Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
As I approach the shack the scent of pine hits me, reminding me of the tall trees covering the vacant lot around the townhouse. It’s only been a few days since I’ve seen it but it feels like a lifetime ago.
“There better not be spiders in there,” I grumble, carefully pushing open the door, peering into the darkness of the shack. The walls of the tiny room are covered with shelves and those shelves are full to the edges with wooden statues of all kinds and sizes, similar to the ones I saw in Zelda’s home.
There are several dog statues that look like The Warden along with many torsos. Women’s torsos. Some with large breasts, some with small. One with a large rounded pregnant belly on a center spot above the dirty window.
All are extremely beautiful. I stand there for a moment in awe with my mouth agape, taking it all in. The noise starts again, startling me. I look down from the shelves to the other side of the shack where I see movement in the shadows.
I approach slowly until I can make out the source of the noise which isn’t a bird at all, it’s the sound of a soft hammer banging against the end of a chisel, and that chisel is in the hands of none other than Smoke.
I’m surprised.
He’s shirtless. His trap muscles flex, tightening and rotating as he rotates a block of wood upon a lazy-susan type of rotating wheel. One of his bare feet is propped up against the table leg, the other is flat on the floor.
Smoke created all this?
The Warden approaches me with the tennis ball in his mouth. He drops it at my feet, and that’s when Smoke looks up. “What are you doing in here?” he asks.
“The Warden jumped the fence looking for his ball.”
“Get out!” Smoke orders.
I barely register him speaking because my eyes are glued to the piece he’s working on. The woman’s figure isn’t like the others. It’s larger in scale, and it isn’t smooth and perfect like the others. The wood is knotted and cracked as if representing bruises and scrapes. There’s even a ding right below the left collarbone that looks just like…
“Get the fuck out,” Smoke warns. His stool falls to the floor as he stands with his fists clenched at his sides.
I spin around and run back with The Warden hot on my heels, the ball still in his mouth, as if we’re playing a game and he’s chasing me.
I jump back over the fence and run to the porch. I don’t stop until I’m inside the house with the door shut behind me. The Warden drops the ball at my feet, but I step over it on my way to the bathroom.
I rip off my shirt and look in the mirror at my now faded bruises and scrapes. I remember the piece Smoke was working on.
My eyes go wide as I trace my fingers over the small mole right below my left collarbone.
Chapter Thirty-One
I can’t sleep.
It’s late when Smoke climbs into bed. I smell the whiskey surrounding him along with cigar smoke. I pretend to be asleep while he takes off his clothes and gets into bed. He wraps his big arms around me as he usually does and pulls me against his hard chest.
I hate that I find myself relaxing into him instead of fighting him. I hate that I want his touch instead of being repulsed by it.
I hate that, despite everything, I don’t hate him.
“I promise I’ll try and find another way,” Smoke whispers. I turn around to ask him what he meant by that, but he’s already fast asleep.
His eyelashes are long and dark on his cheeks. His full lips are slightly parted. I don’t know what comes over me, but I can’t help myself. I crane my neck and lightly press my lips to his. I pull away only to find his eyes are now open, and he’s looking at me with a mix of confusion and lust.
“I’m…I just…” I begin, but I don’t get to finish because I’m rolled over on my back with Smoke on top of me and his lips on mine.
He rolls his hips against me, his long, hard erection pressing up against my sensitive nub igniting a carnal lust inside me like a flint to fire. His lips are against my neck, and I’m arching into him. His lips part and his tongue connects with my skin. I break out into delicious gooseflesh.
Then, he’s gone.
The bathroom door slams, and the sound of water hitting the porcelain can be heard under the door as the shower turns on.
I creep out of the bed and watch him through a crack in the door. He’s naked, leaning against his forearms on the wall of the shower. Water drips down his sculpted body as he lets his forehead rest on his arm. His other hand snakes down his chiseled abs where he grabs hold of his massive erection and begins to stroke himself.