Page 21 of CurVy Baby

Fuck.

“Tyler Baby, come here.” I scoot up the bed. “I missed you. Come here.”

Tyler crawls on the mattress. My six-foot-three, tattooed, chiselled jawline, floppy-haired angel. I open my legs and arms and wrap all my limbs around him, falling to my back with him to my chest. His long legs extend to the end of the bed, feet hanging clean off the end.

He buries his face between my tits, and I brush my fingers through his hair.

“Mum?” Molly’s voice squeaks outside the door, stoking me to shuffle from under Tyler’s resting body.

“Ty.” I try to move him, tapping him softly.

He groans between my breasts, tired, before rolling to his back on the mattress so that I can jump to my feet. “Tired, Vallie Baby. All night, part of the morning, eighteen hours, twenty-one minutes, twenty-four sonatas.” His voice is filled with husky fatigue, but he finishes his sentence through a yarn. “Thirty-minutes sleep and zero orgasms.”

Lunatic…

“Coming, Sweet Pea.” I dart into the bathroom and jump into the shower, washing quickly. I grab my white dressing gown and wrap the tails at my waist, feeling as though I lost a few hours. Then, I guess I did. I didn’t expect to be dragged into this room and fucked into a coma.

I shoot Donnie a glare as he wanders into the bathroom naked. My eyes drop to his arse cheeks, firm globes moving as he walks. Damn him. Hate to listen to his bullshit, love to watch him walk.Mm.

I finish tying the tails of my gown and slide through the door, closing it behind me. “Hey.” Scooping her into my arms, her legs go around my hips and her arms around my neck. “I missed you. Are you okay?”

I wander with her wrapped around me like a koala down the corridor, admiring the new pictures hanging alongside the Vaughn brothers’ older ones, like I always do. The gaps are covered with Molly—all things Molly.

She brushes her little fingertips along the wall, rolling over the raised panels like her finger is a skateboard as we walk towards the kitchen—the centre of the first floor.

This house is old money.

Dark in many areas, muted colours, traditional fixings that lasted the tests of time, marble and solid wood, bronze fixtures—things that age beautifully. Some of the walls are paper-covered, some moulded and detailed.

“Mum… I ate a fly,” Molly says, clearly mortified.

“That’s good.” I set her down on a breakfast bar stool. We spend more time around this stunning gold-marbled island than at the dining room table. I’m not sure why. We just like it. It’s communal and central. Informal. “It chose you. Sometimes, that means you’ll grow wings.”

Her eyes turn to beacons of hope. “Really?”

“I don’t know much about magic, but that is what I’ve heard.” I pour two glasses of orange juice, subtly peering through the doorways, wondering where Dexter is. “We’ll have to wait and see. Sometimes they don’t grow until true love’s kiss.”

“No kissing!” Donnie cuts in, gruff, and meets us at the bench, his hair messy and delicious. Dressed in only grey briefs and a white shirt, he looks like a damn underwear model.

“I have a boyfriend at school,” she taunts him, sipping her orange juice through a cheeky smile. “Ryan.”

“Ryan?” Donnie says his name as though it’s sour on his tongue. “Ry-ann?”

I roll my eyes. “Here we go.”

Donnie folds his thick arms across his chest, staring at his little girl. “RIP. Ryan In Pieces.”

“Stop it.” I whack his arm playfully. I shake my head through a soft giggle. “Have you seen Dexter, Sweet Pea? He was meant to be watching you.”

“He was…” She points to the television room. “He fell asleep on the couch while watchingTangledwith me. I put a blanket over him. I don’t think he slept well. I bet it was hard to sleep in prison with all the clanking of bars.”

I blink at her. “The clanking of bars?”

“Yeah,” she confirms. “Like inRobin Hood.The prisoners clank the bars with their cups all night.”

“Oh, Sweet Pea.” Shocked, I say, “No, the prisoners have normal rooms. They are really nice now. With televisions and desks to write at.”

“Oh, really?” She sighs with a smile, as though that is such a relief, and I wonder how long she has been thinking about this. It’s still wild to me that the only knowledge children have is what we share. Everything else they imagine or get from TV. Leaning forward, I tuck a piece of blonde hair behind her ear and sigh. “You know Uncle Quinn is looking after you tonight? Your dads and I will be spending some time together.”

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