Page 121 of Clean Slade
The fire inside me grew into a moan that I managed to reduce into a whimper, and his movements slowed as I recognized the signs of his orgasms in his rumbling and the heat pooling inside me.
“Your turn,” he croaked, barely recuperating from the strain of his orgasm as he stroked me faster until I was as much a fumbling mess as he was.
I collapsed on top of him, and he covered us both with the comforter before wrapping his arms around me.
A boy could get used to this!
It was so warm and comfortable lying on top of him that I almost fell back to sleep.
I wished I could. I wished we both could, but unfortunately, the world couldn’t wait for us to fuck our brains out and sufficiently cuddle before it started up again.
“I guess we have to get up,” I said.
“For Mac.” He brushed a finger over my cheek and smiled.
“Yeah. For Mac.”
Somehow we made it out of bed and took turns in the shower—which was mandatory if we weren’t going to be late or get caught.
Barely half an hour later, I was starting to feel human again, and Mac walked into the kitchen, followed by Slade.
She was still in her pajamas, and her bangs covered most of her eyes.
She needs a haircut soon.
“Morning sunshine,” I told her, and my heart almost leaped when she grabbed the cereal box and filled her own bowl.
I didn’t know what kind of magic Grams had worked on her, and whether she’d confronted Grace, but ever since they met she was acting more like herself every day.
Every time I looked at my little girl, it was impossible not to think about the little shit of a kid that had terrorized her to such a degree as to almost change a fundamental part of her. And almost rob her of her childhood.
I hated that little girl and I hated her mother and father even more and I wanted them to pay, but then I’d remember that civilized people didn’t dream of torture and murder.
Damn, having my father back was such a bad influence. I was starting to think like Rex again. That was dangerous territory.
“Would you like a hot cocoa?” I hoped I wasn’t pushing it, but I couldn’t resist.
“No, Daddy. Can I have some coffee?” she asked, and we both glared at her.
“Coffee? You’re too young for coffee. Where is this coming from?” I asked.
She shrugged and stuffed her mouth with Lucky Charms.
“You and Slade always make funny noises when you drink it. It’s funny.”
I bit my lip and avoided Slade’s gaze.
That would be my bad.
When she woke yesterday and told me she’d heard strange noises coming from my bedroom, I told her we’d been having coffee.
Better than scarring her for life, but I didn’t expect that kind of response.
Agh. Do I have to teach her the birds and the bees, the birds and the birds, the bees and the bees, and the birds who were born as bees to her?
Was that something I could delegate to my live-in nanny-slash-boyfriend?
“Well, no coffee for you. But you could have extra marshmallows on your cocoa.”
