Page 134 of Lawless

“Oh wow,” she gasps as we step into the kitchen.

I saw the house last night, but I can admit that with my girl by my side, I’m seeing it in a whole new light.

The kitchen is huge. Although, not as big as Reid’s—of course. And the view out of the wall of windows is as incredible as upstairs.

There’s a large deck fully equipped with furniture and a built-in grill and firepit, and then there is nothing but trees.

My idea of heaven.

I just wish it were cold enough to light a fire.

Reid looks over as we step into the room before lifting the pan from the stove and placing bacon on the plates stacked with pancakes waiting beside him.

“Just in time,” he says, before expertly picking up all three and placing them on the table.

Pulling out Alana’s chair, I wait for her to take a seat before doing the same, much to Reid’s amusement.

“You’re such an asshole,” he mutters before stuffing a piece of bacon in his mouth.

“Jealous, bro?” I tease, relieved as fuck that we can still joke despite the seriousness of the situation we’re in. I’m not sure I’d cope if I couldn’t crack a joke.

He scoffs. “You’re forgetting which one of us had her naked in the bath this morning.”

Alana shakes her head as she pokes at a pancake on her plate.

“Who’s the asshole now?”

“What? I took care of you good. Isn’t that right, Pet?”

It takes her a second to look up, but when she does, her expression softens as she focuses on Reid.

“You did a great job,” she says softly.

He preens at her praise.

“Jesus, when did you hand your balls over to my dove, exactly?”

“Fuck off and eat your breakfast.”

I bark out a laugh, loving that we can be unashamedly us right now.

I need it. So. Fucking. Bad.

Cutting off a little pancake with my fork, I reach for Alana’s hand under the table.

“You need to eat, baby,” I encourage.

When she turns to look at me, I hold my fork out and move it to her lips.

She hesitates, but after a few seconds, her mouth opens and she takes it.

And fuck if it doesn’t make my dick jerk. Watching her lick the syrup from her lips doesn’t help the situation either.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she whispers.

“Like what?” I ask innocently.

“Like you want to eat me for breakfast,” she mutters, turning to look back down at her own plate.

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