Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
“…A chance…” She whispered, then shook her head.
“Yeah… a chance. If anyone deserves a chance with you, I do. I won’t take your shit, but I’ll always make you feel safe and cared for. That’s what you really want. Someone to stand up to you when necessary. Not to feed their ego and make you feel small. But someone to stand up to you, because they’d love you enough not to cower to your fear-based demands. When you get scared, you try to make yourself look bigger… like a bear. That’s a call for help; a response due to trauma and hurt. I know about that, ’cause I used to do it, too.”
She blinked back tears, and turned away from his direct gaze.
“I’d accept you for who you are, because I know appearances can be deceiving. You ain’t so innocent. You ain’t so sweet. You ain’t so perfect, and I like you all the more because of that. Every rose has its thorns.”
“I think you’re playing with me right now. I think you’re using some sort of distorted mind tricks to… AHHHH!!!!”
The table turned over, crashing to the floor, and before she could utter another word, scream or bite into his face, he had her in his strong arms, her feet dangling, smothering her with an all-encompassing, hot, hedonistic kiss.
GOD HELP ME… OH GOD, HE’S TAKING ME SOMEWHERE I DON’T WANNA BREAK FREE FROM!
He growled into her mouth as he drove his tongue deeper. They thrashed about; her body pressed into his bare chest. She burned in anger, desire, submission. He smelled like a beautiful disaster, clean soap, sweat, musky aftershave—his scent turned her on as she wrestled with logic and lust.
He kissed her hard and urgently all along her face, squeezing her ass cheeks as he feverishly licked and sucked her neck. The hot moisture from his mouth left her spinning. She melted into his touch, stroking the back of his hair as he devoured her with not a shred of clothing removed from her body. With his right hand, he roamed her body while with his other, he kept her lifted from the floor. ‘Time,’ by the Culture Club, started to play as he ended the kiss and gently set her back on her feet. Ten toes down.
“I’m goin’ outside to work. When I’m finished, we’re goin’ on a date. Dinner. Tonight, I’m takin’ you to a place I like to go to every now and again. A place where you can feel comfortable, and we can talk. Away from here. It’s time you got to know me. Get cleaned up and dressed. It won’t take me long.” He kissed the tip of her nose. A gentle, sweet kiss… then walked out the front door. He slammed it, and that damn door kept banging from the sheer force of his strength. It banged and banged, just like her heart…
CHAPTER TEN
The Country Girl’s Poem
She sat in the passenger’s seat of his truck smelling like vanilla and the last days of an Indian summer. The truck tires rolled clumsily over the dips and sunken holes of the cool earth, pulling them in and spitting them out. The sounds of Blackgrass Gospel’s ‘Longneck Bible’ filled the truck with rapid-fire, downhome fiddles and guitars. He didn’t miss the amused smirk on Poet’s face as the lyrics of the song had her tap her foot to the beat. After his work on her greenhouse was complete for the day, he’d freshened up in her first floor bathroom. He always kept extra clothing in his truck, such as the jeans and caramel ribbed long-sleeved shirt he had on. Poet graciously offered a washcloth and new bar of soap for him to take care of his hygiene needs before they departed for dinner.
“How’d you get the name Poet?”
She reached into her purse, removed her phone, glanced at it, then slid it back inside.
“My mama liked poetry.”
“Mmmm, well, I ’spose that makes sense. Did she write any herself?”
“Not that I know of. Accordin’ to my grandmother, who died when I was ten or eleven, she just liked readin’ it and going to Spoken Word club events. Things like that.”
“Do you like poetry?”
Poet nodded. “Yeah. I write a little of it. I’m not any good though. I guess I got that from my mama, too.”
“Let me hear somethin’ you wrote.” He leaned forward and turned the music off. The sun was setting, and ribbons made of orange and red clouds stretched across the sky—a beautiful display of a day gone by.
“I don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
“It probably sounds silly. Silly words, on silly paper. Transcribed to memory.” She seemed to have no idea how silky and pretty her voice sounded. Poet had a voice that sounded like music, even though she wasn’t singing. She enunciated her words in such a way that made you pay attention. It was like ASMR, but with vowels and consonants.