Jake bought a craftsman cottage that was renovated inside and out. Aside from loving that it’s only five blocks from the apartment I used to share with my brother, I fell in love with the huge addition the previous owners had added not long before they were forced to sell it.
The main house has four bedrooms, three full baths, an open plan kitchen, dining and living room, and a gorgeous back deck that looks over the landscaped gardens. It’s on a big section, so Jake’s garden is almost as large as the house itself and big enough for the pool I’m trying to convince him to put in. But it’s the extension that makes the house.
It was originally built as a parents’ retreat. The former owners had four teenage girls, and needed somewhere to call their own every once and a while. I don’t blame them, either. Four girls aged thirteen to seventeen is terrifying.
The addition is bright and airy, probably because save the walls sectioning off the bathroom from the rest of the space, it is entirely open. Large picture windows off the living area open it up to the back garden, and French doors out to the hot tub let the breeze in in summer. All in all, the house is perfect for a family, or a couple like us who intend to have a big one.
Jake and I both want, at least, three kids. Maybe more if all goes well. As a twin, but with no other siblings, and me just having, Simon, we both want our kids to have more than one brother or sister to rely on. It was hard growing up, depending on Simon for everything. I often felt like I was a burden on him, and only let me hang around so much because he didn’t have the heart to tell me to leave him alone.
Looking back on it, I know I was wrong to think like that; all Simon did was because he loves me, not because he had to. Nevertheless, Jake and I don’t want any of our children to feel that way, hence the decision to have a big family. That is if we don’t kill each other first. Some days, like today, the struggle is real.
“I’m sorry,” Jake says, meaning it.
“I know, and so am I,” I exhale. “I don’t mean to be such a raving bitch, but you’ve been so busy with your case, then everything just started piling up, and I didn’t know what to do.”
My admission spurs Jake into action. Sliding me further back onto the bed, he comes down on top of me, caging my head in with his muscular forearms.
“You come to me. You always come to me, baby. No matter what I’m doing, you are my priority. You and our baby when he’s born. No, but’s; you need me, Farrah, and I’m there. I’ll drop whatever shit it is I’m doing and get to you as quick as I can.”
Crashing his mouth to mine, Jake kisses me deeply, plunging his tongue into my mouth. When he eventually pulls back, we’re both breathless and panting, but he manages to get out,
“Tell me you get me, baby. Tell me that the next time you’re feeling overwhelmed, you’ll come to me.”
“I promise,” is the last thing I say before, Talon knocks on the door and ruins what could have been some amazing mid-morning sex.
“Sorry, but there’s a crazy chick at the front door threatening to shoot Ford if he doesn’t let her in. You want to handle her, or let him?” Talon asks with a smirk.
There’s only one woman I know crazy enough to go head to head with Ford and that’s, Sophie. Fingers crossed she can control herself long enough for Jake and me to get out there, because I happen to know for a fact, Sophie is carrying a 9mm in her purse.
CHAPTER TWELVE
~ Ford ~
“Who the fuck are you, and why the fuck do you think I’d let a stranger into Farrah’s house?” My deep voice booms through the tiny room.
“We already went over this, Gigantor; I’m Farrah’s best friend. Now who the hell are you, why are you in my friend’s house, and can you please put a damn shirt on?” The tiny woman in front of me sasses.
I’m telling you, I must be a fucking Saint or something, because somehow I manage to rein in enough self-control not to spank her gorgeous, tight, perfectly rounded ass.
Now, I’m not an ass man, or a leg man, or a boob man; I’m an everything all at once man. I want a woman’s legs wrapped around my waist so that I can slam her up and down on my cock while suck her nipples into my mouth and spank her ass at the same time. Yeah, that’s exactly what I’d do to this delectable little morsel staring at me through narrowed eyes and pursed lips.
“Listen, sweetheart, I don’t give a shit if you’re fucking Santa Claus, but I’m not letting you in.”
“We’ll see about that,” she huffs, pulling her cell out of what I can only describe as a duffle bag slung over her shoulder. How she isn’t weighed down by that thing is beyond me, but then again, why the fuck do I care?
“Simon,” she says sweetly to the man on the other end of the line, and irrationally my blood boils. I don’t want her sharing her sweet with whoever this asshole is, I want it for myself.
Holy shit! Where the hell did that come from? I don’t do relationships. I don’t even date. If they’re lucky, I buy the woman I’ve picked up for the night a drink before I take her back to her place and fuck her, but that’s about it. Ever since I lost my wife to cancer five years ago, I haven’t wanted a bar of another woman, except by the looks of it, this one.
“Can you kindly tell Gigantor that I am who I say I am and to let me pass? I have to talk to, Farrah. It’s important,” she says, her face falling as she says the last word.
Handing me her cell, I put it to my ear and grunt. The guy on the other end tells me his name, that he’s Farrah’s brother and that Sophie – the angel currently attempting to blink back her tears – is, in fact, his sisters best friend. With a brief goodbye, I hang up and hand the phone back to her, letting my fingers brush across her skin briefly.
That was a mistake. Now that I know how petal-soft her skin is, I want to taste it. But tasting it would lead to licking, licking would move onto sucking, and then we’re entering dangerous territory.
My mind fills quickly with images of Sophie on her knees unzipping my jeans and running her tongue up the underside of my cock. Her head would bob up and down too fast for my liking as I fuck her mouth, but that’s okay; I could control that. Fisting her hair and guiding her movements, I would make sure she took every inch of my rock hard cock down the back of her throat before I made her swallow every drop of my come.
“So, are you going to let me pass gatekeeper, or do I have to stand out here all day?” Her husky voice rasps, which has my cock standing to attention, pulsing down the leg of my jeans.
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?” She asks with desperation lacing her tone.
“As far as I knew, there has only ever been one meaning for the word, no, sweetheart, and that’s, no,” I grin.
All of a sudden the shutters behind her eyes snap closed, and she straightens her spine.
“Fine, if you’re going to be a dick, then will you at least give her this, please?”
Taking the plain white envelope from her outstretched hand, I nod and watch as she walks down the steps to her car, drops her head to the steering wheel and begins to cry. My heart thuds painfully in my chest as I see the tears course down her cheeks, but there’s fuck all I can do about it. After witnessing cancer destroy my wife, in the end, making her bitter and angry, I know pain when I see it. This gorgeous woman, Sophie, is the very definition of pain, and I can’t go through that again. I won’t.
“Was that Sophie that just took off like a bat out of hell?” Jake asks, coming to stand beside me.
“Yep,” I mutter still staring at the corner her car disappeared around.
“What’d you do? Sophie isn’t easily riled, so it must have been good,” he grins. Then tipping his head to the envelope I’m clutching in my fist, Jake asks, “She give that to you.
“Yeah,” I reply, handing it over. “She said it was for, Farrah and then took off.”
Not giving a shit that it isn’t for him, Jake slides the single folded sheet of paper out and begins reading. With every line, his face hardens, turning to stone at
the end.
“Fuck,” he hisses, tossing what I assume is a letter on the coffee table. “Just what I need today. I only just calmed Farrah’s ass down, and now I’m going to have to break it to her that her best friend has left town. Fuck me.”
Jake stomps back down the hall to Farrah’s room, so with Talon gone to pick up his girlfriend, and Eli fuck knows where, I’m alone with a letter common sense tells me not to read. Not only is what’s written in it none of my business, but I don’t even know the woman. Sure, she’s sexy as fuck, has one hell of a mouth on her – which surprisingly, I don’t find a turn off in the least – and is funny to boot, but that only makes her more dangerous. I’m drawn to women like, Sophie. I shouldn’t be, but I am. I love a good challenge, and I have a feeling Sophie would be one I wouldn’t mind working to conquer.
Going against my better judgment, I start reading, and by the end, I feel nothing but ice cold rage as it fills my veins. Whoever this motherfucker is, he’s dead. And if I’m lucky, I’ll get to make it hurt before I end him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
~ Farrah ~
Trying to sit up is one thing, but attempting to heft myself off the bed is almost impossible. I need to use the bathroom, though, and if there’s one thing being pregnant has taught me it’s when you’ve got to go, you should have gone ten minutes earlier. Finally, after what feels like an hour, I manage to stand up and start walking to the bathroom, but I don’t even make it halfway before I’m standing in a puddle of fluid, clutching my lower stomach.
I look at the clock and realize it has only been four hours since I went to bed, complaining to Jake my back hurt. He held me and massaged my back, but by the looks of it, Jake didn’t stay in bed with me; he must have gotten up to do some work he brought home after I fell asleep.
A sharp pain radiates across my belly which has me stifling a scream. Jesus, that was intense. From everything I’ve read, first babies are supposed to take their time coming into the world, but I think my son must have missed that memo. It takes me a second to get my shit together enough to call out to, Jake, not that he wakes up or anything. No, not my husband. He’s sleeping like the dead, and it will take a nuclear explosion or a blowjob to rouse him.
“Jake, for Christ’s sake, wake up,” I say louder than before, kicking the side of the bed for good measure.
Coming awake with a start, Jake jackknifes off the bed, retrieves his gun from under his pillow and in seconds is standing in front of me naked as the day he was born.
“What? Are you hurt? Is everything okay with the baby?” He demands, scouring the room for signs of an intruder.
Oh my, God, this would be hilarious if it weren’t happening to me. I don’t think he’s noticed yet, but not only is his dick swinging in the breeze, but he’s standing in a puddle of amniotic fluid holding a gun. Fuck, someone should write this in a book because otherwise, it’s not to be believed.
“I’m fine, but you son wants out, so do you think you could find some pants and drive me to the hospital?” I ask, not sure whether to laugh or cry. I don’t want to scare Jake unnecessarily, but if he doesn’t hurry the hell up, his son will be born on the floor of our bedroom, and that is not in my birth plan.
“Are you positive? The midwife said that sometimes those Braxton Hicks things feel like labor, but they’re not,” he says, reciting what we were told at my last appointment.
“Oh, I’m sure,” I reply sarcastically and pointing at his feet.
Jake looks down and then at me. He does this twice more before deciding to heed my advice and find some pants, all the while, I’m busying myself getting changed and trying to find my other damn shoe.
“Screw it,” I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air in defeat. “Who needs shoes anyway?”
The pain comes and goes, but before long they are lasting longer and getting closer together. My legs are unsteady as I grip the doorframes, rocking myself back and forth. I’m trying to ease the pain in my back and the tightness in my belly, but it’s not working.
Coming up behind me, Jake murmurs,
“Deep breath, baby. In and out. You’ve got this; I know you do. You’re going to make the best mom, Farrah.”
Doing as he says, I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth as Jake kneels at my feet. He strips my soaked panties down my legs and replaces them with new ones, before helping pull on a pair of loose fitting yoga pants. This is not how I saw my labor going, having my husband change and dress me, but whatever. I’m in too much pain to care right now.
Jake’s expression is stoic, but I can tell he’s worried. Truth be told, so am I. All of the books I read on childbirth, and it’s now I find out they were all filled with lies. Labor isn’t a beautiful experience; I’ve only just begun, and I’m ready for it to be over. Staying calm and focus on breathing techniques they say. Well, clearly whoever the asshole is that wrote that never tried to push a bowling ball out of a hole the size of a lemon at best.
Leading me to his truck, Jake picks me up and deposits me in the seat, buckling my seatbelt for me. He’s around the other side and climbing into the cab, and less than a second later, we’re on the road. I send Simon a message to let him know what’s happening and Sophie too, not that she will reply.
I haven’t heard from Sophie once since she left town and me with nothing more than the letter Ford handed me before storming out of my house. He was gone for a week after that, and when he came back, Ford was a different man. Colder. Harder. Angrier. None of the men, Lyric included, have been able to get a word out of him about where he went or what happened while he was gone. I asked a few times, but after his standard response, which was to ignore me, I stopped pushing and instead hoped he would tell me when he was ready to.
And as if he knew I when I needed it most, Ford gave me the peace of mind I had been craving for months just yesterday. He told me that he had tried to track Sophie down using some of his old contacts but with no luck. He went to her apartment, her parent’s house, questioned all of her friends and co-workers, and nothing. Sophie has disappeared off the face of the Earth without a trace. Or that’s how it appeared, until the day Ford decided to stop looking.
There was one man who said he saw Sophie go into a gas station on highway eight the week before. He couldn’t be certain, but he said it seemed like she was running from something or someone. When he attempted to stop her by putting his hand on her arm to ask if she needed help, Sophie pulled away as if she had been burned. That’s when he noticed the bruises. According to him, she was covered in them. Head to toe.
There wasn’t much more he could tell Ford, other than she headed west on the very same highway, driving a black sedan, but that was enough. Ford found Sophie in a Motel 6 just outside Cheyenne, Wyoming and spent two days trying to convince her to come home. By the end of the second day, Ford told me he gave up hope that she was going to see she was safer here with us and left.
I could tell by the haunted look in his eyes that he didn’t want to leave her, but there was nothing he could do. I know Sophie. She’s stubborn as a mule, and there’s no changing her mind when she has it in her head to do something. Trust me, I’ve tried.
Nine minutes after helping me into the truck, Jake helps me out of it. Praying that I can make it to the nurse’s station before delivering our baby in the carpark, I wrap my arms around Jake’s neck as he scoops me up and all but runs toward the elevators that will take us to the maternity floor.
One glance in my direction has nurses scurrying around to find me a bed. Once I’m placed in a room, and they help me onto the bed, just as the doctor walks in.
“Always the overachiever I see,” Dr. Mathews grins at me.
He’s a handsome son of a bitch, I’ll give him that much, but right now all I want from him is drugs, a way to speed this up, and a promise that my vagina will not look like hamburger when we’re done here. Call me vain, but I kind of like the way it is now and so does my husband.
Close your eyes an
d stop reading if you get squeamish because this is the part when I tell you labor is a messy business. Blood, amniotic fluid, tears, snot, you name it, and if it’s a bodily fluid, it’s likely to come out of you during childbirth. I’ve even heard some women have bowel movements while pushing, which thank the baby Lord Jesus didn’t happen to me because I would have died of embarrassment.
But to cut a long story short, pushing out a ten-pound baby is brutal. Especially when your husband passes out cold on the floor, and your doctor is more worried about whether he is going to sue or not when he wakes up. Oh, and if one more person told me that I was doing great, that I’d forget the pain as soon as he was born, or I should have a thousand babies if they all look like him, I was going to scream. Jake will be lucky if we have even one more after this, let alone enough to fill the bleachers of a high school football field.
Jake’s face is still pale when he pulls himself to his feet to stand beside the head of my bed. Holding my hand tightly in his, he gives it a gentle squeeze before saying,
Claimed: A Forever After Novella Page 10