Page 31 of Finding Hope

So Jack-with-the-giant-dick certainly didnotbuy a bunch of crap to compensate for lack of size the way some guys would.

He has a TV – not giant, not small – secured to the wall near me. An L shaped leather couch that looks more comfortable than it does stylish. Thanks to the open plan living space, I can see straight through to the kitchen where his apparent fondness for being neat ends at the piled pots and pans in the sink, and the junk scattered over the otherwise opulent kitchen counters.

Giant tubs of protein powder, a dozen of them, litter the counters; brands I recognize, because my brothers drink that crap like the zombie apocalypse is coming and they needall the musclesnow.

I much prefer looking at Jack’s muscles, that’s for sure.

Dying of thirst, mouth made of sandpaper, I take a step forward and attempt to push the horse-dog away. “Let’s get a drink, Annie. Take me to the kitchen.”

Stepping away immediately, so swiftly and so sure, I swear shemustunderstand my words. Turning on her feet and resting her ribs against my body, she leans so heavily, she almost buckles my frame.

But she leads me.

She leads me into the messy kitchen and noses the cupboards to the far left. Swear to God, I open it up and find water glasses. Waiting for me to grab one down, she leans and leads me to the water dispenser on the fridge.

Are there gifted schools for dogs? Is that where Jack’s ‘used to’ money went?

Pressing my glass against the sensor in the door, I lean against the dog and scratch her ears while we wait. Walking around this beautiful home, led only by moonlight, is refreshing. No noises except my feet on tile floors. No company, except Annie’s friendly smile and comforting presence.

The anonymity of the darkness is invigorating. But the lack of light might’ve been a mistake. Turning when the glass is full, I step on Annie’s foot, which elicits a loud yelp as she skitters away.

I squeal, because her yelp scares the crap out of me, then the kitchen lights flick on and reveal the poor giant dog missing a leg, which has me screaming like my stomping foot is the single catastrophic cause for that missing limb.

“What the hell are you doing?” A beefy hand slams down over my mouth, sealing my squeals and muffling my noise. “Stop screaming. Jesus!”

I try to escape his hold.

I don’t stop screaming. This is everything my brothers have been warning me about.

I scream. I bite his hand. And I imagine him wearing my skin.

Flailing against his solid chest and swinging my legs beneath me like a caricature spider in roller skates, I stop in a single heartbeat when Annie’s growls snap and her teeth bare dangerously.

Good doggy. Good pupper.

Breathing through my nose and almost hyperventilating in my panic, my chest rises and falls as I stare into Annie’s feral eyes.

Jesus, she thinks I’m hurting him!

Why can she understandwaterandkitchen, but not ‘your owner is the one attacking me!’He’s two-hundred and fifty pounds, at least!

He’s not in danger.

Nodding andgentlyfighting against Jack’s hold, when his hand slides back off my face, I take a step to the side. “Okay, it’s okay. Sorry… Tell her to stop.”

“Annie,” he huffs impatiently. “Quit it.”

She snaps again and has me jumping an additional three feet away. I won’t hurt him –as if I actually could!

As soon as Jack steps away and creates extra space between us, her eyes lighten and she stops thinking of me as her next steak dinner. Like the flip of a light switch, her tail wags and her face butts against my stomach.

I swear to God, it’s like she’s mock punching me in the shoulder,‘Joke’s on you, Bambie. I was just playing. Woofer, woof.’

“Jesus Christ.” Breathing through my adrenaline, I concentrate on not passing out and becoming a leg donor. Considering how smart she is, I bet she knows how to remove a leg and reattach it where hers should be.

Waste not, want not.

“Alright.” I step back when Jack comes closer. “I’m not touching him. See?”

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