Chapter 45

Forrester

When Forrester woke the following morning, his body felt as if he’d been hit by a train. He was healing from the beatings he’d received in the jail, but it would still take a little time until he was back to full strength. Elle was already up, sitting by the window, her journal in her hand. She hadn’t noticed that he was awake yet.

He watched her. He’d never seen anything so beautiful in all his life. She was sitting in the sunlight, a warm fire burning in the hearth at her feet. She had a cup of coffee steaming by her hand and the smell of it wafted through the room. Her face was calm and serene. She was so pretty it almost made him want to cry. He’d never felt this way before. It was a completely new sensation.

Forrester had been with his share of women, a lot more than most men, but he’d never been in love. He’d never even been close to being in love. This was it for him, it was the real thing, and he knew it deep in his heart and soul.

He looked at her belly and wondered if he’d succeeded yet. They’d made a lot of love without protection.

Was she pregnant yet?

Was she already the mother of his child? He knew it was possible, and he knew that if there was one thing that could make him love her even more fiercely than he already did, it was that. It took his breath away. That thought. She might already be the mother of his child. He just couldn’t get his head around it. It made his heart thump like a galloping horse.

He pictured her holding a little baby up to her breast, nurturing it, feeding it. His cock stiffened instantly.

“Get over here,” he said.

Elle was startled. She hadn’t noticed that he was awake. She glanced over at him and he threw off the blanket, revealing the erect pole of his cock, which rose up from his lap like the mast of a ship.

“Forrester,” she gasped.

“Get over here,” he said again.

Timidly, she approached him.

He nodded at his erect cock.

“Go ahead, sit on it.”

“What?”

He couldn’t help himself. His animal instinct took over. He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward him. Then, so coarsely that he even surprised himself, he spat on his hand and rubbed the saliva on his cock. He pulled her down onto it. She slid onto him like her body had been built solely for that task. He thrust up into her and she moaned and arched her back. He grabbed her thighs and bucked, thrusting upward again and again. He thrust upward so powerfully that she was almost thrown from him. She had to reach behind her and grab his thighs, just to hold on. Up and up he thrust, more and more powerfully, like a bull in a rodeo. It wasn’t long before they were both moaning and panting in pleasure. And then, as quickly as they’d started, they were both coming.

Forrester orgasmed violently, pleasure and semen overpowering him, pouring into Elle’s delicious, delectable pussy.

“I love you, Elle,” he said.

Her eye caught his, and he could tell that the words had taken her by surprise.

“Yes, I love you. I love you with all my heart. I love you for what you are.”

“What is that?” she said.

She was still sitting on him, as if riding a horse, and he looked up at her delicious little breasts, her pretty face, her glowing hair.

“I saw something in your journal,” he said. “I didn’t read it, but it was open, and on the page it said, It is better to be hated for what you are than loved for what you are not.”

“I wrote it there to remind myself,” Elle said.

“Well, I want you to know, that I know what you are, and that’s why I love you. I love you for what you are.”

“You know the whole story?” she said.

“I’ve heard it all, Elle. Gris told it to me.”

“I was worried that that might make you think less of me. Or differently.”

“Never,” Forrester said, shaking his head.

“I thought maybe it would make you think twice about being with me.”

Forrester laughed. “You know as much about me as I do about you,” he said. “You know my father let my mother die. That she died during my birth.”

“I do,” she said.

Forrester nodded. “There aren’t many secrets in small towns like this, are there?”

“No, there aren’t.”

“I guess you also know that my father tried to kill me once. He locked me in a basement with fighting dogs.”

“The pit bulls from your tattoos.”

“Yeah.”

“I heard all of it.”

“If you can love me for all that I am, I sure as hell can love you for every atom in your body, Elle.”

“Really?” she gasped, her eyes filling with tears.

“Really,” he said, and he grabbed his jeans from the floor by the bed.

In the pocket was the ring, his mother’s engagement ring. He hadn’t thought about it since putting it in there. He pulled it out. Then, with a little difficulty because of the injured ribs, which were even more raw after the passionate lovemaking, he climbed out of the bed and faced Elle. He got down on his knee.

Immediately, Elle started to cry. Tears streamed down from her beautiful eyes, over her cheeks, and it was everything Forrester could do to stop himself from kissing her face and drinking those tears. He’d die for this woman, he knew that now.

“Elle Barclay,” he said.

She let out even more tears. He looked at her and again the thought that she might already be carrying a child for him flashed across his mind. He looked at her face, her voluptuous breasts, and the spot between her legs where he knew his come was.

“Elle Barclay, will you do me the honor of being my wife.”