Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“Fuck,” I groaned, sucking in a deep breath as her pussy tightened around my cock.
Her eyes slid open, gaze finding mine, and the hunger there had my own need growing.
Luckily for the both of us, Lolly wasn’t in a slow, soft, explorative mood.
She rode me hard and fast as our breaths grew ragged and sweat prickled.
Then, with a strangled cry, she came, taking me with her.
She came over me then, her face nestled in my neck as my arms started to slide up and down her back.
“I needed that,” she admitted.
“Me too.”
Lost in the moment, neither of us knew it was the night our family grew by one.
Lolly - 10 years
“You might not want to—” I started to warn my son as he tried to pick up a hen who was not feeling it. “Never mind,” I mumbled to myself as the rooster came out of nowhere and started chasing our boy around like a man on a mission.
“Mama!” he squealed, running toward me with the roo right on his heels. I snatched him up and placed him on top of the table, much to the bird’s chagrin.
“He’s mean,” my son declared with a pout.
“That’s not fair,” Nave said, coming over with our toddler on his hip. “He was protecting his girl. That’s what he’s supposed to do. And you’re not supposed to put your hands on anything that doesn’t want to be touched, right?”
“Now you won’t do it again,” our eldest said, nodding her blonde head to emphasize her point.
She was a staunch defender of the small, weak, hurt, or downtrodden. Especially when it came to animals. And she was constantly annoyed with her little brother for not being as gentle or empathetic as she was. She once cried for an hour when he (unknowingly) stepped on a beetle.
I saw a lot of both of us in our daughter. Yes, of course, she couldn’t look like Nave. But she did favor me in the looks departement. Same kind of build, same light hair. That said, she had so much of Nave in her that I immediately believed that DNA didn’t matter nearly as much as environment. She was patient, calm, and generous. She always looked for ways to help. And she loved helping in the kitchen.
Our son? He was rough and energetic and dove first into things without giving them much forethought, much like a lot of his uncles. But he was still as sweet as could be with our senior dogs. And he always had his baby brother’s back.
We hadn’t told the kids about their soon-to-be sister. But I knew without a doubt that her big siblings would be her biggest champions.
“I have your mozzarella,” Ariah declared, coming out of her home.
It was different.
A lot around the homestead was.
Kit and Ariah’s lives had moved forward just like everyone else’s. They met men, fell in love, started new families. Their former tiny homes reflected that growth with several expansions each.
But some things never changed.
The orchard, the fields, the animals, and the goodies we all snuck over to mooch off them.
Like Ariah’s mozzarella when we were having a homemade pizza night at Lazarus and Bethany’s house.
“You are a goddess among women,” I said, taking the cooler from her.
“Yeah, I know,” she said, smiling. “I saw you getting chased,” she said, looking at our son.
“He shouldn’t have tried to pick up the chicken,” our girl said, her chin lifting.
“True. But sometimes we have to learn things like that through experience,” Ariah said. “Did he get you?” she asked our boy.
“No.”
“Okay. Good. Do you want to try to make nice with all of them? We can feed them bugs.”
“Real bugs?” he asked, immediately on board.
“Well, they’re dead, but yes,” Ariah said, offering her hand, and our son was quick to jump down and go with her.
“I don’t like the bugs,” our girl said, her cute nose wrinkling up.
There’d been a time when she was a toddler and absolutely lost her mind when her hands or shirt got dirty that Nave and I worried that the issues with dirt might have been genetic. But after a quick consult with a psychiatrist, we’d carefully done some exposure therapy and overcome the issue.
She wasn’t grossed out at the idea of how dirty bugs were; she morally objected to feeding bugs to animals. She was currently off of meat for the same reason. And Nave and I were very thankful for the selection of vegan “meats” the grocery store had to offer.
“Hold up, I’m coming!” Kit called, rushing up with her pale lilac hair flowing behind a pretty pink bandana she had on. A basket filled with various veggies and herbs. “I got some herbs and veggies for your pizza night: basil, of course, some oregano, cilantro, onion, pepper, and some mushrooms!”
“Finally!” I said, excited for her, knowing how much they’d struggled to get that particular crop to grow in the area.