Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 143633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 718(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 479(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 718(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 479(@300wpm)
“I still can’t believe you see me like this,” she said. “You make me sound so stunning and hot. It’s crazy.”
“It’s true, not crazy. It’s exactly how I see you, and exactly as you are.”
“Stop it. You’ll make me blush.”
“You’re already blushing, sweetheart. It’s adorable.”
The kinkiness shone in her eyes at that, my words clearly having an impact.
“I don’t think I want to be adorable right now, I want to be your slut, like I am right here, on the pages.”
She didn’t get any argument from me. My cock did the talking, recreating the scene over the coffee table while she moaned like the bitch I’d portrayed her as, the word SLUT in capital letters right the way across her tits.
My goddess still had the word displayed proudly as I smoked my post coital cigarette. She sat back down at the table and read the scene a second time over, with my cum still dripping out of her asshole. I’d spurted a lot inside her. Her ass was welcome to it today, since I really needed to hold back from filling her pussy up at every opportunity. Ovulation calendars only work so well, and good fortune wouldn’t last for ever. The last thing Rosie needed on her journey was a baby in the mix before she’d even hit her twenties. I wanted to redress the responsibilities she’d faced through her life, not add more to them.
“Lola and Peter are coming here on Saturday? For dinner?” I asked as we ate my chicken paella a short while later. “They are sure they want to visit us, and not head out?”
“Yeah, very sure. They’re looking forward to it. They definitely want to come here.”
“Fine. Then they are very welcome.”
I understood Peter’s reservations about public life all too well. I wouldn’t have wanted to step out within a sixty-mile radius of Oxford once the world heard of my character deficiencies. I could handle being with Rosie in public throughout Worcester, because the emotional impact was on her in her community, not on me, but for a guy like Peter, who sounded as though he’d been bred, born and raised in the same street in Dine’s Green over forty years ago, the condemnation must have taken its toll.
Their upcoming appearance did bring some other considerations to mind. I cast my eyes around our home, and it reinforced just how threadbare it was. I’d only ever planned that my residence would be short-lived. I’d added new lamps, cushions, bedding and kitchen utensils, yes, but everything else remained the same. Battered and bare.
Rosie was beginning to read my mind.
“They won’t give a shit about this place. They won’t expect to be walking into the Ritz.”
“No, I’m sure they won’t, but there is quite a gulf.”
“Honestly, they won’t care.”
She was almost certainly right, but my own sense of pride was returning, all thanks to her. I wanted to show some of the facets of myself I’d long given up on. It felt as though it was time to take the next step in getting my life in order – since I’d now be living one. I wanted to be a good host, in an environment well taken care of.
I made Rosie porridge before she left for college next morning, but rather than call up my WIP, I started browsing online. I’d never been a wizard of flat pack furniture. In fact, my efforts would likely look considerably worse than the furniture I’d picked up from charity stores, so I browsed through some more high-end catalogues. Katreya would have been proud of my tastes, if she didn’t hate my filthy soul.
We still had a few days before Lola and Peter’s visit on the weekend, and many of the items had next-day delivery availability, so I had a potential purchase list ready for Rosie’s perusal when she arrived home that evening.
“What’s this, no chapter?” she asked as she sat her pretty butt down on the seat.
“There will be a chapter to come, but take a look at this first, please. I’d like your opinions and your thumbs up or down.”
She scrolled through, everything from a new dining table, to a large TV and surround sound, to a full three seater sofa suite. New crockery, and kitchen appliances. Even a master of a vintage wall clock and a gorgeous new rug for the floor.
“You really want all this?” she asked.
“Yes, I do. I want to create a home. With you.”
“This is already a home,” she said. “I don’t need you to dress it up, I promise. And neither will Lola and Pete.”
Her attempts to reassure me were beautiful, but unnecessary. From a selfishness perspective, I was looking forward to embracing the apartment changes for myself as well as for her. I must have conveyed that in my eyes. I needed this.