Page 3 of On the Rocks
Fuck me if she’s not the sexiest thing I’ve ever fucking seen. Balancing on her tiptoes to peer over the rim of a giant silver bowl. Her perky ass cheeks peeking out of her little pink boy shorts while she scrapes the beaters with a spatula. Permeating the air with an intoxicating mix of sugar and vanilla.
“Damn, sunshine. What are you making? It smells amazing.”
She startles from my voice behind her and twirls around, her loose tits bouncing underneath her camisole from her quick spin. As gorgeous as the enormous grin lighting up her beautiful face.
“Cinnamon rolls.” Dainty fingers push a wayward hair off her cheek, tucking the corkscrew strand back into her flowing braid while she laughs. Causing even more of the massive spirals to escape and swirl around her face as she shakes her head. “At least I’m trying to. Your mixer has a mind of its own.”
Your.I hate that she still feels like a guest in her own fucking home. All this stuff is as much hers as it is mine. “Do you need some help?”
“No, thank you. I’ve got it.”
The fuck she does. Maybe taking over makes me a chauvinistic bastard, but I can’t stand watching her struggle. Manhandling the container almost as big as herself. I lift the bowl off the pedestal and grab a spoon, separating the tangled dough and plopping the lump onto the pastry sheet in front of her. “There, now you can roll it out.”
An expression I can’t quite discern draws her face down. Damn it. I guess I am too fucking bossy. But she nods, and slides in next to me. Kneading the sticky ball with nimble fingers, while I start to butter and flour the pan waiting next to the warming oven. In less than thirty seconds, her soft smile returns. A relaxed contentment from working side-by-side. Matching my own unfamiliar enjoyment of feeling so peaceful, so comfortable.
To be baking.
With my wife.
What the fucking hell? I have no fucking idea when I turned into a domesticated pussy bitch. But fuck me if I don’t love it. Love her. Caught up in my reverie, I lean down and kiss the top of her head. And of course fucking catch a glimpse of the smooth hollow between her breasts. Making me fucking rock hard in an instant. Which I can’t do anything about right now since I’m already so damn late.
But fucking worth the consequences from the serenity humming through her body. The tranquility between us that I crave for her. She deserves so much more from me than my cash and my cock.
I nod toward the speaker tucked between a stack of cookbooks. “What’re we listening to?”
“Madame Butterfly. It’s my favorite opera.”
Another surprise that I fucking love discovering about her. An eclectic taste in music that I can appreciate. Introducing me to genres I never thought I would like.
“Even though it always makes me cry."
That makes no fucking sense. Must be a girl thing. “Then why the fuck do you listen to it?”
A smirk. Almost giving me a full on eye roll. She better fucking check herself, or she’ll be on her back with her legs spread again from that feisty attitude stirring up my insatiable dick.
“Because it’s beautiful and poetic. A tragedy, you know like Romeo and Juliet or Othello…”
I must have a bullshit look on my face because she giggles again, tossing her head at my skepticism. I know beatings and bullets, not arias.
"She thinks they’re deeply in love. But, actually only she is. He leaves her, promising to return. He never does. It destroys her when she finally realizes…”
My humor fades faster than her disappearing grin. An emptiness, that I see too damn often, fills her expression instead. “What?”
“…that she’s not enough for him.”
Fury burns through me from her admission. She tortures herself without understanding the pain she inflicts on her damaged heart. Mimicking the story of her own parents. Saving other peoples’ kids more important to them than raising their own child. So fucking stupid. I want to fucking hate these people for the worthlessness they weigh her down with. But the sick fucking bastard in me knows if she wasn’t so lost, I never would have found her.
“He wants a life with someone else.”
She better not ever fucking worry that I’ll do the same thing. “Sounds like a fucking idiot to me if he can't?”
“Hey Boss, one more thing I forgot to mention…”
Butcher’s long strides break at the dark gray pillars, designating the edge of the kitchen space. His wide eyes drinking in her luscious curves and bobbing curls while Midnight croaks out a strained warning bark. All he can manage after the years of abuse to his vocal cords. The damage never really able to be repaired.
I twist around, shielding Trinity from Butcher's view. Her small hand tugs on my back waistband, attempting to calm my furious ass down. Which only enrages me more that she asks for lenience for this impudent motherfucker who has the fucking audacity to ogle my wife.
His gaze flicks to meet mine before dropping to the floor. Where it fucking belongs and had better stay.
