Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 198235 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 991(@200wpm)___ 793(@250wpm)___ 661(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 198235 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 991(@200wpm)___ 793(@250wpm)___ 661(@300wpm)
‘I love love love feeling you throb.’ He kisses his way up my body until he finds me lips, giving me more special attention. I only respond with my mouth, unable to convince my muscles to move, and not bothering to make much effort of it either. ‘Am I redeemed?’
I nod against his kiss and he laughs, pulling back to study me. My eyes are still working fine. He’s just beyond fucking beautiful, and he knows it, the big headed arse. ‘I love you.’ I just about manage to squeeze the words past my fitful breaths.
He dazzles me with that smile… my smile. ‘I know you do, baby.’ He gets up, far too spritely for my liking. ‘Come on. Now I’ve fulfilled my Godly obligation, we need to go to The Manor.’ He takes my hand and heaves me up with absolutely no effort at all. And I don’t help. I make myself a deadweight in protest, not that it hampers him.
‘Do I have to come?’ I grumble, as he squirts some shampoo in my hair and starts lathering me up.
‘You never usually complain about coming.’ He grins at me, and I roll my eyes. ‘Yes, you do. We have some time we need to catch up on. Four days’ worth.’ I ignore him and let his big, firm hands massage my head and then rinse me. ‘You’re done, lady. Out.’ He slaps my arse and sends me on my way, while he finishes his shower.
I look longingly at the bed, but as much as it’s calling me, I resist and venture into the colossal walk-in-wardrobe to get ready. We do have time to catch up on, and we have lots of hard to catch up on, too. We’ve broke the back of it, and this is all the more reason for me to remedy the situation that will undoubtedly take me back to being treated like I’m breakable if I remain pregnant.
I walk into the kitchen and find Jesse rummaging frantically through the cupboards. With his arms raised, his broad back is accentuated by the pull of his white polo t-shirt, the vast expanse of firmness making my hands twitch at my sides and my eyes blink to confirm that he’s real. I smile. He’s real all right, and he’s also mine.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask, pulling my hair up into a messy mass of wildness on top of my head.
He turns around and looks at me in alarm. ‘I’ve run out of Sun-Pat.’
‘What?’ I laugh at his genuine distress. ‘You’ve run out of peanut butter?’
‘It’s not fucking funny!’ He slams the cupboard door shut before stalking over to the fridge, yanking it open, and shifting endless bottles of water. ‘What the fuck is Cathy playing at?’ he barks to himself.
I can’t help it. I double over with laughter. This is not the normal behaviour for someone who merely likes something. He’s addicted to it. My Lord is addicted to peanut butter and, quite possibly, is going to have a seizure if he doesn’t get his fix soon. I’m happily tittering away when I hear the fridge door slam. I bolt upright and do a rubbish job of restraining my grin. I’m clamping down painfully on my lip to prevent it.
‘What are you grinning at?’ He scowls at me, good and proper.
‘Why the compulsion for peanut butter?’ I ask quickly before re-clamping down on my lip.
He folds his arms across his chest, still scowling. ‘I like it.’
‘You like it?’
‘Yes, I like it.’
‘You’re in a bit of a pickle, considering you just like it.’ My lip drags through my teeth as I completely lose the battle to keep back my smirk.
‘I’m not in a pickle.’ he argues on a small laugh. ‘It’s no big deal.’
‘Okay,’ I shrug, still grinning. It is such a big deal.
He walks across the kitchen and around the island towards me, his eyes widening as my lower body comes into view. ‘What the hell are they?’ he blurts.
I look down at myself and back up to shocked green eyes. ‘Shorts.’
‘You mean knickers?’
I’m grinning again. ‘No, I mean shorts.’ I grab the hem on each leg of my denim shorts and pull them up. ‘If they were knickers, they’d look like this.’
He gasps a little, still studying the offending garment. ‘Ava, come on, be reasonable.’
‘Jesse,’ I sigh. ‘I’ve told you. If you want long skirts and roll neck jumpers, then go find someone your own age.’ I pull my shorts back down and kneel to tie the laces of my Converse, ignoring the grumbling and bristling emanating from every delicious fibre of my unreasonable man. ‘I might go for a swim at The Manor.’ I look up at him, and his grumpy face is back to horror.
‘In a bikini?’
I laugh. ‘No, in a snowsuit. Of course in a bikini.’ I’m really pushing my luck here, and I know it.