Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Jesus,” he gasps as I hold him tightly, my own orgasm skittering up and down my spine.
“Understatement,” I pant, rotating my hips, prolonging the pleasure.
Foster buries his face in my neck and presses his lips there. “Fuck that was incredible.” He shudders again and a sense of tenderness and triumph sweeps through me that I could make him feel so good. “We are totally doing that again as soon as I regain feeling in my body.”
Laughing, I squeeze him tight in an affectionate hug. “I’m down for that.”
Foster lifts up slightly, presses a quick kiss to my forehead. “Be right back for some cuddling.”
He withdraws with a groan of disappointment and I get under the covers as he walks into his bathroom to dispose of the condom, the loss of his body heat chilling my skin. When he returns, he slips under with me, rolling me to my side and pulling me back into the spoon of his body. His skin is warm, his embrace comforting.
Too comforting. I could get used to it and I don’t know if I have any business even thinking of a future like that. I’m naturally family-oriented, desire the commitment and monogamy, want children of my own. In ordinary circumstances, this soon into a relationship, I don’t think about those things. It’s impossible to think about those things because you can’t possibly know if a man is cut out to be that way.
Except… I do know that Foster fits the mold of what I’d want in a partner. I’ve observed it firsthand—how he fought for his daughter, how he works his ass off to make her new life work, and in the daily way he shows her love and tenderness. He’s shown it to me as well.
I push those thoughts away because frankly, they scare me. Not because I’m afraid of a serious relationship or a permanent future with someone. They scare me because a child is involved. Bowie Jane has been through a lot and while she’s proven herself strong and resilient and was completely receptive to her father asking me out, this has suddenly become a lot deeper than anticipated.
And to be honest… I’m not sure either one of us really thought too hard about the long-term repercussions if things got serious. Not sure we really thought about what would happen if they didn’t get serious.
Guilt sweeps over me that I didn’t think longer or harder on this. I was a bit too swept up in the attraction and flattery of being desired by Foster. I’ve been too intrigued because he is genuinely a good man, so it has made trusting all of this so much easier.
“I’d love to know what’s got you so worked up,” Foster murmurs.
My neck twists in an attempt to look over my shoulder at him. “What? How did you—”
“Your entire body stiffened and you’re far too quiet to be the Mazzy Archer I adore.”
I adore.
“Why do you have to say things like that when I’m having a crisis of conscience about things?” I grumble.
“I do adore you,” he reiterates. “And why is your conscience rearing its ugly head?”
“Because of Bowie Jane.”
“No,” he says adamantly. “Not about her. About something you’re feeling.”
“I’m wondering if this is just all too rushed and if we’re doing her a disservice.”
I expect a flat-out denial. I expect reassurances. I expect Foster to defend his daughter’s maturity and remind me that we did due diligence with Bowie Jane before we embarked on this.
But his silence is telling.
Finally, he says, “I always worry about Bowie Jane. I always wonder if I make good decisions as a parent. I fret constantly over her security and I often feel like a failure.”
I spin in his arms. He loosens his hold to allow this and when we’re face-to-face, I chastise him. “You’re an amazing father. Bowie Jane couldn’t be luckier.”
“But did we rush?” he asks, circling back to my original concern. “I can’t say if we did or not because I’ve seen no negative fallout yet. By all accounts, Bowie Jane is as well-adjusted as she can be. Will that be the case tomorrow? Next week? I don’t know that either. So our choices are to keep pushing this forward—this thing between you and me—or we abandon it before things get too deep.”
“They’re already too deep.”
He doesn’t deny it, merely stares at me expectantly, leaving the ball in my court. His unwillingness to pull away tells me exactly how he feels, and it makes me feel marginally better because I trust Foster. He’d never do anything to hurt his daughter and he’s taken all the steps necessary to make sure he was fully transparent with her so she understood.
“Come here,” Foster murmurs, pulling me in close. I turn my head, place my cheek against his chest and am lulled into security by the steady drum of his heartbeat and how he holds me. His hand strokes my lower back, soothing me with touch, and before long my eyelids grow heavy.