Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“Thane—”
I snatch up Brodie’s wrist before he can test Thane’s self-defense skills for real. I’m not solely excited for a little bit of alone time in the middle of the afternoon, but Thane also shouldn’t be blamed for something Lucy overheard Amelia say.
Brodie waits for them to vanish up the stairs before shifting on his feet to face me. “She said flock, right?”
Smiling, I nod. Lucy has a bit of a lisp, and I’m not one hundred percent confident in my reply, so I’d rather use a gesture than words.
My grin grows when he sighs in relief before nudging his head to the stairwell. “Hungry?”
Again, I nod. “Starving.”
When I lick my lips, he groans. “Don’t look at me like that, Henley. I’m trying to remember that you don’t have to be naked every time we’re alone. I might have years of a self-imposed sabbatical to compensate for, but I don’t want you mistakenly believing I only want you for sex.”
You have no idea how wild his statement makes me. Being desired is addictive, but realizing you are the sole reason someone ended an almost six-year abstinence from sex makes you feel worth your weight in gold.
“Henley…” Brodie groans while adjusting his crotch.
“We have thirty minutes tops. An hour if he takes her to the parlor on West Street. I can think of far better ways to use the time than pretending to act chivalrous.” I graze my bottom lip with my teeth. “Like with your head between my legs.” I take my time dragging my eyes up his body, my watch lingering on his thickening crotch. “Or perhaps mine between yo—”
He lunges for me before all my sentence leaves my mouth and fucks me hard and fast until Lucy is saved from eating vegetables by a tight schedule that demands the ordering of takeout.
24
BRODIE
“Have you told her yet?” Lucy scrubs her back molars with her toothbrush for a few more seconds before spitting the froth into the sink and twisting to face me.
I wait for her to bare teeth so I can check her cleaning skills before asking, “Told her what?” I know who she’s referencing without needing to ask. She hasn’t stopped talking about Henley for the past five days. Almost every sentence starts with “Henley.”
I don’t mind. She’s on my mind just as much. I simply hide it better.
After swishing water around her mouth and gargling it, Lucy disposes of it. “That you love her.” I barely balk, but she’s on me as much as Thane was for details after he took Lucy for pre-dinner dessert. “Don’t deny it, Daddy. You can see it all over your face.”
“You need to stop listening to Uncle Thane, and nothing is happening between Henley and me. We’re friends.” Who are going to kill each other if we don’t occasionally switch out sex for sleep.
I thought the tension was extreme before I gave in to it.
I was dead fucking wrong.
The fireworks don’t quit—not even in the middle of the day when they’re being watched by an almost six-year-old.
Henley’s beautiful face and cock-thickening body would have any man on the backfoot, but the way she always puts Lucy first and encourages her to speak about her mother as often as she does herself has me staring at her in awe more than I should.
I’m still too old for her, and a worry won’t stop niggling in my gut, but one taste will never suffice.
If a death stare could kill, I’d be dead right now. “Grandma Stell was right. Boys are stupid.” Lucy hops off her step, dries her face on the towel, then marches to her bedroom. “She said Henley could slap you in the face with a fish, and you’d still act stupid.”
As I shadow her to her room, I ask, “What’s with the name-calling today? That’s the third time you’ve called me stupid.”
She climbs on her bed before twisting to face me. Her expression is serious when she says, “It isn’t a name if it’s true.”
“Hey…”
She holds firm for two seconds before her bottom lip drops. “I’m sorry. My hormones aren’t playing nice. I think I have PSM.”
“Do you mean PMS?”
Her brows furrow before she shakes her head. “Amelia said we get cranky from Putting Up With Men’s Shit.” She counts out the first letter of each of her last five words. “PUWMS.”
Now she is as confused as me.
“I still think you mean PMS, but that’s not something you have to worry about yet.” I tug down her summer duvet before gesturing for her to slip under it. “Especially since you’re not allowed a boyfriend until you’re forty, so you don’t have to put up with anyone’s crap for a long time.”
Her mouth gapes before it snaps closed just as fast. “Forty? You said I could have a boyfriend when I’m thirty!”