by Amber Burns
Eva picked up a cookie and patted Annabelle on the shoulder.
“No problem, I’ll write down the details for you,” she said, biting into the soft confection.
Annabelle shook her head.
“Can we just call now? I want to get an appointment as soon as possible.”
They made the call, and Annabelle was set to be off to a local Beaumont doctor the very next morning. When Michel came back into the house an hour later full of smiles, she told him the good news, and he seemed to exhale in relief. It would be good to simply know. He came and put his arms around her.
“Do you feel like taking the horses out? Art gave me a few pointers.”
Angel and Gabe took the inexperienced riders on a gentle walk around the periphery of the property after a very interesting time had by both Michel and Annabelle putting on their saddles and reigns. Many giggles were had, and Annabelle laughed so hard at Angel holding her breath when Michel tried to tighten the saddle girth she nearly ended up on the floor under Gabe’s hooves.
Annabelle eventually lay down flat along Gabe’s back stroking his neck as they plodded and ran her fingers through his mane. When they returned to the barn they unsaddled the horses and brushed them down. They fed each one with a bag of oats soaked in honey, and then walked back to the house. They found Art and Eva on Roy’s porch having tea with him, and stopped to say hello. It ended up being a goodbye meeting, as they were heading back to the coast the next day. Eva pulled Annabelle aside and gave her a tight hug, and wishing her all the best for the upcoming appointment.
“I hope you feel comfortable with calling me and letting me know how things go Anna? I will be thinking of you,” she said kindly, patting Annabelle on the back.
Anna nodded, and pulled away sniffling, “Don’t make me cry, I’m so emotional.”
The next day Annabelle nervously made the drive to the doctor’s rooms alone, and when she parked in the lot, had to take a moment to calm herself. She walked in and introduced herself to the young blonde receptionist, taking the clipboard to fill in the paperwork. By the time she walked through to the actual doctor, her hands were shaking.
Annabelle was surprised to find Dr. Adrian Smith was a woman, and her loud exhale must have given away something of her state of mind, because the white-coated woman stood, held out a hand and smiled.
“I hope I can calm you, my name is Adrian. What can I do for you?” She asked in a strong yet distinctly female voice.
Annabelle blushed.
“I think I’m pregnant,” She simply blurted out.
Dr. Smith sat down and leaned back in her chair.
“How do you feel about the possibility of being pregnant Mrs. Deverroux?” She asked.
Annabelle sat in silence for quite a while before answering.
“I don’t know. My husband is scared, but I think we will be okay,” she said softly, her hands on her knees.
“Well, let’s get a blood sample and confirm the pregnancy, and if you’ll step into the exam room I’ll do a basic pelvic exam to make sure you are all good on that front.”
Annabelle gritted her teeth and followed the doctor…
18
I had gone out to run errands, picking up feed for the horses and paying a few bills. When I came back I found Annabelle behind the main house in a patch of garden. She was dirty to her elbows with sod, and packets of pumpkin seeds lay next to her. I looked around.
“Hey, how did this morning go with the doctor?” I asked, sinking to my knees next to her in the freshly turned soil.
She fell flat onto her butt with her hands next to her in the dirt.
“I’m definitely pregnant Michel,” she said, and summarily burst into tears.
When she wiped her face she left dirt streaks down her cheeks, and I didn’t know what to do. I moved closer and pulled her to me.
“Hey, hey now. I’m the one who’s supposed to not know how to do this, we will be fine. You will be an amazing mother and you can teach me how to do this,” I said calmly, while I had a heart attack internally.
***
She arrived home, and could not concentrate on anything at all. The only option was manual and physical activity. She walked to the barn, found seeds for pumpkin and then picked up a spade, large fork and set of clippers, and walked to a patch of soil behind the kitchen. It had already previously been used as a vegetable patch, so she neatened the edges close to the little picket fence, leaving a pile of clippings and a perfect border.
Next she loosened the soil, pulling up any weeds that had sprung up. She turned compost into the freshly turned soil and then placed pumpkin seeds. This is where Michel found her when he returned from running errands, in the middle of her future pumpkin patch.
He picked her up out of the dirt and took her inside, sat her at the kitchen table and made her a cup of tea.
“Baby, you’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”
He came and sat down next to her and held her hand, “We can do this thing.”
They had picked a room at the back of the house to paint and decorate as a nursery, and after the riding, they spent the afternoons up to their elbows in lime green paint. Michel stopped mid-stroke up the window facing wall and came to kiss her.
“You are looking amazing Mrs. Deverroux, I especially like this.”
He patted her small belly, only just beginning to show. Time passed fluidly, and Michel and Annabelle harvested their pumpkins, they completed the painting of the nursery, and they acquired a flock of chickens. The house was beautiful, Roy was in heaven and had started spending his days on a tractor in new cornfields.
Art and Eva sent pictures of the yacht Michel had not completed, that Art had finished and was now sailing. They were leaving soon on a coastal trip and didn’t know when they’d be back. Life was looking good on all fronts.
Epilogue
Michel took the tiny baby in his arms as the doctor handed her to him.
“Your daughter, Mr. Deverroux.”
The little one was wrapped in sterile drapes and still had the surgical green scrub material around her. She let out another lusty cry in her father’s arms as he smiled down at her with tears in his eyes.
He came to stand at Annabelle’s side as she sat back, her brow coated in sweat and her hair plastered to her forehead. He put one arm around her shoulders tenderly, and leaned close to her.
“You did it, look at this perfect little person you made Annabelle.”
She started sobbing.
“I am so sore and so terrified and still not sure this is real.”
She gasped in his arms. He kissed her, and they clung to each other.
“We did it Michel, we managed our very own happy ending,” she said, still crying as she took the baby from him.
He laughed, “This is not the end of our story Annabelle, we have only just begun…”
The Marine’s Obsession
A Love Struck Bad Boys Romance
By Amber Burns
Copyright © 2016 by Amber Burns
& Scarlet Lantern Publishing
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language.
All characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
1
I don’t know what’s on display.
And frankly I don’t care if the cute salesgirl isn’t up for purchase. She hasn’t noticed me yet.
Bouncy brunette with a killer figure if I’ve ever seen one, though she’s got all the good bits covered up under a frumpy sweater dress that could have been chewed by a dog...or her dryer.
It didn’t do anything for her either way.
No. I know she’s got sexy hidden under those layers, and I’d like
nothing more than to prove my theory; the idea of going in the small shop, climbing up that display and taking her there for the world to view coming to the fore of my perverted mind.
Who knew I had such an exhibitionist in me?
I take a languid sip of my coffee – scald my tongue with the damn thing, and then take another sip after realizing the pain works to cancel out the boner stretching my boxers, nudging the fly of my slacks. It’s that or I reach down and make some room for my friend, but I figure I’m freaking out passersby with my staring enough as is.
I’m a big guy.
Six feet nothing, broad shoulders, a freshly shaved head, and a tat sleeve snaking out of my breezy tee with more ink secreted away. I’ve had braver people tell me I look like danger and trouble.
In all those instances I stuck out my hand and introduced myself as Marine Sergeant Amos Fuller, and leave it to them to take me for my word or run the other way. I’d made some friends that way.
Back to ogling the brunette building the mannequin with her derriere on display, I wonder how she’d react to me. We’re definitely going to meet: That much I’ll be making certain of.
And what I want, I usually damn well make sure I get and I want this salesgirl, bad.
A throat clearing at my side brings me to catch the disapproving look of a couple of old biddies. As soon as our eyes make contact, they huddle against each other, linked arms visibly tightening their connection, and the one holding her cane raising it as if to say ‘don’t even try it, it’s broad daylight and I’m not afraid to use this thing, perv’.
I give them a pointed stare.
Yeah, yeah. You know exactly what I’m up to, and you aren’t going to do anything about it.
Their eyes widen just a fraction and then they’re scurrying off to the other side of the narrow street, leaving me to drool in bliss.
Salesgirl is bending lower, and I subconsciously lean forward, following the stretching material of her scratchy-looking dress of a sweater ride over her ass.
Did I mention she’s probably an undercover babe? My theory’s entirely hinged on her ass.
Covert Cutie, that’s what I’m going to call this chick.
Not too thin, and not too thick, she’s my kind of girl all right, and compared to her trimmer waist, her butt is wide and round. My palms are itching to take hold of her by those fat cheeks, push her back against me, spread them wide and nudge my stiff dick in her crack.
Images of my cock parting her ass force me to close my eyes, rein the fantasy in long enough to get her name at the least. I open my eyes and watch the seasonal garland around the bottom of the window obscuring the wonderful view of her backside.
Autumn never looked so damn fine.
Now bend over some more.
Like she hears my command, an article slips out of her hand and flutters to the floor. She’s going after it pretty quick, giving me more of that ass, front and center.
Makes me wonder what her tits look like, or her face – shit, I hadn’t thought about that. A butt-her-face would be the perfect way to ruin this.
Then again I can’t rationalize why I’m attracted to this stranger. There’s a tug in my cock, but somewhere in my heart too. My senses have never been so alive. I want her like I want a cold Lager, chips and dip and a whole day to wedge a dent in my couch in front of the sports channel.
That’s why I decide I don’t care.
It’s an instant, snap-finger decision, too.
I don’t care if Covert Cutie’s hot or not. She’s basically got me creaming in my pants on the sidewalk even before I’ve seen her face. If that’s Fate grabbing me by the balls and tugging my dick in the right direction, then I don’t know what other sign I need.
She’s standing and bending her tush in the air, swaying to some imaginary music – or real music. Mid-sip, my teeth sink into the rim of the paper cup, teeth and lips get a splash of my bitter, hot drink. Some of the liquid’s trickling down my chin. The back of my hand will do as a napkin for now.
I’m too damn busy plugging my eyes back in my socket.
All my worries before?
Done and forgotten.
She’s hot.
Correction.
“Fuckin’ hot,” I breathe, scratching my stubble of a beard. “Oh mama…”
Her dark hair, tied in a no-nonsense bun gives me a clearer picture of her face. A button nose, eyes framed by a wreath of dark lashes, plump cheeks, full, glossed lips, and a throat that brought to mind words like swan, and graceful.
A closet exhibitionist and now a poet. I’m heading for gold here, or grasping at straws.
Mind, it’s only a side profile, but I’m reassured by what I’ve seen: Covert Cutie is one smokin’ babe, and she’s about to be mine. The gears are rotating, spinning faster as I think up scheme after scheme for bringing her into my arms and filling her up for the rest of our lives.
She’s lucky I’m in the market for wife-y material, and she’s it. The whole package or enchilada or whatever you want to call it. She doesn’t know it yet, but I’ve upgraded her from Covert Cutie to Mrs. Covert Cutie Fuller. Unless she’s one of those women who want to keep their family names. We could do a fair trade: she keeps her last name, and I keep her till death parts us.
Mad genius like, I’d rub my hands together and grin like the dog I am… Actually, I’m kind of doing the latter already. Tongue particularly lolling out, I groan when she turns away without looking over at the horny guy eye-humping her for the last ten minutes or so.
Then I’m staring at her ass again and I forget my rant. I also sip and burn my tongue some more.
For the second time my eyes are forcibly peeled away from the object of my obsession by a throat clearing emphatically.
What is it with people in this city? I didn’t figure Albany, New York to be filled with a bunch of prudes, yet here I am staring down another A-hole who can’t mind his own business.
Bringing his scarf up around his ears, he’s far away and still close enough to make his head-to-boot survey an insult and a violation at the same time. A beanie covered his hair, but what I could make of it was dirty blonde and wavy. His beard could have warmed his neck if he didn’t have the scarf. Sum it up, a foppish hipster.
But that beard. I’ve been growing mine for two weeks and all I have to show for my effort are baby pubes. I am jealous.
“Can I help you?” He asks. It comes off a little snippy.
I notice he’s holding a tray of drinks from the same café I stopped at to grab my second morning coffee, but there’s a total of three cups and a coupon for free scratch and re-fill in the center of the tray, that and the two brown paper bags in his other hand suggest he works and/or he lives nearby.
The Marines honed my senses to pick up random details and un-randomize it to give me something to work with. So far, I’m coming up with a blank as to how to use this information. Intuition tells me there’s more, patience tells me to wait it the fuck out.
“Hel-lo?”
Okay. He’s now giving me the stink eye.
“Are you lost?” No, and I’m not mute. His stare makes me believe he thinks I am, lost and crazy that is.
Once again Covert Cutie is to blame. I haven’t gotten her name yet and she’s getting me into all this trouble.
“Not lost. Just looking.” I keep it honest. I resist the urge to add, “I’m checking out a girl, so help a brother out, brother.” This guy doesn’t look like he’ll be helping me with anything any time soon.
He studies me for another long minute, though it could have been longer. It’s enough for me to wonder if he’s angling for a fight. I wouldn’t lay a finger on him. It wouldn’t make sense for a guy my size to take on this shorter, slimmer dude.
Very directly he looks from me to the nearly empty display window and back again. The beanie’s sitting low for me to see, but his brows are probably quirked up to match his lips.
He knows what I’m up to and he finds it funny.
&nb
sp; “I promise there’s more goodies on the inside if you dare to come in.” He says. Before I can piece a decent comeback, he rounds me and pushes open the door to the store.
I turn around, taking a step in his direction, only to freeze a little ways from the entrance. The bell above the door tinkles and, for a second, I get a glimpse of the interior past the front window.
