Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 80342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Derrick
I snapped out of it when I saw what all she was lugging to my door and reflexively stepped down off the outside stairs to help her. I smelt the food before I even reached her. “What’s all this?” I took the box she held out to me before returning to the back of her Mercedes convertible for another.
“I made you dinner.” She said that like it was an everyday thing before walking around me and heading up the stairs and into the house. I stood there dumbfounded for the first few seconds before following her inside.
I didn’t know how to feel about this, not after the shit that has been going on inside my head. I went from not really acknowledging her or the past we’d shared as innocent as it was, to having raunchy X-rated dreams about her.
I can’t for the life of me figure out how my mind was able to conjure certain images of her in such blatant sexual positions, but the shit seemed real. I could almost feel my cock sliding in and out of her.
I knew it wasn’t Lauren I was dreaming about even in my subconscious state. I know how the woman I’d been sleeping with for the last few years felt inside. This dream woman was tight as fuck, she fir around my eleven-inch cock like a glove. But the thing that has me stymied isn’t just the feel of her, but what I feel when I’m inside her.
It’s just a dream Derrick don’t make more out of it than it is. Yeah, but how the fuck do I stop myself from thinking about her like that? Was it the pills perhaps that had unlocked some hidden secret cache in my head? But if so, how did they get there in the first place?
I have to have been thinking about her without even realizing it. I followed her into the house where she was already unloading the stuff she’d brought. I looked on in amazement as she unwrapped an apple pie, a sweet potato pie, and a peach cobbler, my favorite. Now how did she know that?
She wasn’t done there, in the box I carried, which she dug into as soon as I put it down on the kitchen table was a turkey with dressing, mashed potatoes, giblet gravy the works. “Where'd you get all this?”
“I cooked it.” She started gathering up the boxes to throw out, and I just stared at her in amazement. I wanted to shake her. Sure she was always a quiet kid, but there were times when I can remember her laughing. I remember her being lively and full of fun whenever I’d include her in something.
But this person didn’t look like she ever smiled. “What happened to your smile?” Shit, I didn’t mean to say that either. What’s with me and shitting out of my mouth whenever she’s around?
“I smile.” The look in her eye seemed to say that I was the reason she didn’t smile. And since when does she look everywhere but at me when I’m standing right in front of her? The girl I remembered uses to be much bolder.
She might not have said much, but whenever she had something to say, it was forthright and without preamble. What the hell happened to her in the eight years I’ve been gone? That’s another thing; I keep remembering more and more about her just in the last day and a half.
It’s as if that part of my brain that had been locked off was finally seeing the light again, and most of the memories I had were of her. And the memories don’t jive with the person I see before me now.
It’s in her eyes, though; now that I’m looking at her, I can see it. There’s something hidden behind those orbs that she tries so hard to make seem indifferent. I pulled my eyes and mind away and bit back an angry retort. I should tell her to take her food, that I didn’t need her pity, but something stopped me.
So instead, I thanked her and left it at that. It’s odd; I hadn’t felt lonely until she came now the prospect of spending the day alone left me cold. I didn’t ask her to stay, though, but I did relent and thanked her for thinking of me.
She left, and the house felt empty somehow until the girls woke up to keep me company. They’d worked through most of the milk that Jenny had brought, and I was getting nowhere with the formula, but I think that might take some time.
It wasn’t until hours later when hunger pangs became too much that I broke down and tried her food. I started looking under the dishes for a logo of some kind. “There’s no way she made this.” It was amazing, each bite better than the last. It was hard for me to accept that an eighteen-year-old girl could cook like this. Everything was made to perfection.