Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
“For our public appearance test.” Adjusting the bulge in his pants, he says, “Now, how about some dinner?”
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Saverio
We’re quiet during our meal. I give Anya time to come to grips with what went down. I want her to be clear about my intentions and where I’m planning on taking this arrangement, which, in good time, will be straight to my bed.
When I come out of the bathroom after showering and dressing in pajama bottoms, she’s curled up under the covers, fast asleep. Her body is so small she looks lost on the king size mattress. I go over and brush a curl from her forehead, admiring her stunning features. With that peaches-and-cream complexion, she appears like a princess straight from a fairytale, like one of those cartoon images in which the character has a flawless skin with a pretty pink blush on her cheeks and a few golden stars dotting her nose. Almost too perfect to be real.
My good girl appears even more innocent in her sleep. She doesn’t stir as I caress the contours of her face. Tenderness steals over me. The tiredness is normal. Her body is going through enormous changes that take their pound of flesh.
The miracle that women are never ceases to fill me with awe. The thought that a little person is growing inside her womb bowls me over every time. It’s both wondrous and fucking terrifying. I want to worship her body for its incredible ability of nurturing life and protect her at the same time from everything that can go wrong. There are shitloads of complications that can happen before and during birth.
The fear and marvel live side by side in my chest. Nothing can happen to my treasure. She’s so goddamn gorgeous. So frail and vulnerable. I’ve always found pregnant women beautiful, but when Anya’s belly grows big with her baby, she’s going to be ethereal. At the idea, an ugly green monster rears its head inside me. Selfishly, I want to lock her up so that only I can enjoy the sight of her. I’ve not even been inside her yet, and I already want to kill any man who dares to look her way.
Pushing aside the violent thoughts that will only agitate me and ruin my rest, I get into bed. I stay on my side, resisting the urge to pull her into my arms lest I wake her.
When my alarm goes off at five, she’s still sleeping like she’s been knocked out cold.
I get up quietly, making sure I don’t disturb her, and dress in the bathroom before leaving for my morning jog and workout in the gym.
She’s having breakfast in the kitchen when I return.
“Sleep well?” I ask, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.
“Yes.” She gives me a shy look. “I didn’t hear you come to bed.”
I unscrew the cap and take a long drink. “You slept deeply.”
She frowns. “For a change.”
“Maybe the vitamins are helping already.”
The puzzled look remains on her face. “Maybe.”
“I’ll drive you to work. Just give me a couple of minutes to shower.”
“Don’t put yourself out,” she says quickly. “Sacrificing your driver is already more than generous.”
I flash her a smile as I grab a piece of toast from her plate on my way to the door and bite into it. “It’s no trouble at all.” Walking from the kitchen, I add, “By the way, we’re going out tonight.”
“Where to?” she calls after me, sounding apprehensive.
“After Dark. Be ready at eight.”
Silence follows me down the hallway.
The strenuous workout did little to alleviate the sexual frustration that leaves me with a permanently hard cock. Not that I’m complaining. On the contrary. After my long unresponsive spell, I’m only too happy that my equipment functions normally again. I relieve my blue balls with a hand job in the shower, thinking of Anya’s tight ass and pert tits as I come in my fist.
I’m downstairs in ten, ready to drive her to work. Instead of taking the car Kevin uses, I opt for the 1967 Chevrolet Corvette L88 Coupe that I keep in the double garage. With a fire-engine red exterior and matching leather seats, it’s one of my favorite toys. Only twenty L88’s were built in 1967. It’s the crown jewel of the Corvette collection. The vintage sports car set me back just under four million.
I open her door, seat her, and fasten her safety belt. After testing the hold to make sure the clip locked properly, I hop in beside her.
Particularly proud of this baby, I ask, “What do you think?”
“Impressive,” she says in a neutral tone.
I start the engine, enjoying the powerful roar of the motor. “Would you like to drive it?”
She looks at me quickly. “You’d let me?”
“Sure, once you get your driver’s license.” At the arch of her brow, I add, “And before you ask how I know you don’t have one, I know everything about you that matters.”