Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I’m so into the kiss, as in I’m throwing my whole body and soul into it, that I miss the woosh of the wall as it falls in.
The next thing I know, the whole fort is tumbling down around us. One wall caving in after another, the domino effect. We’re buried under a mountain of cardboard, but Amalphia doesn’t pull away. She’s still kissing me when she laughs.
“Oh my god.” Her voice tickles my lips.
“Hold on. I’ll fight our way out.”
She grasps my face and kisses me again. “Don’t you dare. Not yet. I’m not done with you.”
She shuffles and wriggles, clearing some of the cardboard to the side, but we’re not unburied yet. She laughs and kisses me hard enough to drive my head to the floor. That little bit of aggression is so delicious that my cock kicks against my zipper hard enough to bruise, even with the cushion of my boxers in between.
All of a sudden, the doorbell rings.
Amalphia doesn’t stop. The kiss is delicious, heat claiming every bit of my body. I don’t mind one bit that we’re totally covered in the detritus of the box fort. All my cock cares about is getting closer to her, and she has the same idea. She grinds down on top of me until stars dance behind my eyes, ones I don’t think are from the projector because it’s buried too.
The doorbell rings again. And again. Then, once more. Nope, again. And another time.
“My goodness sake!” Amalphia tears away and throws her arms up, causing a cardboard explosion.
She pulls cardboard off of me, freeing me. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I just need…” I sit up and adjust myself, then thrust my hands over my lap when it’s clear there’s no adjusting anything. “A minute.”
She nods. “I guess I’m going to have to get that, but I’ll stall. And stall.”
She peeks through the peephole at the front door as the bell keeps chiming away. Whoever is out there isn’t taking we’re pretending not to be home for an answer.
“For the love of cardboard! It’s Reg. He does seem to have impeccable timing, doesn’t he? Do you want me to tell him you’re not here?”
“No,” I say with a sigh. By the time I stand up, my dick has pretty much deflated. “It’s alright.”
“I’m not going to let him say things about you that—”
I set my hand on the small of her back, reassuring her. It’s sweet that she wants to protect me, but I can do that for myself. I can do that for both of us. “I’m not going to let him say terrible things about either of us. I made myself clear the last time that it won’t be tolerated.”
Amalphia’s eyes practically cross, but she steps back and lets me open the door.
Reginald looks frazzled. He’s wide-eyed and sweating so obviously that his face is glistening, and his T-shirt is stuck to his body. He shoves his hands into his baggy jeans as soon as I pull open the door since he no longer needs them to harass my doorbell.
“You’re not my dad,” he bursts out.
Amalphia steps out from behind me, crossing her arms. She tries to keep a straight face but shoots me a side look that is full of worry.
“Reginald,” I start, his name coming out firm, so at least there’s that, even if I have no idea where to go with it.
His next words cut me off and nearly lay me out cold. “I heard Candice talking to one of her friends. She didn’t know I was home. She was bragging to her friend about how she’s made you pay all this money all these years, and the kicker is that I’m not even your kid.”
There’s a terrible pause that goes on and on and on until, finally, Amalphia sets her hand on my arm, right there for Reginald to see. She opens the door fully. There’s no way we’re not doing this, even if I never wanted Reg to find out, and certainly not this way.
Amalphia is full of soft compassion. “I think you had better come in.”
Reginald raises a brow at me, asking for permission. All I can do is nod and try not to fall right the fuck over.
Chapter fourteen
Amalphia
Isound like I have it together, but oh my freaking grilled cheese sandwiches, I don’t.
That could be what we need. Food. A distraction. Something to do with our hands. I’m not even sure I should be here for this conversation, but War gives me the please don’t bail on me now expression as soon as Reg steps through the door, and it practically shatters my heart.
I’m not even mad that I was about to have mind-blowing, life-changing, brain-cell-reorganizing sex, and we were interrupted. Again. This is far more important than anything else. Even if my vagina is shaking two angry fists in the air, and my ovaries are practically blue from hyperventilating over the crushing disappointment.