Things We Burn Read Online Anne Malcom

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports, Virgin Tags Authors: Anne Malcom Advertisement1

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And my way of creating something with Maisie.

It added to my pressures, but I was learning to delegate. To switch off from my business and be present in our home.

I’d cooked for us. Nothing fancy, shrimp scampi with herbs from our garden.

Kane was inside doing the dishes, having banished me to the porch with a glass of wine and orders to relax. As if such a thing were possible.

Even with all the changes, the nightmares and anxiety lessening, I still hadn’t learned how to relax. There was always something to be done. With the restaurant, the house. Then I had to eat, shower, sleep. Even with help, the to-do list was never-ending. Even with all the help.

It did take a village.

And I needed it.

But then there were the nights of Mabel splashing in the bath, reading stories with her father and us putting her to bed. There were nights of quiet meals and easy conversation, an old yet hot attraction simmering between us. We hadn’t devolved to the ‘roommate stage’ like everyone scaremongered us into expecting.

There were days and nights when we spoke only about bowel movements, nap times and feedings. But we were still each other. Somehow.

The door opened, then Kane emerged, his cheeky grin lit up by the last rays of sunlight. For a moment we were in a crowded party, eyes meeting across the room, electricity buzzing between us.

My body responded just like it had that day. Viscerally, passionately.

“You look relaxed, Chef,” he observed, coming to grasp my hips then seemingly effortlessly pulling me out of the chair, sitting in it himself then repositioning me on his lap. My body practically purred at the contact.

I leaned into him, inhaling the scent of him mixed with the sea breeze and a faint whiff of Mabel’s spit-up. It comforted me. All of it.

“I am relaxed,” I told him honestly.

He stroked my head. “Well that foils my plans. I had expected you to still be tense. So I planned on peeling off your panties, making you sit in front of the ocean, in front of me while I ate your pussy and the waves drowned out your screams.

I stared at him.

“You’re serious.”

“I’m always serious about your pussy,” he replied, leaning in to nip my neck.

I glanced at the monitor which showed Mabel sleeping peacefully. I then gazed over to the empty beach.

It was unlikely that we’d get caught, seen, but it was possible.

An old flame of excitement sparked within me. One that was born in a dive bar in New York. One that hadn’t died with motherhood, with my identity shifts. One that hadn’t died with Kane.

“Is that an affirmative, Chef?” Kane asked, hunger in his tone.

I looked from the ocean to his eyes. “Oh, it’s definitely a yes.”

And that was how I ended our night, with Kane’s face between my legs, bringing me to exquisite orgasm.

There was a lot ahead of us, a whole life together.

And for the very first time, I was in the moment.

And that moment was pretty darn good.

KANE

They were both sleeping. Curled up together in our bed, faces inches apart. I etched that image into my memory, wishing it could push out all the other terrible ones, the one that had me up at two in the morning when I should’ve been in bed with my wife and daughter.

Brax.

On the ground of our kitchen—Avery’s kitchen. Her one solace, sanctuary, poisoning it with his presence, his death.

Mabel, mere feet away, squealing in glee at me while the dead body of her would be kidnapper cooled.

I squeezed my eyes shut then opened them, my blood pressure accelerating with the image burned into the backs of my eyelids. Yeah, there were plenty of other ingredients in my trauma soup—my past, my prison sentence—but they paled in comparison to my wife and daughter being in danger and me not being there.

It took great physical effort to leave the room. I ached to stay there, watch them for the rest of the night, but the roof was too close, the walls beginning to close in. I took my phone, having set up another monitor in our room so whenever I had to leave it, I could watch them sleeping. Blanche was pressed up against the bed, even more clingy to both of them after what happened.

I fucking swore, if dogs could feel guilt, she was coated with it. Brax had poisoned her. He’d known about her, had been watching us, and had lain in wait for Avery to let her out.

It was a fucking miracle she survived.

We exchanged a look as I left, her silently telling me she’d watch over them. Or that’s what I liked to think.

I walked through the dark house, willing my mind to quiet.

I was free.

Our daughter was safe in her mother’s arms. There were no threats.


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