“You go for it, chickie,” I say as I deposit her on the counter and let her slap at the dough with the spoon. “Uncle Zay's going to put on some music.”
“Is it the same as what we listened to on the way home from school?” Bella kicks her foot and looks shyly up at me from beneath a fall of brunette hair. Aww. So much fucking cuter than my own niece. Why is the one that's blood related to me such a brat? “Because I liked the pretty song.”
I think for a split second and then snap my fingers.
“What you want is “Sit Still, Look Pretty” by Daya.” I start the song on my iPod and crank up the volume on the attached speakers. “Actually, the moral of that song is not to sit still and look pretty, just so you know.”
Bella and Kinzie both stare at me with circles for eyes. It's almost possible to forget they're devils sent specifically from hell to torment me. Almost.
I hear a crash from behind me and turn to find the cookie dough bowl on the floor, the glass shattered into pieces, dogs gobbling up purple goo from the white linoleum.
Huh.
What was I saying about forgetting? You just forget I ever said that.
Hate kids. Yup. I hate 'em.
Several hours later, I wake with a start, Sadie lying across my chest as I yawn and struggle into a sitting position, clutching the baby to my chest as I breathe deep and watch Brooke slipping inside the house.
She locks the door behind her as I rise to my feet and tiptoe the baby over to the crib.
Shit. Crap. Fuck a duck.
I was supposed to be waiting all naked and sweaty and hard in Brooke's bed. Instead, my hair is plastered to my head with purple cookie dough and I have baby drool all over my neck. I lay Sadie in the crib as carefully as I can, praying to the God of Love and Sex that she'll stay asleep for me.
Cha-cha-ching. Somebody's listening to me.
I look up, across the shadowy living room to where Brooke's standing in her coat, watching me with eyes cloaked in darkness. It's impossible to figure out what she's thinking from over here.
I move around the crib, pausing less than a foot from Brooke. She rests her hand on the rounded end of the newel post for a moment, eyes still shadowed and hard to read. Her fingers tap out an easy rhythm as I wait, my body already thrumming with anticipation. My cock refuses to forget how tight and hot her pussy was, how her body writhed against me with pleasure.
I take a step forward and gently put my hand on Brooke's shoulder like I did before, turning her to face me. When she doesn't move away or protest, I reach down and start to undo the buttons on her jacket. Again, nothing from her, but don't think I miss that frantic flutter in her throat. Her pulse is racing and when I push the jacket back and off her shoulders, I can see her chest rising and falling with quick breaths.
The lace teddy underneath is like a wet dream come to life, see through in all the right places, tantalizing opaque in others. A faint floral pattern traces over Brooke's full, ripe breasts, all the way down to the lacy little skirt that rims the bottom, carefully accenting a pair of ruffled boyshorts.
When I drop my hands down to cup her firm cheeks in my hand, she moans and lets herself fall into me. A weird, hot, wild jealousy spikes through me as I press my mouth to her neck and kiss hard, sucking harder, nibbling hard.
Brooke moves her breasts against my chest as she wiggles in my grip, tilts her head away from me and encourages me to mark her. Oh yes. There's something about this girl that's mind-fucking the hell out of me, but I can't seem to put my finger on it. Maybe it's watching all these kids, screwing with my hormones and making me wish I had some of my own? Or maybe it's those giant round eyes of Brooke's, gazing up at me when I pull back, and looking at me with something akin to desperation.
See. Told you. Seriously damaged.
Eh, but I kind of like her anyway. She's a cool chick.
And I am hot as fuck for her.
My hands drop to Brooke's waist, guiding her back against the wall so she has something to brace herself against when I slant my mouth to hers, tongue slicking and sliding into her groaning lips. Brooke lets me have whatever I want and grasps onto my shirt, begging for more. I've always heard virgins were crazy horny, but I've never really had the pleasure of hanging around any. The girls that come into my shop, the ones I usually pick up, they're tatted and pierced and experienced and sexy as hell, but they are definitely not virgins.
Oddly enough, Brooke's the one that popped my virgin cherry. Hah.