Page 89 of Hunted: Season Two

Tell us both the same.

We eventually part mouths, however not frames.

Nolan and I each keep a hand planted on Bunny’s hip, a wordless, possessive declaration, she never seems to put up a redlight about.

“Now that you’ve had dinner,” Nolan cheekily smirks, “what are me and The Kid having?”

“Me,” she sassily insists on a widening of her legs. “What else?” Wolfish groans leave me and my best friend in tandem yet rather than letting us act on our starvation, she places a firm hand on each of our chests. “Afteractual dinner.”

Pumping the breaks has me along with the man beside me displaying matching pouts.

“Cock tease,” he mirthfully grouses, smirk returning.

“Your cock was pleased…” Bunny leans in seductively closer. “Sir.”

New, needier grumbles not only get me chuckling but executing a small ass grab on him. “I’ll cook super-fast.” His gaze cuts over to me. “LikeSpeed Raceris gonna be fucking jealous fast.”

“Whatcha makin’?”

“Greek chicken quinoa bowls.”

“Why?”

I don’t bother hiding my chuckle. “’Cause it’s healthy.”

“I had a banana for breakfast.”

“Cock doesn’t count, Mutt,” our girl effortlessly interjects. “I checked.”

After flashing her a crooked grin, I inform, “Lean chicken is a great protein-”

“So’s dick,” Nolan playfully huffs.

“Quinoa is better than rice-”

“That’s just what big quinoawants youto think,” Bunny teases.

“And all the veggies are great for folic acid – something that’s like alternator important when you’re preggers.”

This time the mother of our child offers me a sweet kiss of gratitude versus snark, yet our boyfriend inquires, “And the feta cheese you had me stop to grab?”

Guilt rapidly grows on my face during my innocent shrug. “Babies probably like cheese?”

Laughter leaves us all, and I can’t be more thankful about it.

Last week was back of the junk yard rough.

Turns out being peppered sprayed and getting a minor concussion isn’t the type of three-way a person shouldeverbe a part of.

Bunny spent seven straight days monitoring my vitalsandGoogling every little possible eye problem I could be experiencing.

Interestingly enough, irritation caused by hovering girlfriend wasn’t anywhere on the list.

And I was.

I tried not to be.

Butfuck, I couldn’t take a shit without a knock on the door checking in to see if I strained an eye muscle while pushing.

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