Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103753 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103753 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
The very last of my contractions subsides. I feel his cock swell inside of me. Pulling my hips down hard, my eyes meet his as he silently goes through his release, stomach clenching, never taking his soft brown eyes off mine.
Panting fills my room. Neither one of us makes an effort to disconnect. The thought of not having him inside of me right now makes my stomach dip in anxiety. As if he senses this, he rolls us over so I lie on my back. Never leaving my body, he rests his forehead in the crook of my neck, kissing my collarbone, and my body relaxes completely.
Wrapping my arms around him, I grip the back of his neck with one hand, the other stroking his hair. My arms wrap around Twitch, and his unconsciously squeeze me tightly.
I could do this forever.
That was my last thought before I fell asleep.
Making my way into work, I feel the eyes of people beaming at me like lasers, clearly confused at the obvious spring in my step.
“Good morning everyone,” I greet with a sly smile on my face. I’m pretty darn sure the thought on my co-workers minds is, “Well, shit. Somebody got the business.”
And I did get the business.
Twitch is very good at giving me the business. But last night, it was more.
He gave me control of something he’s not used to passing the reins on. And what’s more is he didn’t sweat it. He didn’t get angry or frustrated. He showed me in his own subtle way that he trusts me. Which is a bucket load of awesome.
And it was amazing. It was also extremely emotional. Like watching a baby turtle hatch and make its way to the ocean on its own. It was slow. We took our time. But it was totally worth it.
If I had the energy to, I would’ve clapped and cheered at the end of it.
You can’t rush the progression of a person. It has to be done in their own time. You can push a person to change, but the only time the change will stick is when it’s something they want to achieve on their own.
When I woke this morning alone, it took me a while to get my suddenly-miserable ass out of bed. I made my way into the kitchen and saw a folded piece of paper taped onto the refrigerator door. Narrowing my eyes at the piece of paper, I looked left then right, making sure I wasn’t being watched, then plucked the paper from the door and opened it.
And what I saw lifted my mood from a Class A glum chum to a Class B rainbow fairy.
And rainbow fairies are pretty damn happy.
Well, if they’re not, they should be. They make rainbows for chrissakes!
Reading the note a second time, I leaned my hip on the kitchen counter and sighed.
Dinner. 6pm. Staying with me tonight. I’ll send a car. Dress nice.
Chuckling, I looked down at the command I’m given almost every time we’re together.
Dress nice.
I desperately needed to go shopping. Which is why I text Nikki, asking her to meet me for lunch.
Walking into my office, I stop in my track when I see Michael sitting behind my desk. Glaring at him, my fists ball by my sides and I grit my teeth. “You’d better have a good reason for skipping school, Mickey.”
He grins, “Pupil free-day.”
My steam evaporates and I stroll all the way into my office, “Well, that’s a pretty good reason, I’d say.” Winking at him, I walk all the way over to him and sigh. Twitch told me he’d been roughed up. He also told me he dealt with it. When I asked what had happened, he threw seriousness in my face and said in dead calm, “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”
That obviously made me feel about as relaxed as a person with a boil on their eye.
Taking Michael’s face in my hands, I look down at him with sad eyes. “Let me look at you, sweetie.”
His nose swollen and crooked, his lip cut at the left side, and his eye black but the swelling seeming to have gone, I decide to play it cool and not show just how much I’m freaking out over the fact that one of my kids was beaten. And beaten good.
Still cupping his cheek, I run a hand through his now short and neat do. “You okay?”
His eyes close at the feel of my fingers in his hair.
My chest pangs.
How long has it been since someone has shown Michael motherly affection?
My guess is a long stinking time.
Eyes closed, he mumbles, “I’m good. Nothing I haven’t been through before. I love my job.”
That makes me smile. A genuine smile.
Releasing him from my clutches, I cluck, “Good! No, great! How’s your new boss?”
Okay. I’m officially fishing for information. Can you blame me?