Bucked: The Mountain Man's Babies(15)
It’s been another night of stroking myself, remembering her tight pussy, the way her tits bounced as she rode me. I can still taste her creamy release as I licked her cunt nice and thoroughly.
Dammit, it’s been eight months. It’s time I moved on.
But hell, forgetting Rosie is the last thing I want.
What I really want is her, here with me.
Her, riding me.
I wrap my hands around my hard cock, pumping hard, coming quickly.
My thoughts filled with her. Only her.
As I come, there’s a knock at my door.
What the fuck? I look at my phone, not even seven in the goddamned morning.
I get out of bed and tug on a pair of jeans. I live in a one-story cabin, but it’s pretty roomy. It’s got three bedrooms, two baths, a hot tub out back and a kitchen that, to be perfectly honest, doesn’t get much use. Walking to the front door, I eye the fireplace, thinking I should start a fire and warm up this place, always preferring the heat from burning wood to the stale air of the radiator.
I pull open the door and fucking forget to breathe.
Rosie is here.
Her face written with exhaustion, her eyes searching mine, and her belly round.
Very round.
Like, I’m going to have a baby now, round.
Round like Harper was with those triplets.
“Rosie?” I pull open door, wanting to pull her into my arms, which I know I shouldn’t want – not after she left the way she did.
But she came back.
She is here.
Seemingly frozen in place.
A single tear running down her cheek.
“Are you okay?” I ask, knowing she’s not. She’s bundled up, but still, it’s November, not the time for her to be traipsing around in the cold. Looking behind her, I search my driveway for a car. But there’s nothing. “Are you alone?”
She nods. “I hitchhiked here. I know,” she says, shaking her head. “It was stupid, but I didn’t know what else to do. How to get to you.”
Taking her hand, I draw her inside, needing to understand exactly what brought her here.
Her hand is gloved, but it’s still cold. I try to picture this sweet thing, so incredibly pregnant, riding in a stranger’s truck.
Only desperation would drive a woman to do such a thing.
“Rosie, you’ve gotta warm up.”
She nods, her eyes brimming with tears. I press my thumb beneath her eyes, and wipe them away, hating to see her upset, wanting to understand her story.#p#分页标题#e#
“Why did you leave all those months ago?” Of course what I really want to know is if this baby is mine.
But dammit, one look at this broken woman and I don’t give a fuck. I will do anything for her and this child. I knew it the moment I met her, she was mine.
She presses her lips together, her hair loose around her shoulders, and her chin quivering.
“Shhh, it’s okay, darling.”
Those words send a flood of tears from her eyes. “Do you have a bathroom I could use?” she asks. “I’m just a mess. I just need a second.”
My jaw tenses. “Last time you went to the bathroom, you disappeared.”
She nods. “I know. You have no reason to trust me, Buck.”
“It’s okay,” I tell her, wanting her to calm down so I can hear the whole story. “You’re here now, and the bathroom is right through that door.”
She sniffles, but turns to the bathroom. I run my hands through my hair. What the hell? This was the last thing I expected.
Clearly, she’s a mess, worked up and scared. If I want her to open up and explain what happened after she left me, I need to help her relax. Striding to the fireplace, I add a few logs, add some kindling and strike a match.
The fire begins to roar quickly and I head to the kitchen to start the teakettle. Girls like tea, right? Or maybe coffee. I do both. Put the kettle on a burner and brew a pot of coffee. Scouring my cupboard, I look for decent breakfast food for a pregnant woman who has been hitchhiking for God knows how long.
I find a package of powdered donuts– not exactly gourmet, but better than cold cereal. In the fridge I have half a cantaloupe, and I slice it, setting it out as well.
Just as the kettle begins to whistle, Rosie walks out the bathroom. She isn’t crying anymore, so that’s something. But the moment I offer her something to drink, a whole new flood of tears escapes.
“Fuck, what did I do now?”
“Nothing,” she says, adamant. “You did nothing wrong.”
“Well, do you want to sit down and tell me your story? I’m guessing you’re hungry.” My eyes drop to her belly, and she must notice, because her hands cover her stomach.
She nods, and unbuttons her coat. After taking it off, she drapes it across the back of the stool at the island where we’re standing.