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My stomach tightens with need, and I grind my hips into hers. “Don’t say the word ramming.”
Licking her lips, she taunts me with a raise of her brow and a “fuck me” face. “Why?”
“Because you know I want it,” I breathe, my face an inch from hers. I see the smile and the overwhelming realization that I might not be able to keep her. My lips come to rest on her warm shoulder, the flames dancing on the wall behind us. Reaching down to her knee, I lift her leg higher on my waist and angle my hips into hers.
She touches my jaw, rubbing her thumb across my chin—eyes hooded and breath falling fast from her lips. “You’re… nothing like I expected.”
I don’t know what she means by that, but just before I’m about to carry her to my room, Sev comes out of their room, scratching her face. She looks at us on the couch and then where my hips are connecting with Kacy’s. Neither of us says a word or move before Sev rubs her nose. “I can’t breathe.” And then her eyes drift back to our lower half connected.
Yes, Sev, my boy parts are touching her girl parts. And if I ever catch you doing this with a boy, I’ll murder him.
“Daddy, gets off her.” She stares at Kacy. “Can yous breathe?”
“I can breathe,” Kacy giggles out, covering her face with her hands.
I love my kids.
I love my kids.
I fucking love my kids.
I think I’m trying to convince myself of this, but it’s not working. I want to tell my three-year-old to stop being a bitch baby and go back to her room.
Groaning, I push myself away from Kacy. “Told you they wouldn’t stay in their room.”
I’ve earned this right over the years.
BARRON
Monday morning, I’m thinking of ways to draw out fixing Kacy’s car because guess what? The parts are on their way. I blame Lillian for ordering them so soon. It’s all her fault. How am I supposed to close the deal if I finish her car? I need to get her alone, is what I need without the kids. I wonder if Morgan would watch them at his house. Actually, no. I’m still mad at him for last night. You want to know how the tequila went for him? He slept in the barn last night. I hope he froze his one ball off.
I stare at the coffee on my toolbox, trying to think of other options. I could… take her on a date? No, that won’t work because the girls will want to come. I mention date, and they think I’m taking them out. They give me those pretty innocent eyes, and I’ll cave. Then I’ll be taking all three girls on a date.
So a date’s out. This is going to take some time. I don’t have time though. I could finish up her car in a day, and she’d be out of my life forever probably. But then I think, if there’s more wrong with her car, then I’d have to order parts, right? And that could potentially draw this out even further. That’s when I stitch up a plan to let the air out of all the tires and tell her we need four tires instead of two.
Because of the witnesses in the shop—I’m looking at you, Jace—I have to convince the kids to do this. I glance toward the office where Kacy is, helping Lillian with filing and our schedule. I won’t let her pay to fix her car, but she insists on helping, so she’s basically given herself a job in the office. And I’ll tell you something else, her customer service, fucking incredible. If she was looking for a job, I’d hire her in a heartbeat, if not for her skills, just so I could look at her all day long.
Pulling Camdyn aside, who’s still out of preschool due to the obscene amount of snow we still have, I sit her on my toolbox. “I got a job for you. Let the air out of those tires,” I whisper, gesturing to Kacy’s car parked in my stall.
Camdyn, she has a conscience. Can’t lie or do anything she thinks she’s going to get in trouble for. “I don’t work for free,” she tells me, holding out her hand, eyes twinkling.
I tug on her braids hanging over her shoulder. “I’ll give you a cookie if you do it.” I lean in close, and she grabs my face between her hands, squishing my cheeks.
“Ten cookies!” she bargains.
“Fine. Ten.”
“Deal.” We shake on it, but Camdyn levels me the look. “I won’t get in trouble?”
“Nope.”
There’s confusion in her eyes, and she looks at her hands on her knees, her legs kicking between us. She makes contact with my balls, and I fight through a wave of pain. “Why do you want me to do it?”
I move to the side so she doesn’t kick me in the junk again. “Because I said so,” I grit out, trying to catch my breath.
“I’m scared. You’ll get mad, I know it.”
Too late. I’m pissed you just nailed my ball sac. “I’m asking you to do it. Why would I get mad at you?”