Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
Clothes tumbled to the floor, shoes, keys, my purse.
It all happened in a blur.
Rowan had lowered me to the floor at some point, a soft rug underneath my back.
We were both half clothed, exposed just enough so his cock was pressing against my soaking pussy.
Rowan’s face was inches away from mine. “Now I’m gonna think of this sweet pussy every time I walk through the front door,” he growled, pushing into me.
I gripped on to him, crying out in pleasure.
“Gonna think of you clenching around me, taking me like a good fuckin’ girl,” he grunted as he moved inside of me, the cords of his neck straining.
It was safe to say that I fucking loved Rowan’s house so far.
We eventually made it to the living room, our clothes all the way off for round two.
It was only after I’d slipped on his tee to use the bathroom—Rowan scrambled my brain delightfully with multiple orgasms but not enough for me to forget about preventing a UTI—that I actually got to look around his house.
And it was wonderful.
Maggie greeted me on my way to the bathroom, having been released from the mud room where she’d been hanging out while we had sex around the house.
She’d only vaguely acknowledged her dad when he let her out, making a beeline straight for me, jumping around in excitement to see me.
I was sufficiently excited to see her too, having grown almost as fond of the dog as I had her master.
Once I’d greeted her with head scratches and nose nuzzles, I went to use the facilities.
The bathroom downstairs was done in dark grays, all tiled with black fixtures. Everything else in the house was in a similar color scheme, with pops of white on the comfortable looking, slipcovered sofas cluttered with pillows in the living area. I guessed his mother picked those out. I couldn’t imagine Rowan choosing tasteful pillows to complement the masculine, refined coastal vibe of the house.
The floors were polished hardwood. The living and kitchen areas were open plan with an impressive kitchen complete with breakfast bar to the left and a cozy living area with no TV, just a fireplace and floor to ceiling bookshelves. The bookshelves were stuffed, and from a quick glance, they looked well used and well loved. I tried to imagine Rowan sitting there reading. He hadn’t read in my presence. Though we weren’t exactly sitting in bed reading together. I wanted that, though. That intimacy. I figured he was the kind of guy to bend spines, dog ear books, mark them as his.
As much as I wanted to inspect the bookshelves, I was anxious to catalog every inch of the place.
What impressed me the most were the windows. The entire back of the house was windows. The sea moved right outside them, as if we were on a boat instead of on dry land. I walked out to where the wraparound porch had comfy looking chairs and stairs leading directly onto the sand.
“This is amazing,” I told Rowan, who was pouring us wine at his bar area—shirtless, it was important to say. When done, he pulled my back to his front and handed me my glass of wine.
I took it gratefully, leaning back into him while staring at the ocean. The sky was darkening, the days getting shorter as we led into winter.
The holiday season.
It was always a busy time for me, especially in the days leading up to Thanksgiving and Christmas since I started cooking a lot of pies and cakes for people to bring to family gatherings.
I loved the fall. Loved to see Main Street decorated with lights, the sky turning moodier, the air crisp.
I loved the hot chocolates I served at the bakery, almost thick enough to be classed as a soup, inspired by the famous Angelina’s hot chocolate in Paris that almost single-handedly made me gain five pounds.
I loved curling up with a good book while it stormed outside, my house encasing me in a warm hug.
Loved the fire pit nights with my girlfriends.
The holidays themselves were more complicated.
There were no family gatherings for me. I’d never experienced one in my life. No Christmas dinner surrounded by family, no home that smelled of turkey and stuffing. Not even a Christmas tree.
Though I loved to decorate and used any excuse to, I did not do it for the holidays. Not when they reminded me of what I didn’t have.
Most years, Tina, Fiona, Tiffany and I ate Thanksgiving dinner together, and then Fiona and I spent Christmas together since Tina and Tiffany spent it with Tina’s family. Ansel was there sometimes, but only if he could get away. Only if he’d found the energy to battle with our mother, finagle his way out of whatever she had planned.
Maybe that was why I was so bitter about the holidays… because I didn’t get my brother on those days that were meant to be about family, because my toxic mother had her claws in much too deep.