Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
“Y-yes! I will,” she whimpers. “So good, Kane. Anything you want.”
I do want.
So many things.
There are so many awful, indecent things I want to do with her.
But for now, we just fuck, knowing this has to be quick and discreet because the kids will be up in half an hour or so.
Getting involved was a terrible idea—a stupid damn move—but not because it’s bound to complicate everything.
Because now all I want is to take her on every surface and beat her pussy to kingdom come.
Because I want to hear my name on her lips like a prayer.
Because I’m addicted to this girl, and every taste leaves me fiending more, burning to mark her down to the soul.
I thought I was beyond this high school bravado shit.
I thought being a thirty-something dad means you don’t get in this deep with a woman anymore.
I figured a man calmed down with age and experience, shedding his carnal obsessions and psychotic sexy thoughts.
In one night, she blew that to pieces, scattering everything I thought I knew as a single dad who lives responsibly to the four winds.
Just like the way she’s demolishing me right now, her pussy wrapped around my cock, pulling the pleasure out of me every time I thrust deep.
I catch her scream against my hand just in time, and she convulses, pouring raging fire up my spine.
I come so fucking hard I think I’m inside out.
I spill my nut in this woman and face-plant on eternity itself.
No, this isn’t regret.
Not even close.
Sully Bay isn’t a big place, but it’s lively enough to keep the kids entertained.
After we reluctantly pried ourselves off the bed and cleaned up, the kids were already downstairs, clamoring to go back into town.
It’s not a bad suggestion when they’ll both get homework credit for the educational sites around the town.
Also not a bad way to help us pretend there’s nothing different going on.
Yeah, good fucking luck.
Still, there’s a small fishing museum and a historic lighthouse just up the road from the main town. They’re perfect to keep the kids busy and make sure they learn a thing or two about old Maine’s history.
There’s something reassuring about taking in over two hundred years’ worth of pioneering struggle to tame this stretch of coast.
Proof that human ingenuity overcomes any uncertainty.
I hope to hell I can be so wise.
This isn’t the most stable period for us after my bad marriage was just put out of its misery not that long ago, but I’m not letting their education slip.
I’ll never let them think their father puts anything else first, including a young woman who’s very good at making him a total jackass.
Margot’s eager to accompany us, and I wonder what’s going on in her head. She stares outside the window on the drive up like she’s never seen this shore before.
“This is nice. We used to spend so much time at the house when we’d come up as kids,” she says as we head to the lighthouse.
It was built in the nineteenth century. Unlike the famous Portland Headlight, it’s ugly, grey, and squat.
“Not even at the diner?” Dan sounds mortified. As far as he’s concerned, it’s the beating heart of the town.
“No, we used to go there plenty.” She grins. “My granddad loved his big dinners at home but he couldn’t keep up with them every day. And after a day out hiking? We were ready for food to just leap into our mouths.”
“Dad’s an awesome cook,” Sophie says, and maybe it’s my imagination, but it sounds a little pointed.
“You think so, huh?” Margot slides me a long glance, and I have to remind myself we’re not alone to act on it the way I want. “I agree, he has a knack. If he cooks for you kids at home and it’s half as amazing as what he whips up here, you guys are lucky.”
My face heats under my beard.
“Can’t cook all the time, but I try. I’m glad the diner gives us an easy option. Less dishes,” I say.
“Fewer.” Sophie pushes her glasses up her nose seriously.
“Come again?”
“She’s correcting your grammar,” Margot says kindly, her eyes dancing. “Fewer dishes to do.”
“Thanks, teacher. We’ll see who takes in more history today,” I tease.
“I’ll remember everything!” Sophie insists with a pout. “Dan’s good at math, but I live and breathe English and history.”
“See what it’s like with two kids smarter than me?” I let out an exaggerated groan and they laugh.
The museum is a small wooden building next to the lighthouse. The kids sprint ahead of us the second we’re parked, skipping all the informational boards so they can look at the old fishing boats outside.
“Guys, slow down. Take it in and read,” I call after them.
“Let them go,” Margot says. A jolt of electricity spikes up my arm when she brushes against me. “The boats are way cooler for a nine-year-old anyway. They can read anything they miss online, old man.”