DECEIT (B723)

by Hazel Grace

  “Do you have a bedtime?” I tease, stepping closer to him and smelling his sexy as fuck cologne of nutmeg and weed. “Because there’s always later.”

  “I just need five minutes.”

  I chuckle. “I doubt—“

  “Hey, Mills,” Bishop calls out, still locking eyes with me. “You need some cheese for the burgers?”

  “No, I got—“

  “I’ll get you some.” Bishop seizes my hand and laces his fingers with mine, tugging me along with him towards the sliding door leading into the kitchen.

  Once inside, I’m prey.

  I’m in Bishop’s clutches, ass on the kitchen counter—apparently this is our spot—and his back to anyone who could be coming up this way.

  “Be the lookout, baby,” he mutters, messing with his jeans before his lips slam into mine.

  How does this man expect me to focus let alone watch out for anybody who might slide this door open?

  “Bishop, unless you want your ass to be the main event, you better move us.”

  He growls. “My luck it’d be Marty.” Lifting me again, we end up in his room, the door not so subtly slammed behind him while he stalks us both to his bed.

  My dress is lifted, his lips are on my inner thighs, and I’m squirming under his touch before I can release a full exhale.

  “If you keep this up,” I breathe. “You’re gonna get tired of me.” He bites the inside of my thigh, and I squeal.

  “Don’t talk shit you can’t back up, Emmy Lou.”

  “Says the man who said five minutes.” Bishop’s entire weight is on me next like a damn panther and I settle underneath him.

  “If you wanted me so bad, you could’ve just said that.” I push my forehead into his and relish this moment of us—in love and together. “What’s wrong, baby?”

  “Nothing,” I whisper. “Just letting this all soak in.”

  “Waiting for the other ball to drop?” I shake my head. “You know I love you, right?” I bob my head up and down. “Hard to believe?”

  “I wanted this for so long…it feels unreal sometimes.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “You know…Mills is outside.”

  He tsks and nestles his face into my neck. “I know.”

  “Do you know what that means?”

  He presses a kiss to my jawline. “That I need to go lock my sister up?”

  I swat at his shoulder as he meshes soft kisses with his lips, but the stubble on his chin abrades after it. “Bish, stop, leave them alone. He won’t hurt her, bro code and all that silly shit.”

  “Who the fuck told you about bro code?” He pulls his face from me and peers down like it’s the most serious thing in the world, then cracks a smirk. “He does it to annoy me.”

  “Gee, because it’s so hard.”

  “Can we fuck now?” He rolls his blue eyes. “I’d love not to talk about him.”

  I try not to crack a smile. “How about something better?”

  “That exists? Because this right here is—”

  “Let’s get married.” I meet his solemn stare as if I didn’t just say something so important.

  “Can’t.”

  My brows knit. “Why not?”

  “I don’t have your ring from the jeweler’s and—“

  “Fuck a ring, I want your heart…and last name.”

  “Yeah, but the adoption papers and—“ My palm falls to his cheek, and I brush my thumb over the coarse hair of his face.

  “Okay…” I reply gently. “We’ll do it your way.”

  “I just want it to be perfect this time. We did Vegas and—“

  “And I loved it.”

  He stares at me for a beat before asking, “You really wanna get married now?”

  I give a noncommittal shrug. “Only if you wanna fuck Mrs. Bishop tonight, but if not—“ Bishop is off the bed and hauling me into his chest so quick my brain spins.

  “Let’s go. Ky can watch the kids.” He begins for the door, but I stay grounded to my spot.

  “We’ll do it here.”

  “We can’t.” He jerks his head to the door. “No priest or whatever those other guys are called.”

  “Mills is ordained. He did Stormi and Marty’s wedding.”

  He violently shakes his head. “Hell no.”

  I smirk and rise on my tiptoes to kiss him. “Oh, hell yes.”

  A YEAR LATER…

  “How many of those yellow flags do they throw out when the players are in trouble?” Emmy sinks herself further against my body, asking me the tenth or more question of the night on football.

  It wouldn’t be so bad, but she keeps letting it sink in deeper that my team is fucking up royally tonight with their bullshit penalties and inability to keep their defensive line intact.

  “As many as they want,” I ground out, watching the ref point to my side of the field, calling yet another penalty and first down.

  Emmy’s hand falls to my upper thigh, relieving some of the tension from the game and sending it right to my cock.

  I’m not sure if the woman realizes how much her touch fucking cranks up the animal in me. I’m only able to release it in random places when the kids aren’t around to sink my dick so deep in her I’m seeing stripes of color and shit in my vision.

  “Can I tell you something?” she asks, peering up at me with those warm browns, and I’m already aware of what she’s getting at.

  “No.”

  “But you didn’t even know—“

  I trail my gaze off the TV and to her. “Don’t I? I want the baby to be a surprise.”

  Yep.

  Your boy got Emmy Lou Bishop pregnant, and she’s been bugging me ever since with wanting to tell me the sex of our child.

  The moment we hovered over that positive pregnancy test, I fucked her twice in a row from being so overwhelmed with emotions. Then I told her no-go on the kid with wanting to know what we were having.

  I wanted to be surprised.

  I don’t think we’re gonna make it there with how many times she tries to trip me up.

  “But you’re gonna know anyway because—“

  “How? I thought you wanted neutral colors in the baby’s room.”

  “I do, but—“ I run my hand down the side of her face and cup her chin.

  “Emmy, I love you. But if you tell me anything about that kid other than being something wrong, I’m gonna…after your pregnant, I’m gonna fuck you so hard that—“

  “You do that already.” Her brows furrow together like I’m telling her something she doesn’t know.

  “That was one time. I got carried away.” Emmy hits me with a knowing stare. It’s something I’m working on.

  “But for real,” she continues. “It’s important, and I’m truly not trying to ruin this for you.”

  A whistle blows off the TV screen, and my attention flicks back to it to find yet another penalty.

  “What the fuck,” I grit out, keeping my tone down because Alaric and Atlas are playing on their playmats in front of us.

  We moved into our new house about four months ago, and Emmy has been nesting like a motherfucker. My sister comes over almost every day to make dinner while she orders Emmy to stay off her feet. We’re due in two months, almost around the same time her ex stabbed her with the twins, and she’s been a little on edge lately.

  So if her telling me the sex of our child is going to elevate some of that stress…

  “Alright,” I impart, still holding on to her face. “Go ahead.”

  Emmy frowns, searching my expression to see if it’s okay. “Will you be mad?”

  “No.”

  “You’re mad.”

  “I’m not mad.”

  “But you wanted to be surprised.”

  I shrug. “It’s not like we’re not going to have any more kids. We can do it the next time.”

  “I could’ve kept it a secret if you’d stop going into the nursery,” she scolds as though I brought this conversation up and wanted t
o spoil my own secret.

  “What’s that have to do with anything?” Emmy looks heavenward and pulls from my grip, clearly exasperated with me.

  Rearranging herself on the couch, she scoots close to the edge and tries to twist her body, her big belly in her way. She’s still learning to navigate herself sometimes, the beautiful creature.

  “Because you won’t stay out,” she repeats. “You’ll notice if I finish it.”

  “It’s not done?” Brown eyes slit at me. “I mean…I thought it was.”

  “It’s half done. Hardy can’t bring anything in because you walk in there like babies are gonna fall out of the sky and land in the crib.”

  “Ems, tell me what you wanted to say so I can catch up here.”

  “Twins,” she blurts. “We’re having twins. I need to have two cribs, two dressers. I want to make sure it’s all set up before we give birth. You keep standing in there, and it’s sweet and cute but, babe, I need to get it all done.”

  I stare at her because she just said twins.

  Twins still stand for two babies, right?

  I glance down at Alaric and Atlas laying on their bellies, playing with teething toys, confirming my damn question.

  “Two girls, right?” I flick my gaze to her when she doesn’t respond.

  “Aw, babe—“ She reaches out to touch my cheek. “—you’re gonna be kissing my ass so hard for putting two boys in me.”

  My eyes expand so much that I’m surprised they don’t roll out. “Fucking boys?”

  “Two little Kace Bishops.” She rubs her belly. “Right here.” Emmy looks so peaceful at the news that I’m starting to believe that my racing heart is just me freaking out over nothing.

  I mean, I can handle boys.

  A few smacks to the back of the head, and we’re golden. But raising a good man is a pain in the ass. You gotta let them fuck up but not too much. You have to teach respect and how to treat people of all genders and sexual entities. Don’t go fucking the whole universe because you could get a woman pregnant and don’t catch an STD.

  Men have it easy, no doubt with most shit, but we’re still the assholes that get elected in positioned powers.

  My boys—all of them—are gonna get more than ass-whoopings as long as I’m living if I gotta reteach them.

  “Emmy…” I trail off and she smiles, big and bright, settling my growing nerves. “I hope they’re like you.”

  “Why?” She chuckles. “You’re charming.”

  “And a dickhead.”

  “Well, if we name one of them after your daddy, Jett, maybe we’ll only have to deal with one bad kid.”

  I’m an action’s first, ask question later kinda guy, but I can’t do either.

  My mind was set up to have a mental breakdown at the hospital, be the alpha douchebag that made sure Emmy had everything she needed while giving birth to our child—now children. I was entirely okay with bitching at everyone and possibly doing God knows after Emmy gave birth, but twins.

  Boy twins.

  A boy named Jett after my murdered father.

  A name I haven’t uttered in I don’t know how long. It’s not that I don’t think of him. It’s just that he’s not a conversation I have with anyone.

  “I’m not upset, Bish,” she coos quietly. “I’m actually thrilled.”

  “You are?”

  “Yeah.” Her smile grows wider. “I’ll have my own little army of boys. I’ll have to tell them to chill out when Atlas starts dating, but—“

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” I jerk my head back. “Come here.”

  Emmy smiles and straddles my lap, but I quickly change my mind, laying her on her back and settling between her legs.

  Fuck that I can’t do any more than that with our kids ten feet away.

  “You are…” I hover my lips over hers, careful to keep my weight off. “Every-fucking-thing.”

  “You like the idea? I didn’t want to upset you with it.” I shake my head and press a kiss to her lips.

  “It’s perfect, thank you. Thank you…for loving me.”

  “Ditto.”

  “Da-da! Da-da!” Emmy and I snap our necks to see Atlas drooling over her toy when she says, “Da-da!” again.

  “Did she just say—“

  “Oh my God,” Emmy gushes, her hand flying to her mouth. “She said your name, daddy. We were too busy talking about the boys. She felt left out.” I chuckle and pull Emmy up with me off the couch.

  “Don’t worry, baby girl, I could never forget my girls.” Scooping her off the floor, I press a kiss to her soft and pudgy little cheek. “Ever.”

  THE END

  B723 SERIES:

  OVERCAST: B723 SERIES BOOK ONE

  ILLUSIVE DUET:

  CATFISH

  BONAFIDE

  A LITTLE MERMAID DARK RETELLING

  SIREN

  DECEIVED DUET:

  DISORDERLY

  ZEALOUS

  THE BASES SERIES

  INTERFERNCE

  STRIKE

  DOUBLE PLAY

  SHUTOUT

  I never thought I was going to finish this book. Emmy and Bishop were those characters that challenged me in every way possible.

  I rewrote it four times, worked on them for seven months, and still double-guessed myself to make the right decision. I could’ve done it without my best friend, Dee. From the millions of WhatsApp messages to my mini-freakouts. I don’t know how you deal with me. I love you so much.

  To Megan, who helped guide me in which way or the next, I can’t thank you enough—seriously.

  To my alpha, Brit, for always being honest with me. I hold you so true and dear to my heart. Thank you for always having my back.

  Samantha and Caitlyn, you two freaking SAVED me when you really didn’t have to. I can’t even begin to tell you how much. Thank you for wanting to help me in every which way.

  To my boys, I love you guys. Thank you for dealing with all my alone time and allowing me to do this.

  To my readers, I hope you enjoyed Bishop and Emmy even though they tried to emotionally kill me a few times.

  Here’s to the next one in the series!

  xoxo,

  Hazel Grace

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