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“What do you have them doing?” Maddox asks, tracing the top of his Coke can with his finger.
“My older kids are making ceramic Fabergé eggs, while the younger ones are doing self-portraits.”
“That’s cool, man.”
Cooper chuckles. “It is. They’re excited, which is the most important part. I’ve found that with the older kids, they genuinely want to be there, so it’s a lot easier to hold their attention than when I was with the mandatory students last year.”
“How long until you think you can start looking at the university route?” I ask.
His eyes burn even brighter at the mention of the next step in his career. “Hopefully, only a couple more years.”
“Professor Cooper has a nice ring to it.” I grin.
“It makes you sound fucking old,” Maddox blurts out and a second later starts to laugh.
Cooper flips him off, but his mouth twitches at the corners. “You’re an asshole.”
“Look at you talking dirty. Maybe you aren’t so bad after all.”
Dox softly kisses my jaw and takes a deep breath before slowly pulling away, as if he would rather stay with his face buried in my neck.
I wouldn’t mind that, but I think I would prefer it buried somewhere else. Suddenly, all I can think about is Maddox pushing my chair away from the table, dropping to his knees in front of me, and spreading my legs. I swallow, my throat suddenly dry.
“Curly?” I hear faintly.
With a sweaty hand, I palm the back of my neck and look at Maddox. He’s watching me curiously, but the ghost of a smirk is there, flirting with me, as if he knows exactly what I’ve been thinking about.
“You okay, baby?” he asks, voice low, soft.
“Mmhmm.”
“You look a bit flushed, B. Do you want a glass of water?” Cooper asks, already out of his seat and starting to collect the empty plates.
I clear my throat and nod. “That would be great. Let me grab the rest of this, and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
“No, you sit. I’ll bring it out to you before I start the dishes.”
“Thank you.” My smile is soft. Cooper returns it and kisses the top of my head before drifting off to the kitchen.
Maddox threads his fingers in the curls at the base of my skull and gently presses his fingertips into my scalp. My eyes roll back as I let out a soft moan.
“Give me a minute to be alone with you before I go help with the dishes, yeah?” he murmurs.
“Okay.”
The sound of water running in the kitchen is the only noise in the penthouse, and despite how awake I was just minutes ago, the soft sounds and wine have me feeling droopy.
His fingers continue to massage my scalp as I rest my head on his shoulder. Lips brush the tip of my ear before working down the length of it. I shiver.
“I want our kids to have your hair,” he breathes.
My lips part on a smile. I don’t feel any fear or anxiety after hearing his blunt statement, only excitement and something warm and cozy that fills my chest.
“The colour or the curls?” I ask.
“Both. And your eyes.”
“And what are they getting from their daddy?”
