Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
I whimper and moan, both muffled in the kiss, but when the orgasm rocks through me, I open my eyes, seeing him staring. Watching me.
I roll my hips nice and slow, my lips layered with his as he grips my ass, presses me hard against his groin, and … spills inside of me.
He growls against my mouth, not kissing me back as I leave pecks on his lips and feel him throb between my legs.
He falls back on the bed, taking me with him, and I just want to curl into him for the rest of my life. He wants me. I know he wants me.
Does he love me?
I lean over him, kiss his eyes, between them, and down his cheeks. Taking his mouth, I kiss him, moving over his lips, savoring every second.
I pull back and look down, and for a moment, I swear I see a smile, but then not. He blinks, his expression hardening, and he moves out from under me.
Sitting up, he swings his legs over the bed and picks up his clothes, starting to dress.
I sit cross-legged, holding the sheet up over my body. “Look at me.”
He keeps his back to me. What’s wrong?
“Macon, look at me.”
He shakes his head. “How can you look at me?” he says barely above a whisper.
He rises, pulling on his pants and still not meeting my gaze.
“I’ll always see you,” I say, but my voice is gravelly with tears. “Even when I close my eyes.”I told him that less than two weeks ago.
He sits back down and pulls on his socks and shoes. I cover his back, wrapping my arms around him. “I know you hate me. What she did to you …”
He pulls my arms off him, grabbing his shirt off the nightstand and standing up again. “I knew exactly who you were when you slept next to me all those nights, Krisjen.” I sit back as he slips his arms into the shirt. “When you rode on the back of my bike and sat at my table and fed me and filled my house with your fucking perfume. I knew who you were from the start.”
He still wanted me. Knowing I was her daughter.
Then why doesn’t he say it? Tell me you love me.
How could I not look at him? “I was made for you,” I murmur.
I stare at his back, waiting for a response. Just say it. Please. If he loves me, then everything is okay.
“Just get dressed.” He stands up, leaving his tie but pulling on his jacket. “They’ll take you back to the house.” He faces me as he pulls on his jacket but still doesn’t meet my eyes. “If you don’t sleep with me, you sleep alone,” he says. “You live with us now.”
He starts to leave, and I wrap my arms around my knees. “I’ll get my pillow.”
He stops, his hand on the knob.
I smile, a little sadly.
I’ll be in his bed. I’ll always be in his bed.
I know my mind. He thinks there’s too much baggage, and he thinks I’m too young. But he’s stuck in his bullshit. He feels too guilty to claim me, but he can’t let me go. I don’t want to lose time. Does he want me the way I want him?
I swallow through the tightness in my throat. “I always thought I was some special little shit growing up,” I say.
He still doesn’t face me.
“I was told I was smart,” I tell him. “That I would take on the world and everyone would know who I was. I would be someone great, and no one would be outside my sphere of influence.”
Adults tell every kid they’re significant. We want to believe it.
“But the thing is …” I go on, “I’m not unique. I was never that smart. I’ll never be an astronaut, or the captain of a ship, or a professor of biology or philosophy. I’m not a good athlete, and I’m fine seeing mountains and operas and Alaska just on TV.”
None of that is what I wanted out of life. I want none of what I was taught to want.
“No one will remember me after I’m gone,” I say, “and I’ll never be someone kids learn about in school.”
I drop my eyes, heat covering my cheeks and my pulse racing painfully.
“I just want to love you.” All I can do is whisper. “That, I will do beautifully.”
34
Macon
I leave the room, pulling the door closed hard. I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes, trying to push back the tears. God, I fucking love you.
She’s perfect.
And I know, without a doubt, I shouldn’t keep her. She knows nothing of all the possibilities that are out there for her. She won’t still love me in five years. Was I serious? Do I want a kid with her?