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Holy fucking shit, having her here was an epic mistake.
If I can’t stand five minutes of this without my brain going sappy and poetic, how will we survive days together? Possibly weeks?
If she’s in my house, the only thing I’m going to be thinking about is tasting Winnie, making her moan, discovering that beautiful body inch by inch, pushing her up against the wall and wrapping her legs around me and thieving her voice until she’s hoarse from coming.
Winnie clears her throat loudly, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear.
“So what do we do about Colt?” Her question throws a metaphorical bucket of cold water on my head.
Yeah, that.
There’s nothing like thinking about how you’ll explain this to your brilliant, insanely curious son without sounding like an animal who just wants to get his dick wet.
“Leave him to me. Don’t worry,” I growl.
Good advice I wish I could take.
I’m already very fucking worried.
The next day,I shut myself away and mostly succeed at losing myself in work.
So effectively that by the time I resurface, my stomach keeps growling like a bear.
Fine.
Probably dinnertime, which also means time to figure out what’s happening with Winnie.
My back aches as I stand up from the chair, launching into a long stretch.
Mom claims forty is young, but it’s rapidly approaching like a boulder heading straight for me, and I can feel the pain.
I’m thirty-seven and now I get stiff as a board whenever I sit too long.
I snort at the thought.
If I could’ve seen this ten years ago, I would’ve laughed myself silly. But working a job where you’re chained to a desk all day fucks your body over, no matter how much you work out or try to step away for walking breaks.
As I head upstairs to the den, I hear voices, and I pause just outside.
That’s Winnie talking, delivering the gospel of bees to a chorus of young voices pelting her with questions.
Colt’s there, of course, and so are his two sidekicks by the sound of it.
Damn.
When did Isayhe could have people over and leave solitary confinement for nearly burning down my cabin?
Still, I peer through the door.
Winnie’s curled up on the sofa with Colt beside her. Briana and Evans are lounging on opposite sides of the other sofa.
The TV’s going, but no one’s watching it.
Colt has a block of wood and a tray under it for catching shavings, whittling it down into a big, round shape that looks suspiciously like a bee.
Figures. I think all this bug shit is getting to everyone’s head.
But Winnie laughs loudly, her face flushed pink.