Page 101 of Riding the Edge

Chapter Thirty-one

An hour ago, Maria was on all fours taking my cock like it was her God given talent. Now, she’s standing in front of the stove flipping pancakes for her grandchildren. Let someone tell me life isn’t beautiful.

“I need to talk to you,” Riggs says, dumping half the bottle of syrup onto his plate.

“You’re going to get the diabetes,” I mutter.

“The diabetes? What did you just come off the boat?”

“You’re not going to ruin my morning,” I tell him.

Lifting my coffee mug to my lips, I divert my eyes toward Maria and let them travel the length of her. I could’ve gone two more rounds with her and then another after we broke for breakfast, but Riggs pounded on the door, interrupting my good time.

“Ah, fuck, come on man. I can’t look at you.”

“What?” I question innocently.

“It’s weird.”

“What is?”

“You and Maria.”

“Get over it and eat your fucking pancakes.”

“Hard to have an appetite when I’m watching you bask in some afterglow shit. Please don’t tell me you were fucking when I rang the bell.”

“We just finished,” I reply taking a sip of coffee.

“I fucking hate you.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not going to call you daddy.”

“Who’s your daddy?” Eric says, taking a seat next to me.

“No one is a daddy!” Riggs grunts.

“You’re not my dad?” Eric questions.

“Look what you did, Wolf.”

Leaning back against the chair, I chuckle and reach out to tousle Eric’s hair.

“Your dad is just cracking jokes,” I explain.

“So, he’s still my dad.”

“This is like an episode of Maury,” Riggs hisses.

Ignoring him, I help Eric cut his pancakes and assure him the putz sitting across from us is very much his father. Lauren enters the room with the baby in her arms and soon the seven of us are seated around Maria’s table eating breakfast.

“So, there is something I want to talk to you about,” Lauren begins, staring across the table at her mother. “Riggs and I have decided to postpone the wedding.”

“What on Earth for?” Maria replies, dropping her fork. “Oh my God, you’re pregnant again, aren’t you?”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, turning to Riggs. “Do you know how to wrap that snake?”

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