Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 83167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
It wasn’t just the kids, though both his boys were a handful.
Gwen was an even bigger handful, thankfully, and she got off on the chaos of family.
His youngest, Vivi, hit him in the legs before he even made the kitchen.
Hawk looked down and put a hand to her head.
His black hair, Gwen’s blue eyes.
Pure beauty.
A letter was ever written about her, a room prepared…
No, he had no argument for Smithie.
“Hey, Daddy,” she greeted.
“Hey, beautiful,” he replied.
“Mommy’s making us chocolate chip cookie dough pancakes.”
Of course she was, and he had no idea such a thing existed.
To Hawk, it sounded repulsive.
But cookie dough was considered by his wife as a food group, maybe the most important one, and she had no qualms sharing this thinking with their children in a variety of creative ways.
Hawk smiled at his girl, but his thoughts were on his wife.
“Vivi, honey, get in the kitchen and control your brothers before I shoot them. Book bags, you know the drill,” Gwen ordered, striding in wearing little gray shorts with lace at the bottoms and a loose gray tank, more lace at the bottom.
“Okay, Mommy,” Vivi agreed, gave Hawk’s thighs a squeeze then skipped out of the utility room and into the open-plan kitchen.
He lost the arms of one of his girls only to be in the arms of the other as his wife pressed into him.
Hawk returned the favor, but considering his children were in the next room, he didn’t put either of his hands to her ass like he wanted to do.
Her eyes moved over his face. “Okay?”
“Yeah, Sweet Pea,” he murmured.
“Tough night?”
“Job done.”
She pressed closer and smiled up at him.
The minute she did, he started the clock.
It ran down to zero when he pulled back into his garage after taking the kids to school.
Kids at school.
Job done.
It was time to fuck his wife.
Chapter Nine
A Little Bit More
Lottie
I woke up when dawn was kissing the sky.
I didn’t know what woke me, though since this all started, I’d wake on occasion, make sure Mo was there, then go back to sleep when I saw he was.
But that time, I knew something was off.
I got up to an elbow and looked to the couch.
No Mo.
This was concerning, though some mornings when I woke up in a way I was awake, he wasn’t there. He’d be using the bathroom or doing a walk-through of the house, and then he’d come back.
I rested on my elbow listening in case that was what was happening, but I heard no noises from the bathroom or the house.
After Mo informed me the guy was there last night, he was so edgy, he was quietly wired, that live wire charging everything anywhere near him.
Even me.
I suspected he wanted to be in on the interrogation, or the takedown, or the search of his house, or whatever they were doing, but he had to stay with me.
We did our normal thing coming home, but when no word came, I’d had to ask him to talk me to sleep with his toes-to-feet-to-knees gig.
Not to get him to help me sleep, but to help him relax so his vibe would leak out of the room and I could go to sleep so he’d at least stop worrying about me.
Listening to his deep voice lull me, I did just that.
Now was now.
If they’d caught him, would Mo leave me?
If they’d caught him, wouldn’t he stay and pounce on me?
Considering I very much needed to have answers to these questions, I threw the covers back, twisted my hips and tossed my legs over the side of the bed.
Since the morning of the egg white omelets, I’d made a habit of wearing my most unsexy nightgowns to bed.
I didn’t have a lot of such items of apparel, though when I was on my period and feeling bloaty and devouring popchips by the bag, I went with one of those.
So this situation was taxing the limits of my unsexy stuff, but it wasn’t for that reason I hoped it was over.
And my sleep drawer included the one I was wearing, which had little straps but the rest of it hung from a high-ish neckline down to my upper thighs and looked like one, wide, white cotton smock with a deep ruffle at the hem.
It wasn’t ugly, as such. But it didn’t make me feel like a bombshell.
I went to the bathroom, the door of which was open.
No Mo.
Okay, I wasn’t liking this.
I crept to the top of the stairs and listened.
The house wasn’t exactly brightening up with the September dawn seeing as Mo still had all the blinds closed.
And they were now closed.
No noises.
Shit, shit, damn.
I hoped the threat was over, I hoped Mo was off somewhere, having a quiet conversation or tying up loose ends.
But I should be prepared.
And with him gone, I had to admit, I was a little freaked.