Total pages in book: 216
Estimated words: 206530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 826(@250wpm)___ 688(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 206530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 826(@250wpm)___ 688(@300wpm)
It feels like maybe he needs to hold me after going so long without contact. Or maybe I’m reading into it, because God knows that’s how I feel. I need to feel him real underneath my arms. Real and solid. I can’t handle him disappearing on me again. Especially now. But he doesn’t seem inclined to.
He pulls away briefly to pour shampoo into his hands but he tugs me close again as his fingers delve into my short hair. I close my eyes against the familiar sensation.
“I want the baby,” I whisper, trying the words out loud for the first time as he massages my scalp. “I actually want the baby.”
“Of course you do,” he murmurs. “And you’ll be the perfect mother.”
I melt against him. He really thinks that? Even though every time the topic of babies has ever been brought up all I can talk about is how much I don’t like them and how terrible I think they are?
He detaches the shower sprayer to get the shampoo out and then he’s on to the body wash. I can’t imagine ever being separated from him and going without this. The past four days have been terrible. Right now, his hands on me feel as necessary as breathing.
He washes my pussy with special care, his face reverent. He doesn’t tease or try to arouse me. His big fingers just separate my lips gently and then he turns the showerhead to a gentle mist as he cleanses me down there.
Then he reattaches the showerhead to the wall, fills his hand with his own body wash and starts to wash himself. His movements are rough, almost punishing.
“Let me.” I try to take the bottle he just put down but he stays me with a hand on my wrist. I want to give him some of the comfort he’s just given me. But with a gentle shake of his head and an expression I can’t read, he pulls my hand back.
“Just stand under the spray,” he says.
He goes back to his quick, rough strokes. He usually washes himself briskly, but this seems more curt than usual.
What was he doing locked up in here for the past four days? Obviously drinking himself into oblivion. But just over Holy Hellfire? Yes, he had affection for the horse. He loved him even. And maybe his bond with the horses goes deeper than I understand but locking himself up like that is not a normal reaction. It’s got to be about something deeper. Maybe connected to the demons that wake him up yelling in the middle of the night. How? I have no clue.
Because he doesn’t talk to me.
And he won’t let you touch him.
I wrap my arms over my abdomen, feeling cold in spite of the warmth of the shower spray. I might be having a child with this man, but how well do I really know him? So much has changed since I’ve come here—I’ve changed so much. And I like the person I’m becoming even if I don’t fully understand all the ramifications of who that person is yet. I feel as strong as ever, yet not as hard, if that makes sense.
But can this really work for the long term if he won’t fully share himself?
“Are you all right?” Xavier’s brows knit in concern and he steps closer, covered in suds from his intensive wash-down. He reaches out a hand to my upper arm. His touch is warm and I can’t help but lean into it.
Because as screwed up and emotionally unavailable as he might be, it’s too late.
I’ve fallen for him.
Hard.
“I’m okay. Here,” I step out of the spray to make way for him. “Wash off.”
He stares at me uncertainly for another moment, scrutinizing my face, but then acquiesces and begins to wash off the suds. He washed his hair before I came in, so it’s just a matter of quickly rinsing off and then we’re out of the shower and he’s toweling us down.
Once he’s got me dressed in a thick terrycloth robe, he lies on the bed beside me, brushing my hair back from my face.
He said I should take one of the pharmacy pregnancy tests he’s apparently stocked up on. In spite of all his assurances of their accuracy, though, I’d rather just wait for the doctor. If they say negative or positive, I’ll still be freaking out that I’m miscarrying based on the results. I can’t handle that shit right now.
So instead we’re just lying in bed with each other as we wait for the obstetrician. Xavier didn’t bother shaving and I have to say, I sort of like the five days’ scruff that’s almost a full beard on him. Makes him look dark and dangerous. Though it also highlights the burned streaks on the left side of his cheek where the hair won’t grow in. I imagine if the beard had more time to fill out, it might eventually hide them.