by Nikky Kaye
“Damn straight,” he muttered. “You taste so fucking good. Like butterscotch.” He grinned up at me, his mouth and chin shiny from my juices.
His palm left my stomach. Before I could react, he wedged his hands under the curve of my butt cheeks and hauled me to his mouth. He drank from me greedily—his lips, tongue, teeth and nose pressing into places that had never been treated with so much… avarice.
I felt like a cartoon character being electrocuted—all my bones stiff and disjointed, and an indefinable halo around my body. The shadow of his beard rasped over my raw nerve endings, followed by the liquid fire of his tongue.
A ball of lightning rolled up in my belly, sending an expectant ache through my center.
“Oh! Jake, I’m—”
“I know. It’s okay. Let it go.”
I barked out a laugh. At least he didn’t sing it. Lightheaded from anticipation, I floated up to the sky to find my climax. I felt like I was drifting away—away from my feelings, away from fear.
As though he couldn’t bear to lose his tether on me, Jake clutched me in his hands, spreading me wider. His tongue dove into my pussy, his teeth fastened lightly on my clit, and his thumbs pressed together to gently nudge at the sensitive rear entrance. The combined sensations brought me back to earth.
No longer the reluctant, guilty predator, he gleefully possessed me and made sure that I knew I was at his mercy. He gave and took in equal measure. He didn’t treat me like glass, but I sang and cracked like crystal nonetheless.
I screamed. My ascent was subverted, like he’d tugged on the string of my balloon and brought me back down to the rough and raw reality of our fucking. He worked me over as I came—hard.
And then I fell.
Chapter Seven
Jake
I’d had a lot of new experiences in my life.
As an orphan and foster kid.
As an adopted brother to “Richie Rich.”
As a military man.
As a father.
But I’d never had a woman sleep in my bed. Actually, since this was my guest bedroom, I still hadn’t.
Yes! My streak held!
I’d never been a good sleeper. A fractured childhood, nightmares, a lonely mansion and competitive adolescence, basic training, learning how to run a business—they all contributed to restless nights.
It wasn’t until I woke up beside Annie that I realized I’d actually slept with her.
Basically, we’d fucked ourselves into exhaustion. I had no clock in this bedroom, but the thin halo of light around the blinds probably meant it was early morning. So, I’d slept maybe three or four hours, which was usually enough for me.
I could go work out. I could fuck around on my phone. I could do lots of things, but instead I stared at Annie.
She was just so damn… interesting. Sure, she was beautiful, in an exotic, pocket-sized way. Cute, even. A human Tamagotchi pet.
Shit, that was a bad example.
But it wasn’t just her looks that captured my attention. Even the way she came fascinated me. It was like she needed my permission, even my command, to let the feelings take over. Then I became a selfish, jealous motherfucker and wanted to be part of every single second of her pleasure. After all, it was because of me, right?
When she begged for my cock, it was a no-brainer. She’d needed me earlier, and I was only too happy to help her out with that. It took a lot for her to tell me that she was lonely; I knew just how that felt.
Now I felt more confused than before.
Sex was usually the end of my brief relationships—if you could even call them that—with women. The longest I’d spent with one woman was with Stella’s mom.
On darker days I wondered where I’d be if I’d gotten out earlier. There wouldn’t be a bed down the hall that looked like it was stolen from a midget Medieval Times, at least. There were moments when I fantasized about that, then felt guilty as fuck for even imagining life without my little star.
Becoming a father, even part-time, made me realize just how fucked up the world was. Yeah, foster care and the service didn’t do that. Not even knowing Dom and his Grandad prepared me for the surreal experience of parenting.
Three years in, I was finally getting a grip on things—and Annie had gone and pried all my goddamn fingers apart.
The woman dead to the world in front of me was a bundle of contradictions, like a ball of tangled rubber bands. I was pretty confident that she’d bounce if I dropped her, but fuck if I knew which way she’d go.
I’d never before met a woman who made me want to ask so many questions.
Usually the questions I asked hot women were precursors to getting them into bed. Where did you go to school, what’s your dream job, did you have a pet growing up—panty-dropping bullshit like that. Shallow, fake conversations to provide a thin veneer of social interaction before pulling out a strip of rubbers.
Shit. Shit shit fuck.
I’d forgotten a condom with Annie. My eyes narrowed at her, like it was her fault that I’d been irresponsible. I was the idiot. She’d still been coming, her tight walls still rippling from her orgasm, when I rose up and into her. I couldn’t blame her for my mistake, when she was completely dickmatized herself.
She’d cried out, making me pause and second-guess myself, before digging her heels into my ass and pulling me into her. “Oh god, I’m so full!”
I hadn’t wanted to hurt her with my generous cock but, well… I was a generous guy. “Am I hurting you, honey? You’re so fucking tight.”
My whole soul felt like it was in a vise.
“No, no. It’s fine,” she panted, her forehead furrowing as I slowly moved back and forth.
My aching dick wanted to take her at her word. I’d managed to hang on while I was kissing her, eating her out. At one point I realized this was what middle-aged men on Viagra felt. I’d been fighting with my erection all fucking day—or at least it seemed that way.
Now I was balls-deep in her heat, and I didn’t want to leave. “Annie, I want to fuck you so badly.” My hips jerked, making her moan.
“Jacob Stone,” she said sternly—and breathlessly, “if you fuck me badly, I will never forgive you.”
I chuckled then groaned when I felt her giggles on the inside. “Jesus, Annie. How many mind-blowing orgasms does one woman need?”
She smiled. “Is that a rhetorical question?”
“Is that a challenge?” When she bit her lip, I thrust a little deeper. Oh yeah. “Mission accepted.”
And then I proceeded to fuck her brains out.
It didn’t take long before I was yelling and arching my back as I shot into her.
I waited for her to come first, of course. And second.
But then I couldn’t wait any longer, and the coil of tension within me sprang open.
I fell on my back beside her, breathless. Damn, she was still too far away. She was staring at the ceiling as I pulled her into my side.
“Mind. Blown.” Her mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. It would have been really funny, if my brain didn’t go to other, dirtier places when I watched her purse her lips.
Even now, fast asleep, her lips parted a little when she breathed. I wanted to lean over and test if the tip of my tongue would fit in that space, wanted to put my ear to her mouth to see if she was very, very quietly snoring.
She sighed in her sleep, startling me. How long had I been staring at her? My phone buzzed, drawing my attention away from the woman in my bed—my guest bed.
After a few words on the phone with the security desk downstairs, I exhaled heavily and slid out of bed. All I could find on the floor to put on were my discarded briefs, so I hurried to my bedroom. The rapping at the door nearly caused a tragic accident as I zipped up a pair of jeans.
Jesus, I was jumpy.
“Okay, okay,” I grumbled. Another series of knocks rattled through my nerves. I stalked through the living room and yanked open the door.
“You know I’m he
re. Why do you keep knocking?”
My ex lifted a penciled-in eyebrow. “I thought maybe you’d gone back to sleep.”
“Oh, for fu—” I remembered the toddler nudging Sheila’s knee. “Fun’s sake. When I’m up, I’m up.”
“I remember,” she said as Stella migrated from her mother’s leg to mine. Sheila’s gaze slid over my body, and I regretted not grabbing a shirt.
“Daddy!”
When I looked down at my daughter, the irritation rippling in my chest flattened out, like the sea after a storm. All that was left was bubbles from the violent waves and a vague sense of nausea. Even that dissipated when she smiled at me.
“Hi, baby.” Automatically, I hauled her up on my hip. I knew she hated it when everyone spoke above her head. My little girl didn’t like being towered over.
“You gotta stop picking her up all the time,” Sheila rebuked.
I shrugged. It wasn’t the first time we’d had this exchange, and I couldn’t care less. I’d take my daughter in my arms whenever the fuck I wanted to.
“What’s the deal?” I asked.
“I had a job interview a few days ago, and they asked me to come in for the morning shift to shadow somebody.”
“At dark o’clock?” Reflexively I swiveled toward the hallway, wondering if we’d woken up Annie. I didn’t hear anything. Good.
“It’s with emergency dispatch. Nine-one-one.”
I frowned. “Can you take that kind of job, with her?” I jerked my chin toward Stella. Her blonde curls tickled my jaw, smelling a little like honey. “That can be pretty shit—” Sheila glared. Right, the fucking swear jar. “Shifty hours. Shift work.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
Saying nothing, I reveled in the smell of my baby’s hair. “How long?”
She shook her head as she dug into her giant tote bag. “Few hours, maybe? I’ll text you.”
There was nothing else to say. Sheila never asked; she just assumed I’d be there. Mostly, I was. There were times when it burned that not only did she take it for granted that I’d come to the rescue, but that I always proved her right.
But we both knew that I’d never let Stella down, and Sheila used it to her advantage.
I glared at her, but her attention was focused on her phone. “You could have called first.”
“They just called me. I didn’t want to blow them off,” she explained—like it was no big deal to get a toddler up before the sun and drag her out. Had she given her breakfast, even?
I looked down at Stella, unable to carbon date the chocolate milk mustache dried around her mouth.
Sheila wasn’t a bad mother, not at all. When she first told me she was pregnant, my first thought was “gold-digger.” Actually, my kneejerk response was “Are you sure it’s mine?” but I stopped myself from actually saying that. If I had, I might not have been able to father future children.
But when we’d gone our separate ways, she’d surprised me by telling me that she didn’t want money. Yeah, I made sure they didn’t need anything, but Sheila liked working. She put most of the child support I gave her in a bank account for Stella.
Even when she lived with me, when we tried to make it work, she didn’t want handouts.
I couldn’t really complain about that.
I’d done most of my complaining about the dude she fucked when Stella was only about six months old.
All moms need a break, sure. But I thought she’d go for brunch or go shopping or something—not go down on a stranger on my bed.
At that point, it had already been a long six months since Stella was born. If I thought living with a woman would take some getting used to, it was nothing to living with a baby. After I got them a new apartment, it took me a long time to get used to the quiet again. Also, the new mattress, since I sent my contaminated bed with her.
“You need anything?” she asked, holding up a couple of pull-up diapers.
“I’m good.”
Hugs and kisses later—between her and Stella, not me—she left and I carried my shooting star into the kitchen.
“Real, Daddy?”
Cereal. “Sure, baby. Want the noisy kind?”
She nodded. I found the box of Rice Krispies and a plastic bowl for her. Her giggles at the snap, crackle and pop made me smile.
Should I make breakfast for Annie? How long was she going to sleep? I washed Stella’s face, rinsed her cereal bowl and threw it in the sink, then got some eggs and a frying pan out.
“Elsa!” Stella squatted by the TV, a DVD case in her hands.
“Not right now.” I took the case from her ridiculously strong grip.
“I want Elsa and Anna!”
“Jesus, kid. Let it go,” I muttered. “I said, ‘not now.’” I put the television on for her, and went back to the kitchen to consider the eggs.
Scrambled? Poached? Who was I kidding? Any attempt I made at something else ended up in scrambled, anyhow.
I was whisking the eggs with a fork when I heard a scream.
Chapter Eight
Annie
Of all the ways a person can be woken up, a toddler two inches away from your face is not the most peaceful. My reflexive screech scared the shit out of both of us. Wide-eyed, the two-foot terror tumbled back onto the floor beside the bed.
Jake burst through the doorway, his expression ferocious. He halted, sagging when he saw me. His gaze immediately softened when it moved to Stella.
“You okay?”
Was he addressing me, or his daughter? She was on the floor, but looked no worse for it. Besides, at her age she was already a lot closer to the floor. I, on the other hand, just about had a heart attack.
“Who dat?”
“Annie,” Jake said.
She popped up and beamed at me. “On a delsa?”
I turned to Jake, not fluent in Toddler. He grinned at me. At least, in the direction of my bare neck, shoulders, and upper chest. His x-ray vision already knew what my breasts looked like under the quilt I clutched to me.
“Not like Anna and Elsa, starlight,” he explained. “Her name’s Annie. And right now we should give her some privacy.” He reached for Stella’s hand and tugged her to the door. “Why don’t you help me crack some more eggs?” He rolled his eyes at me. “After I clean up the ones on the floor.”
“Where’re her jammies?” Stella demanded.
I pulled the blanket over my mouth, trying not to laugh. Jake searched me for an answer. I blinked in response. Like I knew? I went to bed with a tank top on, but had no idea where it’d ended up. My torn panties were on the floor somewhere—at least Stella hadn’t discovered those.
With his hand on Stella’s golden head and his smirk pointed at me, he prodded her out of sight. “Uh, she lost them.”
“Is she cold?”
As they disappeared down the hall, I heard Jake reply, “No, I don’t think she’s cold at all.”
Alone once more, I drew my knees up and rested my chin on them. No, I hadn’t been cold last night, in Jake’s arms. Part of me was still embarrassed by my loneliness. Another part of me was still sore from the remedy.
As predicted, my panties were a lost cause. I found my tank and the skinny jeans I was wearing yesterday, at least. Going commando might be okay for guys, but it made me wince in discomfort. Ugh.
When I walked out to the kitchen, the sight of Jake bent over Stella while she focused on the eggs made me smile. He didn’t seem to care that her preferred technique was smashing it on the side of the bowl and letting it drip through her little fingers, shell and all.
When his gaze lifted to me and he grinned, it was like he’d punched me in the chest. “I hope you like your eggs crunchy.”
“I… uh…” Damn. Suddenly my life felt kind of crunchy. What the hell was I doing here?
Six months ago, I was sharing a bottle of wine with Evie and encouraging her to do wild, daring things. I’d sacrificed one of my favorite lingerie sets to the cause, even. But I was, at heart, not
that wild or daring. I worked. I kept to myself, mostly. I worked. Sometimes I dated, but after the itch was scratched, I didn’t feel the urge to continue.
Now I had a secret admirer, a not-so secret admirer, and a little girl staring at me like she’d never seen a woman in her daddy’s kitchen before.
And maybe she hadn’t.
“Do you like bacon?” Stella asked.
I blinked at her. “Bacon?”
“Bacon is the bestest. But Daddy burns it.” Her little face screwed up in distaste. “Can you cook it right?”
Jake shrugged. “It’s true. I’m more of a sausage kind of guy.”
Oh yeah, was he ever.
“I want bacon!” Stella stomped her foot on the chair she was standing on at the kitchen island then wobbled as she nearly fell. Jake’s arms were around her in a flash, righting her.
Holding her.
Securing her.
The memory of those same, strong arms around me made something quiver deep inside. It was a sudden flash of feeling that was more than sexual, more than physical attraction. My gaze traced his embrace, his hands reaching past his daughter to pinch broken pieces of eggshell in the bowl before them.
Jake had a lot going for him. About nine inches, I’d guess.
He was hot, but he was also warm—warm-hearted, intense but playful, and he wore his heart on his sleeve. Literally, he had a jagged-looking heart tattooed on his left arm. It almost looked like a superhero symbol with a shaky “S” in the middle.
How had I not noticed that before? Probably because I hadn’t been looking for a hero. I’d always made a point of rescuing myself.
“I can cook bacon,” I announced.
Stella craned her head to beam at her dad. “Daddy! She can do it!”
“I heard, starlight.”
Within five minutes, I found myself slicing open a pack of bacon with a pair of kitchen shears. Stella’s attention bounced between my actions and the TV, as though she weren’t sure which was more critical.
Jake knelt beside me, retrieving a frying pan from a lower cupboard.
