Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
Her eyes widen, but it’s not all shock. Not given the way they darken.
“Uncle Car, you’re not listening.”
Thank fuck for the popcorn bowl on my lap right now.
“Sorry, sweetie. What was that?”
“I said Mummy and me have matching pyjamas. Look!” She plucks at the button on her pink striped shirt, but the pair aren’t wearing exactly the same pyjamas because Lulu’s finish at her ankles and Fee’s hit only mid-thigh.
“That’s, ah, super cute.” I swallow, my voice suddenly husky as my gaze sweeps those toned and tanned legs just out of reach, toned and tan, skin like silk. Legs I still remember being wrapped around my head. My cock tightens as I recall the firmness of her calf in my palm and the way it tightened when I’d pressed my teeth to her inner thigh. The feel of her ass in my hands and the way that her thighs shook as I made her come.
“Mummy said we look like a pair of crimimals from Candyland.” It’s certainly criminal how much I want her mom right now. “She didn’t want to wear them,” she adds with a shake of her head. Her story checks out, judging by Fee’s expression. “But we always wear the same jim-jammies at the weekend.”
“Maybe your mommy is right.” I drag my eyes from those fucking legs to her face. “Maybe she shouldn’t be wearing them at all.”
“You’re impossible.” Somehow, her tone is less defiant as our eyes meet, and she reads my intentions. She makes me impossibly hard, and I think she knows that.
“Bring on the trolls!” the little girl growls, her voice oddly gruff for someone so small and sweet.
“The what?”
I’m the recipient of another superior glance as Fee adds, “You’ll see.”
We settle down to the movie, the kind which makes me wonder if the producer double-dropped acid to make this asinine shit, but before we’re thirty minutes in, I can feel the warm little bundle pressed up against my arm growing heavier and heavier. Then her chin tips to her chest, her head beginning to nod with each inhalation.
“I guess that’s why they call it the land of nod.” Fee shuffles to the edge of the couch, her smile for her child serene. “I’m surprised she made it this long. She should be exhausted after all that running around Central Park.”
“You were there all day?” Her head bobs. “You guys must’ve had fun.”
“What was less fun was ringing around half a dozen hotels,” she murmurs.
“I did try to warn you.”
She looks up sharply. “Do try not to sound so smug.”
“Why, when I was right?”
“When you’re right, you shouldn’t gloat,” she replies a little pert. “It isn’t very flattering.”
“And counting others’ sins doesn’t make you a saint.”
“I think I must be at least a little bit saintly to be having this conversation with you.”
“True.” I bring my glass to my lips. “I do wonder what you think my sins are.”
“Many and plentiful,” she replies, the corners of her mouth twitching with a smile.
“Come on, you can be a little more specific than that. I’d give my left nut to know what it is you’re thinking.”
“Just the left one?” She cocks one provocative brow.
“I guess that all depends.”
She doesn’t sigh, and she doesn’t shake her head, but she may as well have. “Don’t you ever get tired? Don’t you ever want to turn it off?”
“This is all on you, angel.”
“I’m not sure how,” she retorts.
“Because fantasy thrives within an air of mystery.”
Her cheeks begin to pink, and I am a sucker for that look on her, but as her feet touch the floor, she signals a definitive change in the tone of our foreplay.
Sorry, conversation.
“I suppose I’d better get sleeping beauty to bed.”
“I can take her.”
“No, I’ve got this,” she says, threading one arm across her daughter’s back and the other under her knees. “Come on, princess.”
“Princesse chou,” the little girl answers, seemingly still asleep and in French.
“Oof! You’re getting heavier by the day.”
“You’re coming back to finish your wine, right?”
The most perfect pair of legs ever to wear a pair of pink pyjama shorts halts at the door to the den. She doesn’t turn but offers me a hint of her profile as she says, “I don’t think that would be a very good idea.”
“I can’t finish this on my own.” A lie. “And I don’t want to waste this vintage. Don’t you know I opened it just to impress you?” About this wine, I give no fucks. What I want is that bundle of pink and gorgeous and blonde to come back here and spend a little time with me because I’ve become a masochist, and if I can’t spend a little time with her beneath me, I’ll settle for sitting with her side by side. Making her blush a little more.
“Okay.” Her shoulders move with her reluctant acquiesce. “But just for the wine. It would be a shame to waste something that tastes so nice.”