Page 18 of Rough Daddy (REAL DADDIES: Boone Brothers #5)

Sixteen

Beau

F ive Years Later

She waddles into the garage like she’s not the hottest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen, belly out, tits heavy, wearing my goddamn flannel shirt with nothing under it but a pair of cotton panties. And I know they’re already soaked through. Hell, I’d bet my whole goddamn garage on it.

Eight months pregnant with our second, leaking through every bra she owns, waddling like she’s got my cock still buried in her from this morning.

Tessa Boone acts like she don’t know what she’s doing to me.

She does.

She fucking does.

And she’s laughing at something on her phone.

Inside, Ethan’s babysitting Carla with a juice pouch probably reading her The Dark Tower for the tenth time, pretending he’s not as soft as a damn marshmallow when she climbs up in his lap.

He turned nineteen last month and we had a blow out for him at Sunday brunch. Invited his friends from Interlochen where he’s in his first year studying drama and music.

When he was allowed to decide for himself what he wanted to do, turned out the kid was a freakin’ musical genius. He’s had a garage band since he made some friends at Wildfire High when he got here and he’s had a few acting gigs in commercials.

Tessa manages his creative business stuff. He’s one hundred percent balls out when he’s into something. I can’t wait to see what he future holds for him.

But, part of him is still childlike. He still asks me before he drives anywhere, still sleeps with his door cracked open so Tessa doesn’t worry. She raised him. And now he’s ours.

Took us a while to decide on number two. After Carla was born, we built onto the cabin. Added a nursery, tricked out kitchen, Tessa learned to cook. We put a deck out back that looks over the valley. Tessa started a little garden. I built her a chicken coop. We made a life.

She gets real quiet sometimes when we talk about her parents. They never came around after she left. Never called. Never asked. Last she heard, they were broke and living somewhere outside of Jersey. And that was that.

Didn’t even try when Carla was born. Not once. Fuck ‘em.

Our little sex toy venture was fun, but the logistics and drama with patents and regulations took the joy out of it.

We still rig up some fun for ourselves sometimes, but that’s about it.

Money’s not an issue. Tessa managed to get a chunk of money her parents had hidden from her and we live simply and invest well.

I’ll always take care of my family. They never want for anything.

I’m behind her before she can get another breath out. One hand on her hip, the other sliding up to palm her tit through the thin cotton. Warm. Full. Fuck, she’s already leaking.

“What’s so funny?” I ask, already half-hard just from touching her.

“Group chat,” she says, and I catch a glimpse of the screen.

Marla : If this baby isn’t named Beef Wellington McCrotch I’m unfriending you.

Kit : I swear if you get another girl, I’m moving into your cabin and raising her as my own.

Eliana : I made nipple pads out of wool socks. DIY queen.

Tessa snorts. “They’re insane.”

“They’re distracting,” I growl, snatching the phone out of her hand and tossing it onto the workbench. “Come on. Get in.”

She glances at the car. My baby. A black '67 Chevelle we’ve been working on since before Carla was born. Looks normal from the outside. Inside? Modified. Heavily.

Passenger seat’s gone. In its place, a padded bench custom built to cradle her hips, tilt her ass up, legs spread and locked in with cuffs I added last fall.

It’s narrow, tight, like her, and built to keep her exactly where I want her—helpless and positioned to feed her Daddy.

She climbs in without a word. Like the good girl she is.

I help her settle, palms full of her hips, guiding her back into the seat. She sighs, soft and smug, spreading her thighs as far as they’ll go. The straps slide over her legs, I buckle them into place. Her belly’s up. Her tits are high. Already dripping through the shirt.

I tug it open. No bra. Just those heavy, perfect tits I’ve been obsessed with since Carla was born. Hell, probably before that. She didn’t even know it, but the minute her milk came in, I was ruined.

Now I’m addicted.

“Look at you,” I mutter, running a finger through the milk beading at her nipple. She whimpers. Fuck, that sound. That sound’s gonna kill me.

I lean in and suck one deep into my mouth, greedy, groaning like I’ve been starving. And I have. I fucking have. Her hand lands in my hair, fingers tightening.

“Beau—”

“Shh.” I lap at the other, tug her nipple with my teeth just enough to make her squirm. Milk floods my mouth. Sweet. Fucking heaven.

I pull back long enough to unbuckle my jeans. My cock’s thick, ready, leaking like she is.

“Can’t wait,” I grunt, heart pounding, lining up. “Gonna fill you up while I’m full of you.”

She whines. “You want to suckle, Daddy?”

“Fuck, yeah, baby,” I say, pushing in slow, watching her eyes roll back. “Fuck and suck.”

She moans. Like she can’t believe it still feels this good. Like four years and a kid and a baby on the way didn’t change shit.

I fuck her slow, deep. Every thrust pushes a little more milk out of her tits. I catch it on my tongue, drink it down, give her my cock like it’s the only thing keeping her alive.

Maybe it is.

She’s panting, twitching, swollen and so goddamn pretty I could lose my mind. Her hair’s back to a natural shade of beige blonde, like fucking mother earth right here for me.

A natural beauty like no other. I grip her belly, feel our daughter kicking, and it hits me low.

“You’re mine,” I rasp, fucking harder. “Look at you, makin’ milk for me, round with my kid again. Fuck.”

“Don’t stop.”

“Not gonna. Gonna fuck you till you cry, baby.”

And I do.

Tears track down her cheeks. Her cunt pulses. Her milk soaks my shirt.

I stay buried inside her, drinking, coming, owning.

Then she smiles.

“Still wanna name her Beef Wellington?”

I reach over to where my phone’s on the dash and snap a picture of her wrecked, wet, milky and mine.

“Nah,” I smirk. “Sending that to your friends. Let ‘em know Daddy won.”

My life is nothing like I planned. Thank fuck.

The entire Boone clan is crazy. My brother’s still drive me crazy but Sunday brunch is like the wild fucking west now with all the wives and kids and animals.

Every Sunday me and my brother’s all take a knee. Honoring our wives but also, the woman responsible for everything good in us.

Here’s to you mom.

I hope you’re looking down and seeing what you did.

You raised men.

Men who know how to love their women.

Men who know how to be fathers and husbands and hard workers.

“I love you Daddy.” Tessa sighs, her hand over my heart.

I cover it with mine. “You’re my North star baby. My life. Wife. Everything.”

Her Tesla sits over in the corner of the garage. The damn thing still won’t start. But neither of us care. It’s what brought us together, so we keep it around.

Here’s to slippery cement, crazy green boots and falling in love.

Life’s never been so good.

And it’s getting better every day.