Series: Series by Ker Dukey
Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 107407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
I get dressed in silence next to Z, thankful that the rest of our belongings made it over here. Though we’ve been sharing Alyona’s bed at night, we took the master bedroom for ourselves for when we need a place to retreat to. The humid air clings uncomfortably to my skin, prompting me to forgo a jacket and tie. Instead, I reach for a darker, fitted shirt and roll the sleeves up to my forearms, feeling more at ease. Slipping into tailored slacks, I glance at myself in the mirror, trying to appear composed when I feel anything but.
Z breaks the silence, casually adjusting his watch as he secures it around his wrist. The strap complements his leather boots, a subtle detail that matches his meticulous style. “I believe her when she says she ran for the right reasons,” he remarks, his tone sympathetic.
I know she believes that. But it wasn’t the right thing to do, and as soon as she found out she was pregnant, she should have come home to us.
“You’re wearing that?” I ask him, shifting the focus away from the Alyona conversation.
He flinches ever so slightly, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, but he quickly masks it with confidence. “I look amazing,” he insists, and I can’t help but admire him because he truly does. He’s dressed in light denim jeans that hug his muscular thighs and ass just right and a cream sweater that drapes effortlessly over his form. The fabric is airy and delicate, sent straight from the runway after we gave the designer a night she can’t seem to forget. Clothes like these are a regular gift from her.
He wears nothing beneath, and it makes me jealous of the fabric. I brush my palms over his shoulders admiring the muscle flexing beneath my touch. “You look delectable. But Roza is going to mess that cream fabric the first chance she gets.”
Her food covered handprints get on everything.
“I’ll wear the stains with pride,” he assures me, bringing my forehead to his lips. “Please try with Alyona.”
“I am.” I exhale, closing my eyes. I am.
“Come on, let’s eat,” he urges, glancing at the door.
“I already have,” I tease, a playful smile dancing on my lips.
He flashes me a grin, his eyes sparking like the devil’s. “Don’t make me undress us both again. It’s really counterproductive.” His tone is light but suggestive.
“Mmmm, later then,” I promise, savoring the moment and the playful tension.
Roza is sitting in her highchair in front of the TV watching blobs of color teach her the alphabet while she playfully smacks her spoon against her bowl in the dining area.
Alyona, who’s now in the kitchen and sipping a mug of coffee, has changed into skintight jeans, long knee-length boots, and a clingy, too fucking clingy, top that outlines the round fullness of her tits. Her hair is loose, falling down her back. She’s applied a smudge of black under her eyes and colored her lips with a pink tinge.
This is the most she’s looked like herself since we reunited. It’s distracting as fuck.
“The bulb needs to be changed.” She flits her eyes up to the hanging fixture above her head that’s flickering.
“I’ll fix the bulb later,” Z tells her, taking a slice of apple from a bowl on the counter and biting into it. “You look good.”
“So do you.” She eyes him over the rim of her mug, pursing her lips to blow on the contents to cool it.
“Did you enjoy the show this morning?” he croons, sidling right up to her. He grasps her hair into his fist, moves it over her shoulder, and nips her neck. He’s been this way with her since we moved in. Touchy-feely, but not taking it further.
“It was the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced, and I’ve experienced you both fucking me, so…” she quips, lifting a shoulder.
I almost drop the coffee pot I’ve just picked up.
“Mmmm.” Z moans into her neck. “I wanted to eat your cunt until you screamed.”
“Oh my God," she whines, placing her mug on the counter.
I bite my lip to stop from laughing at her neediness and his crass tongue at breakfast.
“I felt alive again in all this mayhem and pain,” she breathes, closing her eyes to enjoy his lips against her neck.
“Are you rhyming?” I ask and Z barks out a laugh straight from his gut, moving away from her to cover his mouth. “Someone’s been watching too much toddler TV.”
“I wasn’t rhyming, asshole.” She glares at me as she picks up a carton of milk and opens the fridge to put it away.
“I think she’s mad, Z.” I raise a brow, smirking into the coffee I’ve just poured.
“I think she’s frustrated.” He scoffs, reaching for her. “And he’s just messing with you, love.” He assures her, like he’s placating a child.