Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
“No, I’m good,” she says in a hoarse tone, before looking back at the casket. “Thanks.”
We both stare at the dark wood of the coffin for a while longer.
“He’ll be missed,” I say.
“Yes, very much,” Juliette whispers, blinking hard as if holding back tears. Suddenly, I’m struck with shame and guilt. This is a woman who’s genuinely mourning my son’s passing, and yet all I can think about is the continuation of my line. All I want is to take her in my arms and to kiss the life out of her before filling her pussy with my sperm. Then, I want to see her belly swell as my baby grows beneath her heart, bringing us joy and contentment as we watch the child develop.
You’re such a fucking asshole, the voice in my head hisses. Juliette probably cried herself to sleep every night this week over your son’s death, and all you want is to fill her cunt with your spunk. What a motherfucker.
My subconscious is a hundred percent right, and yet I can’t control my thoughts. Hell, a man shouldn’t go to jail for what he thinks so long as he never acts upon those depraved ideas, right? After all, thought crimes aren’t the same as real crimes. But the problem is that I’m not a wallflower who waits for life to happen; I make life happen. As a result, I turn to Juliette with a smile.
“So are you ready?” I ask in a casual tone.
She’s still staring at the coffin, her gaze fixed.
“Ready for what?” she asks in a low voice.
“Do I really have to spell it out?”
The young woman swivels to look at me then, pink spots on her cheeks.
“Are you really going to ask me about that at your son’s funeral?”
I shrug, as if unconcerned.
“Yes. Time is of the essence, sweetheart,” I say, pinning her with a look. “Don’t you know? Sixty days until D-Day. Tick tock, tick tock.”
Juliette grows angry then, literally shaking a bit as the spots on her cheeks deepen to crimson.
“You’re an asshole, you know that?” she hisses under her breath. “Harry was nothing like you. Besides, I thought you were going to help me get an OPT assignment so I have two years.”
I shrug.
“I was, but there’s been a slight modification. I don’t give shit away for free, sweetheart, so I want you pregnant in two months while you’re still on your student visa. Then, I’ll get you OPT, and the child can be born here, so he’s American. I’ll even help you naturalize if you give me a baby. See? It all works out.”
Juliette stares at me.
“Two months?” she rage-whispers beneath her breath. “That’s all? It’s not enough time!”
I shrug nonchalantly.
“That’s what’s on the table, sweetheart. Blame the government, not me.”
Two spots of color appear on Juliette’s cheeks as her hands grip into fists.
“Harry was nothing like you,” she spits. “You’re a beast.”
I take the epithet in a stride.
“Harry was nothing like me,” I acknowledge in a smooth tone. “But my son’s gone, and I’m here in his place. So what’s your answer going to be?”
The beautiful French girl jerks back to the coffin, seething so vehemently that I can see her big bosom rise and fall beneath her black dress. Damn, she’s gorgeous with her chestnut curls tied back and fastened with a velvet bow. Her dress is modest, but nothing can hide the ample weight of her breasts, that narrow waist, and those wide hips which are definitely childbearing. Fuck yeah, my guess is that I could get this girl pregnant in a month. Maybe even in one session because she’s so fucking fertile. My cock jerks as I speak again.
“So what’s it going to be?” I query silkily. “I’m waiting.”
This time, Juliette turns to me in slow motion, her hands gripping into fists at her sides. She’s obviously trying not to blow up in front of the crowd at the wake.
“If you must know, I hate you,” she manages through clenched teeth. “But the answer is yes.”
My blue eyes gleam as a smile creeps onto my handsome features.
“That’s what I thought,” I say. “And it’s okay to hate me because soon you’ll be clinging to my shoulders while screaming my name with joy. You’re about to be bred, sweetheart, and you’re going to love it.”
She pauses, stunned.
“I’m going to hate it,” she snarls under her breath. “Every single minute. Every second, in fact.”
I smirk, loving the fight in this sassy wildcat.
“No, you’re going to love it,” I correct gently. “In fact, by the end you’ll be begging me for more. You’ll scream, ‘Mr. Lewis, put it in my ass next! Please, please, please, I need it, unnnh yeah, fuck I love anal sex!’”
My words are so foul, not to mention taboo, that Juliette literally has no reply. She merely stares at me, her red lips opening and closing with shock. Goddamn, what I’d give to see her pursing that plush pout on my shaft, licking up and down while leaving streaks of crimson lipstick on my balls. But what am I waiting for? There’s no need to delay.