she hates cotton candy with a passion.
The only thing that remotely gives her relief is smelling orange peels.
She keeps them on her nightstand and every time she gets a bout of nausea, she sniffs them like a junkie. So I’ve filled our cabin with oranges. She also likes evening walks in crisp air, so I make sure to be home after practice in time to take her on one. I make sure to hold her hand and support her when she gets dizzy and shaky. Which is also happening a lot these days.