She sinks her teeth into my bottom lip just hard enough to make me wince. “Very hard.” Then she kisses me slowly. “Then very slow.”
I move in and out of her slowly as I kiss her, then I tilt my head back to watch her face as I lift her left leg and drive into her hard. She moans louder and I clamp my hand over her mouth so she doesn’t wake the kids.
The vibration of her screams against my fingers spur me on as I pound into her. Just when I’m about to come, I ease off and take my hand off her mouth. She laughs softly as I reach down to stroke her clit.
“God, you’re so fucking sexy,” I whisper into her ear as I caress her until she begins to tremble beneath me.
I keep my finger pressed against her clit as I dig into her slowly, carefully unearthing each soft whimper of pleasure as if it were a diamond. When she begins to shake her head, I know it’s because she’s past the point of orgasm. Taking my finger out from between her legs, I lean down to kiss her slowly as I come inside of her.
“I love coming inside of you.”
I kiss her again because I can never get enough of her lips. She pants softly into my mouth and my cock begins to harden again, filling her.
“Enjoy it while you can.”
We’ve been trying for one more baby for over six months. It’s totally ridiculous, but I want a son. I love Kaia and Mila more than air, but I feel like a boy would complete us. Lindsay sometimes gets upset. She thinks I want a son because I’m trying to fill a hole in our marriage, but that’s not it; not at all. I want a son to teach him all the things I’ve learned about appreciating the right girl when she comes along.
After a slow and steady round two, I roll off of her and smack her hip. “Go make me some eggs, woman.”
She uses both her feet to push me off the bed. “You make me some eggs!”
I scramble to my feet and lunge for her, but she rolls off the bed and out of my reach. Giggling like a fucking schoolgirl, she dashes into the bathroom and locks the door.
“Go feed your daughter!” she shouts from the other side of the door.
Shaking my head, I scoop my boxers off the edge of the bed. Pulling on a T-shirt and shorts, I head for Mila’s room, which is right next door to ours for convenience. Mila is the light in every one of my darkest days, but she is also ten times fussier than Kaia was at her age. I slowly push open her bedroom door and she’s still asleep. Not surprising since she’s usually making noise when she’s awake.
Lindsay would probably tell me to wake her so she can sleep at the beach, but I can’t bear to disturb her when she’s sleeping so peacefully. Her dark blonde hair is plastered to the left side of her head and every once in a while her lips pucker up as if she’s sucking on something.
“Daddy?”
I turn around and Kaia is standing in the doorway in her baby-blue pajama shirt and shorts with the pink Care Bear on the front. Her blonde curls are inherited from Nathan’s mother, but her green eyes and pouty lips are all Lindsay. My love for Kaia surpasses any love I’ve ever felt. Kaia is more like me than Mila is and somehow, at seven years old, she understands all my jokes and laughs louder than anyone.
“Come on, baby,” I whisper, ushering her out of the room so we don’t wake Mila.
As soon as I close the bedroom door, Kaia reaches for me so I can pick her up. Lindsay can’t carry her anymore, but she knows I’ll never refuse.
I pick her up and she immediately rests her head on my shoulder as I carry her down the stairs to the kitchen. “Want to help me make breakfast?”
“Can we have pancakes?” she asks, her eyebrows shooting up as she knows she’s asking a lot, but she just has to try.
“Chocolate chip pancakes?”
“Yes!”
“Okay, but you have to help me because Mommy likes your pancakes better than mine.”
“No, she doesn’t. She likes the pancakes at Grandma’s house.”
I laugh as I set her down on the counter and open the refrigerator. “Everybody loves Grandma’s pancakes.” I grab some eggs and milk then I grab the other ingredients from the pantry and set everything on the counter next to her. “Can you crack the eggs for me?” She nods and I reach for the cupboard. “Watch your head.” I grab a couple of bowls and she takes a couple of eggs out of the carton. “Remember what I taught you: crack the eggs on the counter then break them into the bowl.”
She taps the egg against the countertop and it doesn’t crack. She tries again with a little more gumption and some of the white spills on the counter.
“It’s okay. Mommy will clean it up later.”
Her eyes widen because she knows how mad Lindsay gets whenever I say that.
“It’s okay. Mommy’s not here to hear that. Go ahead. Open the egg over the bowl.”
She digs her thumbs into the crack of the egg and pulls the shell apart. The eggs plops into the bowl completely intact.
“High five.” I raise my hand and she slaps it hard. “Ouch! Have you been lifting weights?”
“No!” she says angrily, as if I’ve offended her.
“Are you sure?” I ask as she reaches for another egg.
“Lifting weights is for boys.”
“Lifting weights is for girls, too. Mommy lifts weights.”
She taps the second egg against the countertop and this one splits open easily and sloshes out of its shell and onto the counter. I grab some paper towels and quickly wipe it up.
“Mommy will never know.” I grab another egg and hand it to her. “You want to hear a joke?”
“I want to hear the one about the giraffe.”
She cracks the egg against the counter and manages to get this one safely into the bowl.
“But you’ve heard that one about nine thousand times. You haven’t heard my dinosaur joke.” I close the carton of eggs and set it aside. “Why can’t a Tyrannosaurus clap?”
She squints her eyes as if I’m speaking another language. “Duh! Their arms are too little,” she replies as she wiggles her hands.
“No, because they’re extinct.”
She scrunches up her nose, then she giggles so loud I’m afraid she’s going to wake Mila.
“Shh! Your sister’s sleeping.” She covers her mouth apologetically. “You liked that joke?” She nods as I move to the other side of the kitchen to grab the measuring cup. “Here. You measure the pancake mix and I’ll tell you another joke.”
By the time we have all the ingredients mixed together, Lindsay comes down in her white bikini and a peach sundress. Her hair is still damp and a little messy, the way we both like it.
“Help her with the pancakes and I’ll go wake Mila.”
“You didn’t wake her up?”
I smile sheepishly and she shakes her head. “I couldn’t do it. But I’m going right now.”
She immediately forgets about me when she looks at Kaia. “Good morning, pumpkin.”
“Mommy, I mixed everything myself.”
“You did? I’ll bet these pancakes are better than Grandma’s.”
I tear my eyes away from them and race up the stairs to Mila’s room. When I walk in, she’s awake in her crib; a rare occurrence. I scoop her up and she immediately begins to cry. I gently tap her bottom lip because this always seems to calm her, even when there’s no promise of food. Instantly, she stops fussing and curls her tiny fists around my finger. She tries to pull my finger back into her mouth, then she gets frustrated when I resist.
“Come on. Mommy’s boobs are downstairs.”
I love that Lindsay insists on breastfeeding, even when we’re busy traveling. And we’re almost always traveling these days. It’s nice to be in the beach house for the next three weeks. Kaia hates flying and Mila has to be starved of food and sleep before a flight or we become “that couple” on the plane that everyone hates because they can’t quiet their screaming baby.
Hey, sometimes people with babies have to travel. If I could legally give her a tranquilizer, I’d be all over that shit.
When I enter the kitchen, Kaia is standing on a chair in front of the stove as Lindsay pours pancake batter into a skillet.
“That’s too big!” Kaia squeals.
“That’s because that pancake is for Daddy.”
“I like big pancakes and I cannot lie.”
Lindsay looks over her shoulder at the sound of my voice and she rolls her eyes when she sees Mila sucking on my finger. “Stop letting her do that.”
“She’s hungry. Give me the spatula.” I kiss her cheek as we trade the tiny human for the kitchen utensil. Kaia looks up at me, bubbling over with excitement as I hand her the spatula. “Flip it, girl.”
She carefully slides the spatula under the pancake and lifts it up, but a small piece sticks to the skillet and she ends up folding the pancake in half.
“Oh, shit,” she curses, and Lindsay and I look at each other in horror. Kaia immediately covers her mouth. “Sorry.”
I cup my hand over my mouth so she doesn’t see my smile. “It’s okay, just don’t let it happen again.”
“Sorry,” she apologizes again.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s just a word. You’re not in trouble.”
Lindsay sits down in a dining chair, so she can cradle Mila as she feeds. I watch her for a moment as she strokes Mila’s head and I marvel at how lucky we are to have fate on our side. If Lindsay had never cheated on me with Nathan, our relationship probably would have fizzled out the more I tried to push her away. If I had never met Claire, I may never have learned the power of forgiveness. If Nathan hadn’t taken that trip to California, I would never have had the opportunity to fall in love with Kaia and to fall back in love with Lindsay.
I have this realization almost once a day because I still can’t believe how fucking lucky I am.
“Daddy! It’s burning!”
“Oh, shit!” I say and Kaia giggles. “Oops!” I say as I flip the burnt pancake onto the plate.
“You said it, too!”
“That’s okay because Mommy’s going to put Daddy in timeout later,” Lindsay says from across the room.
I can’t help but grin. “Yes, and Daddy is going to hate it.”
“Ha, ha! You’re going in timeout,” Kaia teases me.
“You think that’s funny,” I say as I pour more batter into the skillet.
“Yes.”
“Is it funnier than my dinosaur joke?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, that hurts. You really hurt my feelings.”
“No, I didn’t. You’re smiling.” I frown dramatically and she laughs. “Tell Mommy the joke.”
I hand Kaia the spatula again and cross my fingers that this time she’ll flip it correctly.
“Mommy already knows the dinosaur joke, but I have another one. It’s a surfing joke.” Kaia groans and Lindsay laughs. “Hey, you have to brush up on your surfing jokes for when we go to the beach today.”
“Surfing is boring,” she complains.
“Flip that pancake.”
She slides the spatula under the pancake less carefully this time, but she flips it successfully.
“High five.”
She smacks my hand and I take the spatula from her. “Surfing is not boring. You’ll see when I teach you to surf. You’ll never want to stop.”
“I don’t want to learn to surf. I want to dance.”
“You can do both. Okay, here’s the joke. How do two surfers say hi to each other?”
“They wave,” she says automatically.
“Have I told you that one before?”
“Only a million times!”
“That’s because it’s so good.”