Page 167 of Things We Burn

Kane steadied me with one hand on my hips as he freed himself then without pause, he slammed into me.

He’d been careful before this, mindful of my body, worried about me healing.

He wasn’t worried about anything now.

We weren’t Mom and Dad. We weren’t anything but two animals under the moonlight.

He bunched my hair in his hand then wrenched it back.

My scalp radiated with glorious pain as the rest of my body succumbed to inconceivable pleasure.

He continued pounding relentlessly. My mind went hazy as my body shuddered and exploded over and over again.

How many times, I couldn’t know. Eventually, Kane growled, roaring as he released into me.

We were both panting heavily when we were done. My limbs burned.

Carefully, Kane pulled out of me, slowly raising my jeans back up and buttoning them while I steadied myself on the seat of the bike.

He turned me around, kissing me gently on the lips. I could feel his smile.

“Hottest piece I’ve ever had, Chef. After giving birth to my baby…” His hands ran over me. “Fuck…”

I couldn’t help but smile back, my body singing with electricity.

“How about we get a drink, greasy food, then repeat this on the way home?”

I couldn’t think of anything better.

I held my breath as we walked in the door of the house. It wasn’t completely dark, but all the overhead lights were off, and only the soft lamplight from the living room illuminated the house.The TV was on, and Calliope sat on the sofa. Not looking at it—instead, tapping on her phone, a glass of wine in her hand.

She glanced up at us. “This is my first one.” She held the glass up. “I didn’t sit here and get drunk with your baby, don’t worry. Though it was tempting; you have good wine.” She drained the glass then stood up, glancing between the two of us.

She wore a knowing smile. “You had fun.” Not a question, and somehow, it communicated that she suspected we took her advice about public sex.

I didn’t blush nor feel embarrassed, for whatever reason. Maybe it was because I was thoroughly satisfied or because I felt comfortable with Calliope.

“Fuck yeah, we did,” Kane beamed back at her. “We’re gotta send you a fruit basket or something as a thank you.”

She shook her head, reaching down to snag the bottle of wine and shove the cork back in it. “This will do,” she said, shaking it.

“Where’s the baby?” I asked suddenly, as if I were just noticing Mabel wasn’t there.

“Sleeping,” Calliope replied. “She’s been down since about seven-ish.”

I stared at her. “Down?”

“In her bed.”

“In her bed,” I repeated, dumbfounded. “How did you do that?”

Mabel did not just ‘go down’ in her bed. There was rocking. Feeding. The arm drop test, a tense transfer. And then only 50 percent of the time it worked for an hour, at most, before the whole dance started again.

“She was tired. I fed her, burped her, put her in her swaddle suit thing and read her a story. Told her it was time to sleep, put her down then left the room.”

“Did she scream?” I asked, unable to hide my shock from my tone.

Calliope arched a well-manicured brow. “Not a peep. Babies don’t try that shit with me.”

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