Rolling his eyes, Barron turns her toward the bathroom. “Go.”
Camdyn holds up her wet hands, having listened to him the first time. “I did it already.”
Hell, his fatherly tone even has me washing my goddamn hands and wanting to rip his clothes off his body.
Lillian, who’s drinking from a bottle of wine, holds it up. “I’m empty. Is there more in the storm cellar?”
You know what I love about Lillian. Her crazy is right up front in your face. You can see it. And I want to be her best friend. I’ve never had a best friend, but I chose her.
Barron nods. “Yeah, I’ll grab a bottle.” And then he reaches my hand. “Morgan, keep an eye on the girls.”
Before I can comprehend what’s happening, I’m being yanked down to a storm cellar I didn’t even know existed. “Is this like a basement?”
“Yeah, kinda, but there’s outside access, and that door is steel.” He motions with a flick of his hand over his shoulder.
“For what?” I glance around as we move down the metal stairs into a dark room. Is this where he murders me?
“We have tornados here. You gotta have someplace to hide.”
The way he says someplace to hide makes me think he comes down here for more than storms.
Before I know it, he pushes me up against a wall and is working on his belt. “Sometimes, they drive me fucking crazy,” he mumbles, his tone off.
Okay, I see what this is. He’s about to lose his shit on the little one, and fucking me is a distraction. Sadly, I’ll take it because I can’t get enough of him. All I’ve thought about today is that blow job I gave him in the parts room, and how desired I felt when he was cradling my head in his hands, coming in my mouth. You’re messed up, Kacy.
Yeah, but this guy wants me.
And believe me, I’m fully aware that I’ll need therapy if I leave here.
Barron and I haven’t stopped fucking. Everywhere. Closets. Parts rooms. His bed, the bathroom shower. Every day, at least twice. It’s clear he’s gone years without sex because he’s like that kid I lost my virginity to that treated me like a pocket pussy anytime he needed to get off. We were sixteen, but come on, four times a day, every day… bit much if you ask me. And I also had what seemed like a permanent bladder infection.
That’s beside the point. Sex with Barron. Addicting. I can’t even look at him wearing Carhartt and that sexy black beanie cap that makes his eyes look exotic without spreading my damn legs for him.
Which would explain my current situation. In a storm cellar, against a cabinet with what he tells me are canned green beans, but look like alien fingers in a jar. Despite the situation and the cellar, I find myself compelled by him. I want every secret, every desire for myself. Sitting on a wooden bench, praying I don’t get splinters, I trace my thoughts down his spine, wishing we weren’t in the storm cellar.
“I’m freezing,” I admit when I shiver. “And this isn’t very sexy.”
He starts kissing my neck, eagerly working my jeans off, and his hands move under my sweater. “Neither is your kids pounding on the door, wanting to know why you’re taking so long in the shower.”
I laugh, arching my back and scooting to the edge of the bench. “Happen often?”
“You have no idea.” He groans, working his jeans past his hips, kissing his way up my neck and only breaking away to ask, “Why are we talking about this now?”
“I don’t know. Are you sure those are green beans?”
His fingers tangle in my hair as he grips the back of my head to hold my mouth to his. Just before he enters me, he smirks, kissing me softly. “Stop thinking about green beans.”
And I do, but that’s the problem with this guy. Since that first glance, I haven’t been thinking about my situation, or his. Just that he’s hard to resist. I know what I’m doing to myself—playing with fire—and I know it’s not going to end pretty, but I want this too much.
The thing is, it’s easy to confuse emotions with reality. Especially when you’re dealing with guys like Barron Grady.
“Where’s the wine?” Lillian asks the second we come upstairs.
“Here.” Barron hands her the bottle. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”
“Does that mean I’m not getting a Christmas bonus this year?” she asks, grinning as she eagerly works the corkscrew into the bottle.
“I haven’t decided yet,” he teases, moving through the kitchen to the stove where Morgan’s stirring the noodles.
I sit next to Lillian.
“You want some?” she offers, tipping the bottle toward me.
“No. I’m more of a whiskey fan.”
Before I have a chance to retrieve some, Barron hands me a glass and the bottle, winking. “Dinner’s done.”
Lillian leans in, sipping her wine. “Did you fuck him in the cellar?”
I don’t answer her, but I slowly slide my eyes to hers, winking.
Our glasses clank against one another. Barron and Morgan serve us dinner, and it’s hard to believe these boys didn’t have a mom around growing up because they sure know how to treat a lady.
I can’t help but smile when I look around Barron’s house, filled with laughter, firelight, and people who genuinely care about one another. I never had that growing up. I had organized dinner parties and arranged playdates with my mom’s superficial friends’ kids, who ultimately hated the weird little girl who wrote in her journals and didn’t want to play with them.
Halfway through dinner, Sev throws herself onto the floor in the living room in front of the fireplace, crying and pulling on her ears. “No!” she screams at Barron again, kicking her legs when he tries to get her to eat a slice of garlic bread. She hasn’t eaten anything all day.
I had ear infections growing up—one a month until I had tubes put in my ears. I can bet you money that’s what’s going on with Sev.
Barron sighs, setting his beer down and picking her up off the ground. She curls into his arms, and he presses his lips to her forehead. Frowning, he feels her head with his hands and then holds her close, rocking her back and forth. You can see the nervousness in his eyes, the worry.
Setting my glass down, I make my way over to him. “Is she okay?”
He nods. “Probably another ear infection. She gets them a lot.”
“I did too,” I tell him. “Do you have a warm rag? That helped me.”
Sev reaches for me, still crying as Barron goes to get a rag. “You hads these?” Sev asks, between crying and screaming.
“I did.” I hold her close, my heart breaking for her. “And my nanny used to always give me a warm rag and hold it to my ear.”
She swallows, her head shaking with her hiccupped crying, and then she screams harder. I cradle her close, my throat burning with my own tears. It’s in this moment, I know I need to tell Barron soon. I can’t keep living a lie, but I also don’t want to leave this little girl in my arms.
Barron returns with a warm rag in hand. He sits next to me on the couch where I’m holding Sev and rubs her back. “You want Daddy?” he asks, his words soft as he presses the rag to her ear.
She reaches for him, and he leans back on the couch, allowing her to lie on his chest. He holds the rag to her ear, rubbing her back with his other hand. “Daddy’s got you,” he whispers to her.