Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Is that a soft moan?
No. I can’t be so lucky.
“I don’t understand this,” she says. “I don’t understand what’s between us.”
I’m obsessed with you. I want to put my child in your belly.
The mere fact that you exist drives me borderline insane.
But I’m going to keep my pants zipped if it kills me. Freshman year, Ayla stood in front of the class and gave a presentation about how she plans to travel across Europe, float in the Dead Sea, hike Machu Pichu. I see those aspirations in her eyes every day. Her dreams are going to take her away from me in the not-too-distant future. If I get her pregnant, I will crush those dreams. My father did it to my mother. Saddled her with a baby on purpose, so she would never be able to leave this town. My grandfather did it to my grandmother.
It's a Porter curse—and I won’t inflict it on my angel.
With every ounce of willpower in my blood, I push away from her and turn my back, my voice thicker than molasses. “It’s probably for the best that you don’t understand what’s between us, Ayla. Just know that if you have a problem, you can come to me and I will fix it.” I look back at her over my shoulder, needing to make sure she grasps the gravity of what I’m telling her. “That will always be the case. Until I’m dead and buried. Understand?”
Her chest puffs quicker. “Why?”
“Ayla.” I shake my head, silently begging her to drop the subject. If I inform her of the depths of my feelings, if I speak them out loud, they’ll consume me. And I’ll consume her. “Let me take a look under the hood. Can you pop the latch?”
She shakes herself free of her seeming trance. “But…it’s just my bumper that’s dented.”
“You said you braked, angel.”
She chews her lip. “I could be mistaken.”
“If you said you braked, I believe you. Something else could be wrong.”
“Oh. I…thanks.” I’m surprised to find gratitude in her eyes as she leans into the passenger side to open the hood. “Thanks for believing me.”
Who wouldn’t believe anything that comes out of this girl’s mouth? She’s honest and forthright. She’s innocence personified. I start to question her, but the hood springs up. After a short hesitation, I lift it the remaining distance, using the metal arm to keep it aloft. I check her fluids, visually scanning for anything amiss. Nothing jumps out at me, so I jack up the car slightly and slide beneath the rear on my wheel board.
Her brakes are shot.
I can see it immediately.
My blood runs cold calculating how long she’s been driving with them like this.
Trying to keep my composure, I wheel back out from beneath the Volvo and stand up, cleaning my hands off on the rag from my back pocket. “Ayla, it’s your brakes. You’re going to need new ones.”
Her breath leaves her in a giant rush. “How much is that going to cost?” She doesn’t even give me a chance to respond before she’s pacing and wringing her hands. “It’s going to be a fortune, isn’t it? Especially including the bumper. My father is going to be so disappointed in me. He fixed it up and gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday. This car was my mother’s. This is all I have of hers. He’s never trusted me with anything this important.”
Why the hell not?
This is not the first time I’ve had negative thoughts about her father. The first time was when I found Ayla’s mother’s car under a bunch of garbage in their shed. I couldn’t stop myself from driving it out of there. Fixing it up for Ayla. No matter who got the credit.
I just wanted her to be happy.
“Your brakes weren’t working properly, Ayla. That’s why you hit the pole.” The blame she’s placing on herself makes my chest ache. “It’s not your fault.”
“I can’t afford to fix the bumper, let alone the brakes.” Before I know what’s happening, she’s lunging for the driver’s side. “I shouldn’t even have come here. I can’t pay you—"
“Whoa whoa whoa.” I catch her around the waist at the last second, lifting her feet off the ground. I carry her to the front of the car, savoring every second of her back against my chest, and I settle her backside onto the hood. Allowing my hips to occupy the space between the open V of her thighs is a monumental mistake, but it’s one my body makes without consulting me. I’m a large man, so my lower body presses open her legs even wider than I anticipate and…fuck. Fuck.
It happens. I see her panties.
Sheer beige ones.
Her virgin slit is visible through the thin mesh and I shudder, my testosterone clamoring so loudly it almost drowns out the voice of reason.