Page 13 of The Growly Outcast’s Promise

In the past couple of years, I’ve seen some of my friends and my brother fall in love. I was here as they met their future wives.

I sat on the sidelines, observing as they met and fell in love with their future wives. For each of them it was like being struck by lightning. They knew the moment they met them.

It wasn’t like that with me and Annabelle. We were a little more than kids when we met. My brother and I had been swimming at Jackson’s Well, a spring-fed swimming hole that’s popular in our area. It’s beautiful, the water clear and cool. But it’s called a well because of how deep the center is. It goes down into an underwater cave system. But we all only swam around the surface.

The pool was packed that day. I don’t know why no one but me noticed the towheaded girl struggling to stay afloat. It could’ve been anyone else who saw her first and jumped in to rescue her. There were countless adults around. Ton of other kids, a lot of them older and better swimmers than I was.

But I’m the one who saw her. I’m the one who saved her.

That moment I dragged her out of the water and slapped her on the back, sat by her side as she coughed up water. That moment, right, then, felt like some part of my life slid into place. Like I’d been reunited with some piece of myself that I’d never before realized was missing.

I didn’t really understand it, not for years. Not until my mom introduced me to Plato’s idea of soulmates. The other half of yourself. In the most simplistic terms, it’s the notion that you and your soulmate are separated from each other by fate or cruelty. Then when you are reunited, everything just feels right. Like that was the way your life was supposed to go.

We finally reach Sugar Land, the part of Houston where Annabelle lives. I follow her directions to get the rest of the way to her house. She yawns about every third word, and I know that no matter how much I want to fuck her tonight, it’s not going to happen.

She needs sleep.

By the time I’m pulling into her driveway, it’s well past midnight.

I get out and walk around to the other side to help my bride. “Come on, darlin’, let’s get you inside and into bed.”

She giggles at that. “I still can’t believe Lizzie said that and you heard it. How embarrassing.”

“I know you’re tired if you’re going to actually admit that conversation happened,” I tell her.

We get inside and she leads us to her room. “Alright if I shower?” I ask.

She nods, then looks away.

“We’re not doing that,” I tell her. I hold her face and force her to look at me. “This is not about me not wanting you.” I press her palm to my very uncomfortable, very hard, denim-covered erection. “Trust me. I want you so bad I can hardly think straight from not enough blood to my brain. But you, my wife, are so tired. That’s not how we’re going to consummate this union. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now do you need help getting yourself ready and into bed?”

She yawns. “I’ve got it.”

I kiss her forehead. “Holler out if you need anything.” Then I slip into her attached bathroom and take the quickest and coldest shower I can handle. I dry off, put on clean boxer briefs and then step back into her room.

She’s a softly snoring lump under the quilt by the time I crawl in next to her. I pull her body close to mine, and breathe her in.

“I’m so glad you’re finally mine, Bella.”

I wake up so goddamn hard, it’s nearly painful. My hand is up Annabelle’s t-shirt, palming her breast. My rock-hard dick pulses, pressed up against her panty-clad ass.

She pushes back against me with a little whimper. I roll her hard nipple between my fingers.

“Grey,” she whispers.

“You awake, darlin’?”

“Yes.”

I slide my hand down her breast, then her stomach, and then under her panties. Again, I find her slick with need.

“I’m not going to fuck you right now,” I say.

“Why?” she asks, her voice thick with whininess.