Sleepy Fox Hollow lächeln

That was all Mahler needed to say for the door to Wylla's soul to close. The first time he mentioned his plans she had merely scoffed the way she thought any self-respecting woman would scoff. Men, ever unsatisfied with what they had, ever reaching for more than they deserved. Such had been her judgment of Mahler's intentions, and her thoughts had gone to the children produced from his ambitions. To live in a world with a father whose attentions were so divided...

Wylla was glad her father had simply never returned. It would be less cruel.

Now, however, there was a more poignant pain that came with his confirmation. Where it came from, Wylla didn't know. It wasn't like she had plans to have children with him, nor any desire to see whatever they shared take off that quickly with that level of obligation. She wasn't ready for anything more than whatever they'd shared just now. It was hard enough deciding on any given day if she enjoyed his company or wanted only to escape it, which was the first clue that she was more invested than she wanted to be; Wylla only knew how to run from good things, because good things had never been allowed to remain that way for her. What he did with his cock was his business, not hers, so why did it sting to know nothing had changed in spite of her silent admission to him?

Good luck with that, she said, biting back the urge to be much more scathing, but her pace quickened as the completely unwarranted pain of rejection (as if he had ever done so) blossomed in her stomach.