Lost King by Piper Lennox (moboreader txt) 📗

“You get out your phone,” he laughs, stepping over me to take a grape from each of his kids’ plates, “and you call a plumber.”

I wipe the dripping water off my forehead with a dishtowel and get up. Hal grins when I pop up across from him, while Journey babbles to Wes in what I assume is English. I’ve got a hard time understanding either of them, honestly. All I know is, they’re cute as hell.

“Journey’s starting to look exactly like Delaney did, at that age,” I tell Wes, who nods and pops another grape in his mouth. I look at his son. “But damn, poor Hal. Looks just like you.”

Swiftly, Wes sweeps his foot out to try and knock mine out from underneath me. I hop right over, laughing.

We take the kids to the backyard. Ruby just finished putting in a coy pond, and they’re obsessed with it.

I hold Hal by the straps of his overalls—kid would dive right in, if he could—while Wes stretches out on the grass and lets Journey crawl over him.

“Ready for dad life?” he asks, eyes shut against the afternoon sun, and his daughter’s fingers poking him in the face.

“No.” I stop Hal from reaching into the water, when one foolishly brave coy finally ventures out of its hiding place. “But I’ll get ready.”

“Yeah, that’s how it goes.” He sits up as Journey stumbles off after her brother; besides the coy pond, their other current obsession is the fairy garden Ruby installed, just for them. “Can’t fully prepare until the kid arrives.”

I sit beside him. “I just hope all the renovations are done by then.”

“I’ll help.” He dusts some soil off his palms. “My next tour doesn’t start until October. It’s all local spots, anyway.”

“Appreciate the thought, but we couldn’t even fix that leaky-ass sink.” I right myself when he shoves me. “Also, I just have to say it: I don’t know how you’re still doing shows with two kids. Or how Van and Juni still travel in that Transit, now that they’ve got the twins. Seems like such a hassle.”

“It is, sometimes. But, like…is there anything worth having that doesn’t come with some hassle?”

I think about arguing with this, but decide he’s right. My entire life used to be staged, captured, planned, and funded. Effortless. And I despised it.

My life with Ruby is messy. There’s occasional stress over bills, arguments over renovations, and days when nine-hundred square feet doesn’t feel like nearly enough for two people, let alone the third on its way.

But I think that’s what I love most about my life. It’s just uncomfortable enough to make me appreciate how comfortable it really is.

It’s real, and honest, and so damn good.

“Couldn’t fix the sink, huh?”

“Nope.” I hug Ruby tight from behind. “We don’t really need running water, do we?”

“We do if you want dinner.” She tries to bump me off, but I just change tack and hold her butt against my hips while she laughs.

“Put it on simmer.” I move her hair out of the way and bite her ear the way she loves. “I had a horrible experience with that sink today. Make me love the kitchen again.”

She keeps stirring, giving me bored glances I know are completely fake. “And how would I do that?”

“Sitting on the counter and letting me eat you out, letting me stir dinner while you get on your knees and blow me, bending over the dining table so I can fuck you from behind—”

“Wow.” She laughs again, but I hear the breathlessness creeping in. “Didn’t realize your answer would be a multiple choice.”

“Oh, those weren’t options.” I reach past her and turn down the burner, then let my hands commence their dirty voyage across her body. “It was a checklist.”

I start with my latest foreplay routine: licking and biting her earlobe, shoulder, and neck while I touch her stomach. The bump there is invisible to the rest of the world, but not me.

“Counter,” I order.

Her breath quickens as I turn her around, pull her leggings and underwear down, and help her hop onto the countertop near the sink. I don’t even mind that I couldn’t fix it today. Tomorrow, when I finally get the determination to try again, all I’ll be thinking about is this moment: shoving her legs apart and feeling that heat against my fingers.

I rub her clit, reveling in the sigh she gives. “How many?”

“Once is fine.” She shudders as I pull down her shirt collar, duck my head, and draw her nipple into my mouth. “But build it up really big.”

By the time I put my head between her legs, she’s close. I drag it out: teasing my tongue in and out of her slick opening, flitting upward to her clit just long enough to keep her at the edge, and sliding only one finger inside her when she asks for more.

“I told you to build it up,” she pants, clutching at my head to pull me closer, “not to be cruel.”

“The more times I get you close without letting you come, the more intense it’ll be when it happens. It’s just science, baby.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one getting tortured.”

I glance up at her, then stand straight. My hand grabs hers and presses it against my erection.

“You feel how fucking hard I am, Ruby?” I growl against her neck. “Don’t tell me I’m not getting tortured. Listening to you moan like that is killing me.”

Deftly, she undoes my zipper. “Then let’s move on to Item Two on tonight’s agenda.”

The way she touches me buries me in more lust.

The cute way she hops off that counter, ties