Page 38 of Hunted, Season Three

At some point.

Fuckme,because I don’t knowwhen.

I thought about doing it when we first got here.

Despite the warning bells ofMommy Dreariestcoming to town, we had a very calm, very relaxing, very filthy Christmas Eve.

And Christmas morning.

No death threats.

No weird phone calls.

No cops knocking on our door.

Hell, I’m not even exactly sure when the crazy cunt and her husband landed considering Garcia didn’t even bother mentioning it until we got here for dinner.

Which is fine.

Actuallyenjoyingthe holiday is one of the only things I wanted this year.

The other of course is them saying yes.

Whenever I find the balls to ask.

Maybe now?

Maybe after dessert?

Maybe when they’re putting their coats on to go home?

Slip it in their pockets and pretend one of them has the keys?

“Just flip the fucking timer,” Garcia grumbles prompting Rabbit to lean forward towards the coffee table.

“And go!”happily giggles the woman wearing a dark blue sweater dress with white snowflakes littered across it.

I hate it.

It’s short.

Too fucking short.

At least for my sanity.

She just crosses her long, goddamn legs, and my dick is ready to fuck her in the halls.

Falalala and all that shit.

Kid’s feeling the same damn way.

That’s why he keeps slyly adjusting his fucking crotch.

Which isn’t helpin’me.

Between constantly seeing his hand there and how fuckable he looks in the fitted navy sweater “Santa” brought him, I’m basically using the damn Guinness bottles as a fucking icepack to keep my nuts from roasting like they’re on an open fire.

Kid extends his arm around the back of the brown leather couch to not only embrace Rabbit but me.The small, loving thumb stroke sends my attention his direction, yet he merely maintains engaged in whatever impish whispering Demián is delivering.

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