Father Mine Read Online Free Page B
Author: J. R. Ward
herself from him. Was too afraid of what the answer might be.
âHave a good evening,â he said roughly. He waited a moment, praying that she would look up at him, smile at him a little, give him a kiss on his way out into the war.
âYou, too.â She flipped her hair up and reached for the hair dryer. âBe safe.â
âI will.â
Â
Bella flicked on the hair dryer and picked up her brush to look busy as Z turned and walked out. When she was sure he had to be gone, she stopped the pretense, turning off the dryer and letting it fall to the marble counter.
Her heart ached so badly, she was sick to her stomach, and as she stared at her reflection, she wanted to throw something at the glass.
The two of them hadnât been together, as in been together, since . . . God, it must have been four or five months ago, before sheâd started spotting.
He didnât think of her sexually anymore. Not since Nalla had come. It was as if the birth had turned off that part of their relationship for him. When he touched her now, it was as a brother wouldâgently, with compassion.
Never with passion.
At first, sheâd thought it was maybe because she wasnât as thin as sheâd been, but in the last four weeks her body had bounced back.
At least, she thought it had. Maybe she was fooling herself?
Loosening the robe, she parted the two halves, turned to the side, and measured her stomach. Back when her father had been around, back when sheâd been growing up, the importance of females in the glymera being thin had been drilled into her, and even after his death all those years ago, those stern warnings about being fat stuck with her.
Bella wound herself back up, tying the sash tight.
Yes, she wanted Nalla to have her father, and that was the primary concern. But she missed her hellren. The pregnancy had happened so quickly that they hadnât had the chance to enjoy a lovebird period where they just reveled in each otherâs company.
As she picked up the dryer and flicked on the switch again, she tried not to count the number of days since heâd last reached for her as a male would. It had been so long since heâd fished through the sheets with his big, warm hands and woken her up with lips on the back of her neck and a hard arousal pressing into her hip.
She hadnât reached for him, either, true. But she wasnât taking for granted the kind of reception sheâd receive. The last thing she needed now was to be turned down because he wasnât attracted to her anymore. She was already an emotional wreck as a mother, thank you very much. Failure on the female front was too much to handle.
When her hair was dry, she gave it a quick brush and then went out to check on Nalla. Standing over the crib, looking at their daughter, she couldnât believe things had come down to ultimatums. Sheâd always known that Z would have continuing issues after what heâd been put through, but it had never dawned on her that they couldnât bridge his past.
Their love had seemed like it would be enough to get them through everything.
Maybe it wasnât.
THREE
The house was set back from the dirt road and crowded by overgrown bushes and shaggy trees with brown leaves. The design of the thing was a hodgepodge of various architectural styles, with the only unifying element being that theyâd all been reproâd badly: It had a roof like a Cape Cod, but was on one story like a ranch; it had pillars on the front porch like a colonial, but was sided in plastic like a trailer; it was set up on its lot like a castle and yet had the nobility of a busted trash bin.
Oh, and it was painted green. Like, Jolly Green Giant green.
Twenty years ago the place had probably been built by a city guy with bad taste looking to start life over as a gentleman farmer. Now everything about it was run down, except for one thing: The door was made out of shiny, fresh-as-a-daisy
âHave a good evening,â he said roughly. He waited a moment, praying that she would look up at him, smile at him a little, give him a kiss on his way out into the war.
âYou, too.â She flipped her hair up and reached for the hair dryer. âBe safe.â
âI will.â
Â
Bella flicked on the hair dryer and picked up her brush to look busy as Z turned and walked out. When she was sure he had to be gone, she stopped the pretense, turning off the dryer and letting it fall to the marble counter.
Her heart ached so badly, she was sick to her stomach, and as she stared at her reflection, she wanted to throw something at the glass.
The two of them hadnât been together, as in been together, since . . . God, it must have been four or five months ago, before sheâd started spotting.
He didnât think of her sexually anymore. Not since Nalla had come. It was as if the birth had turned off that part of their relationship for him. When he touched her now, it was as a brother wouldâgently, with compassion.
Never with passion.
At first, sheâd thought it was maybe because she wasnât as thin as sheâd been, but in the last four weeks her body had bounced back.
At least, she thought it had. Maybe she was fooling herself?
Loosening the robe, she parted the two halves, turned to the side, and measured her stomach. Back when her father had been around, back when sheâd been growing up, the importance of females in the glymera being thin had been drilled into her, and even after his death all those years ago, those stern warnings about being fat stuck with her.
Bella wound herself back up, tying the sash tight.
Yes, she wanted Nalla to have her father, and that was the primary concern. But she missed her hellren. The pregnancy had happened so quickly that they hadnât had the chance to enjoy a lovebird period where they just reveled in each otherâs company.
As she picked up the dryer and flicked on the switch again, she tried not to count the number of days since heâd last reached for her as a male would. It had been so long since heâd fished through the sheets with his big, warm hands and woken her up with lips on the back of her neck and a hard arousal pressing into her hip.
She hadnât reached for him, either, true. But she wasnât taking for granted the kind of reception sheâd receive. The last thing she needed now was to be turned down because he wasnât attracted to her anymore. She was already an emotional wreck as a mother, thank you very much. Failure on the female front was too much to handle.
When her hair was dry, she gave it a quick brush and then went out to check on Nalla. Standing over the crib, looking at their daughter, she couldnât believe things had come down to ultimatums. Sheâd always known that Z would have continuing issues after what heâd been put through, but it had never dawned on her that they couldnât bridge his past.
Their love had seemed like it would be enough to get them through everything.
Maybe it wasnât.
THREE
The house was set back from the dirt road and crowded by overgrown bushes and shaggy trees with brown leaves. The design of the thing was a hodgepodge of various architectural styles, with the only unifying element being that theyâd all been reproâd badly: It had a roof like a Cape Cod, but was on one story like a ranch; it had pillars on the front porch like a colonial, but was sided in plastic like a trailer; it was set up on its lot like a castle and yet had the nobility of a busted trash bin.
Oh, and it was painted green. Like, Jolly Green Giant green.
Twenty years ago the place had probably been built by a city guy with bad taste looking to start life over as a gentleman farmer. Now everything about it was run down, except for one thing: The door was made out of shiny, fresh-as-a-daisy
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