Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 117(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 117(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
5
Tracy
We settle at a table in the hotel restaurant and Amelia bops happily in her seat.
“Can I get French fries, Daddy?” she asks, using her best Bambi-voice, complete with innocent doe eyes.
Rick mock-frowns at his daughter before relenting.
“Of course you can, baby. But you have to eat your burger first, okay? Or do you want chicken fingers?”
“Chicken fingers!” the blonde darling cries with glee while clapping her hands together. “They’re yum-yum good!”
We all laugh as Melly’s father and I exchange a special look over her head. After all, this feels particularly cozy. In fact, when we stepped up to the hostess desk, the woman immediately assumed we were a nuclear family.
“Here’s a menu for Mom and Dad, and here’s a kiddie menu for you,” she said with a special smile for the little girl. “Your waitress will be right over.”
I suppose assuming that we’re a couple is very understandable because not many people travel with a pregnant babysitter, so everyone probably thinks that the child is Rick’s. But the handsome man doesn’t seem to mind. He helps me with everything now, from pulling out my chair to opening doors when we’re in public, and of course, I’ve spent every night in his bedroom ever since that interlude at the beach. It’s a wonder we haven’t woken Amelia with our calisthenics, given the ecstatic moaning, throaty grunts, and of course, the relentless banging of the headboard against the wall.
But the little girl seems to be none the wiser. She never asks why I appear from Daddy’s room in the mornings, or why I walk around in nothing more than silky robe sometimes, as if Rick’s truly my husband. Instead, Amelia’s blissfully ignorant, and for that, I’m grateful.
Now, however, it’s dinnertime, and we’re at one of the hotel restaurants within the resort. It’s got a tropical feel with huge palms in baskets, wooden furniture, and a high, coffered ceiling with lazily rotating fans spinning up above. All we need are some mosquitoes and mosquito nets, and I can almost pretend that we’re in the jungle.
But after the waitress takes our order, Rick turns to me with a knowing smile.
“How are you feeling today, sweetheart?”
I giggle, placing both hands on my belly.
“You mean, because of the pregnancy or because of you?”
“Me,” he growls in a devilish tone, those blue eyes sparking. “I want to know how you’re holding up, especially after what we did last night.”
I giggle because Rick practically had me in a pretzel position. My legs were up by my ears, and one ankle was even behind my head as he took me in my bottom, making me moan and scream as I was violated. But it was heavenly all the same, and afterwards, my man kissed and licked my bottom hole in order to soothe that raw and ravaged pucker.
I shift on the bench, squirming a bit from the ache there.
“I’m okay, but we won’t be able to do that again for at least a day or two,” I giggle. “It was too much!”
Rick chuckles, but then his expression grows serious.
“You know I appreciate your flexibility, sweetheart, but you’re also aware that the guys talk about you, right? They’ve even discussed your flexibility before.”
I stare at him.
“Sorry, who? Who are these guys you’re referring to?”
Rick sighs a bit, looking quickly at his daughter, but Amelia’s busy coloring away on a placemat the restaurant has provided. He lowers his voice.
“The single dads group I belong to,” he says in a meaningful tone. “Where I got your number from.”
I sit back, defeated suddenly.
“Oh that,” I say in a limp voice.
“Yes, that,” the big man repeats, his blue eyes glimmering. “Quite a few of us have used your babysitting services, honey, and like all guys, they talk. They’ve mentioned how beautiful you are, but also how wild and wanton.”
All the blood drains from my body.
“So you guys have been gossiping about me?” I manage faintly.
Rick nods.
“Well, I wouldn’t describe it as gossiping, but yes. Men talk, the same way women do. But our chats don’t slut-shame you or anything like that. It’s just that you were the perfect fit for quite a few of us divorced guys. You were able to care for our children, but also provide a much-needed relief to the fathers as well, and we appreciate that about you,” he says in a low tone.
Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel any better although I straighten in my seat with a resolute expression.
“Well, you’re welcome, I suppose,” I manage in a stronger tone. “How many of the guys were talking about me?”
Rick shrugs.
“Just two or three.”
I shoot him a look.
“Which ones?”
“David Eaton, Mark Hammer and Chris Clay,” he replies after a pause. “But again, none of this is being done to shame you, honey. If anything, we’re grateful for your services, although I’d like to throw something out there, if I may.”