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“Sorry, babe, missed it so”—I thrust in hard—“fucking”—again—“much!”
I hammer into her harshly, but I know damn well she likes it, ’cause she comes again and again until I finally join her.
“Feels so fucking good filling you. Fuck! Won’t stop. Can’t. Fucking. Stop.”
“Then don’t. Take it, Morrison. Take what you need.”
She whimpers as I come again, harder this time.
Then I hold her tight as we fight to catch our breath. Laying my lips against her neck and tasting her skin, I smell her sweet scent, and I am hard again.
“Babe?”
“Wow,” she says, a little shocked.
“Gonna fuck you again.”
“Yes, make it hard.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Could you get any fucking better?” I don’t wait for a reply. “Gonna bend you over a bar stool so I can watch that ass. We good?”
“Yes. So good.”
She’s walking funny when she comes out of the bathroom, and I can’t help smirking. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.
“Still feeling me?” I ask as I take her hand.
“You know I am.” She smiles a little.
We leave, and I lock the door. I walk her to her car, where I take her keys and unlock her door, then open it for her.
I tug her hand hard enough to bring her back to facing me. “You know my number.”
“Yeah.”
“Think you could use it?” She nods. “This is your game, babe. If you want me, you call me. See you on Wednesday, regardless.”
She smiles. “Okay.”
I saw her both Friday and Saturday at the bar, then had cards on Monday and made some bank. Mondays are gonna help the cause out a great deal. Over the weekend I called a real estate agent in Atlantic City and listed my pad. Tuesday, I grabbed the laptop and got lost in how to start a business. I looked at a few places and realized I could do this. It wasn’t just a dream; shit was gonna be real.
Wednesday, I found my building, four blocks from the bar. Three stories and the top floor already has a large loft apartment. It’s okay, but I’ll make it better.
“What do you think?” the banker Townsman asks.
“Looks okay. Needs a lot of work.”
“Well, that happens. People know they’re losing something, and they stop giving a shit. The economy sucks, so we haven’t put much into it. The bones are good, though, a solid structure. It’s a steal for the right person.”
I don’t want to sound too eager. “You’re asking two hundred thousand for a place that needs almost that much put into it to make it a go.”
He looks down at the file in his hand. “As I said, it’s worth it.”
I stick out my hand, and he shakes it. “I’ll think about it.”
He hesitates but doesn’t give me what I want. His tell is the hesitation. He’ll cave.
I roll up to Hailey’s and jump out just as they are leaving. Hailey looks hot as hell in her black tank top, loose-fitting cargo pants, and her hair in low pigtails that hang over her shoulders.
“You were almost late.” Marisa wags her finger at me.
“Sorry, little miss thing.” I wag mine right back. “Had a meeting, but I’m here.”
I give Hailey the normal half hug, but this time, I smell her hair. “Damn,” I whisper against her ear.
She steps back and looks at me. “Meeting?”
“Yep.” I grab up the little one and throw her over my shoulder. “Have a good night at work, little momma.”
Marisa giggles. “Have a good night at work, little momma. I’m going on a date.”
“Make sure she’s buckled, and she needs to be in bed a little early; we have a meeting tomorrow.”
I look back at her. “Meeting?”
“Yep,” she says as she smirks and walks away.
“You need to be a daddy.” Marisa yawns as she snuggles up against me.
“You think so?” I ask, starting to close the book.
“Well, maybe not. My perfect daddy would read two more books.”
I laugh to myself. “Which book would he read next?”
She sits up and reaches over to her nightstand. “This one.”
“Well, I guess I can read one more.”
She holds two fingers up. “Two more, ’member?”
“I ’member all right.” I tickle her under her chin, then open the book. “Once upon a
time . . .”
Chapter Eighteen
“Tell me something good, Hailey,” Jared instructs as I set his drink in front of him. I quirk an eyebrow at him, and he reads my non-answer. “Girl, you got good, so tell me something good.”
“I got my place, thanks to you.”
“No thanks to me. I’m a selfish bastard who wants to have a good-lookin’ neighbor.” He winks as he tips the glass back.
“What they say about kids is true—they’re resilient. Marisa seems to be adjusting fine. In fact, this may be the happiest I’ve ever seen her. Between her time with Sally, Livi, and those Caldwell boys, she gets more attention now than ever before. Plus, we have this neighbor who helps us feel safe, and she loves baking cookies for him.” I smile, thinking how nice it is to have someone I’m comfortable with next door.
