Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
We always tease them that he took up three-quarters of Leah’s womb, leaving Carrie squeezed over into one tiny corner for nine months. But when it comes to being open about our secret, they are our one safe place, and I’m thankful, even if we do all drive each other crazy.
But that’s what siblings…cousins…family does.
Inside, there’s the usual shit talk from me and my brother, but there’s a new, excited, tense energy humming.
His text gave me some of the details on a deal he has brewing, and if it comes together, I’ll have money of my own.
May and Leah, our moms, inherited a fortune from their dad’s somewhat shady business dealings back in the day, and Emily has a trust fund that would make your eyes water, but that’s their money.
Allister and Leah have said they’ll set up the same for me, as they have done for Casey and Carrie. But I won’t allow it. To me, a man provides for his family. That’s just the way it is. I won’t live off Emily’s fortune or rely on some inheritance I didn’t earn.
But this deal? It could put me square in the same bank account ballpark and set us up for the life Emily is accustomed to and deserves.
The other obstacle, this being a stand-up citizen for a year deal with Decker, is also in its last days. And once I get beyond that… I’ll be making Emily Mrs. Roman Marshall, and my dick will finally be home. My woman will be officially mine, and it will be baby-making time.
I envision how beautiful her pussy will look all cream-pied, with my seed dripping out of that soft, wet, pink hole… And, fuck... I nearly nut right there.
And that’s just the beginning.
Some truly sick thoughts plague me constantly about what I want to do to my sweet girl. How I want to ruin her and make her know what it means to be mine. But, God, I love her, and somehow in my head, that makes me want to do ten kinds of depraved things to her body.
My very first memory in this life is of her.
It’s vague and dreamlike, as memories from that far back are, I suppose. She’s crawling on the grass outside the big red barn at the house my parents bought in Montana after we all left the city.
Both families left together, because Aunt May and Leah could never imagine being more than a few yards apart. They bought a thousand-acre ranch and split it between them.
I must have been a little over three years old because that was when Leah and Allister adopted me. I remember Emily’s cherub face and her arms wide, toddling my way. It’s a flash, a moment, but the look on her face is etched in my mind for all time.
Those pale blue eyes, that mouth in a perfect chubby-cheeked smile, working herself my way as if to say… I’m yours. You just don’t know it yet.
And she is. Always has been.
“Okay, assholes.” Casey smacks his hands together in front of him. “Carrie has the next ten hours scheduled out minute by minute, so keep quiet, and I’ll explain everything…”
“Dude, I know all about it,” I deadpan, and Casey chuckles while Carrie rolls her eyes.
“It’s a surprise for her.” He points at Emily. “And I like making speeches, so...”
He shrugs as Emily wriggles into the brown leather couch beside me, tucking her legs up underneath her as she gives Casey all her attention. This is why he likes her so much, she’s always the perfect audience.
“Drum roll, if you please, Miss Marshall.” He bobs his eyebrows at his twin sister.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” she replies. “They’ve made an app, Emily. There. Can I tell them about the contract now?”
“No! Ugh, it’s my speech, sis.” Casey looks genuinely put out that she’s stolen his thunder. He doesn’t let it slow him down, though. “Okay, so as you all know, our brother has been soft-banned from bull riding. Nothing official, which is total bullshit, but nobody wants to listen.”
I nod, but don’t elaborate.
He’s right that the whole thing is bullshit. No criminal charges were ever filed because the “evidence” was fucking thin: they found a syringe of Xylazine in my locker, and some lying piece of shit said they saw me near the bull pen before the contest.
It wouldn’t have even gone anywhere, except I’d already had a run-in that same day with Colt Ryder, the son of some shit-hot rodeo star from back in the day. I overheard Colt after Emily’s barrel run, laughing about how he wouldn’t mind riding her, and I just saw red. Ended up, I knocked out his teeth and scratched him from the draw for the next month. I can’t prove it, but I swear to God either Colt or his dad, Buck, planted that dope in my locker.