Page 63 of My Ex's Brothers

I catch my breath, staring at the ceiling. How the fuck am I supposed to do this? Walk into that kitchen and see Amelia and her sweet blue eyes, those perfect lips…

How am I supposed to pretend that I don’t know what she looks like when she comes undone? How am I supposed to pretend I don’t want her? Dane’s already freaking out about Tripp. I don’t need him angry and agitated because I want her too.

And I know, without a doubt, I do want her. I don’t know if it’s a breeding kink thing or if it’s an Amelia thing. I’ve never been with a woman who actually had a kid before, let alone one who’s still fucking breastfeeding.

All I know is I’ve never found myself so fucking hard from sucking a woman’s tits before. Not even my ex-wife’s.

Not that she let me suck her tits often or anything. She thought it was weird, so it wasn’t something that happened a lot, but I know my way around breasts the same way I know my way around pussy. Always have. Twenty-four-year-olds like Tripp don’t know what the fuck they’re doing. Thirty-two-year-olds like Dane are more focused, but usually complacent and not as open to new things, because they’ve figured out what works and they just keep repeating the same recipes.

But a forty-five-year-old divorced man? I’ve spent years cultivating and honing my fucking craft and owning my shit. I know the right buttons to push, and Amelia seemed more than responsive to the buttons I was pushing.

I need to forget about what happened. I know that. If not for me, then for Amelia. I don’t want her to feel awkward or weird staying here. With us.

With me.

Because of me.

So, I tuck myself back into my pants and grab a rag from the counter and wipe myself up. I take my time making myself look as presentable as possible.

And when I walk into the kitchen at seven fifteen, I’m relieved to see a plate on the counter waiting for me, but Amelia is nowhere to be seen.

Perhaps that’s for the best.

Right?

I don’t know where Dane and Amelia have wandered off to, but I don’t look for them. Part of me feels jealous, even though I know there’s no need to be. This is now her home, and I’m sure there’s a lot to get used to. A lot to see and acquaint herself with.

I’m just about ready to sit down and dive into the chicken, vegetables, and mashed potatoes that was left out for me when I hear a soft wail.

Lyla. I wait for a moment, expecting Dane or Amelia to soothe her, but she continues to cry. And cry.

The sound grates on me. I hate it when anyone cries, especially babies.

They’re so loud.

I set my food down and get up, figuring wherever Amelia or Dane are, they must not be in the house because there’d be no way not to hear this kid. She’s got some powerful lungs, for sure.

I head down the hall to the guest room Dane sectioned off as Lyla’s makeshift nursery. The library. Or I guess technically it’s Dane’s “reading room.”

Sometimes, if it wasn’t for his obvious twin aesthetics, I’d swear he was swapped at birth.

I enter the room, which looks strangely warmer with Lyla’s crib next to the giant reading sofa chair. Carefully, I approach her crib. I peek over the rails, seeing her pink face and little balled fists. She’s pissed.

But I guess I can’t blame her. I’d be pissed too if I couldn’t speak or tell people what I was feeling and all I could do was cry.

I sigh, knowing there’s only one way to quiet a screaming baby. I’d be lying if I said I liked the idea. But I also know this is likely something I’m going to have to get used to.

So I tell myself I’m doing it for Amelia. For Lyla.

I can push aside my feelings to give them what they need, right?

“Come here, sweetheart,” I mutter as I reach in and pick her up.

She’s lighter than I thought she’d be. Barely weighs anything. It’s like picking up a baby doll. A wriggling, moving baby doll.

She looks at me with tear-filled blue eyes, her face so pink and wet with tears I actually feel bad. I carefully lay her on my chest, since that’s something I hear helps. She squirms, kicking her feet against me, her fists balled on my shoulder as I splay my hand across her back while the other cups her tiny butt. Seriously, it’stiny.

She’s so fucking little, and I feel like I’m going to break her if I squeeze her too hard. So instead, I run my hand up her back, hoping it helps.

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