Yanking her back up, I slammed inside her.
Hard.
Deep.
It had been too long since we'd gotten to be intimate without worrying about kids walking in or overhearing and asking uncomfortable questions. There was no room for soft and sweet and easy when we finally had the freedom to groan and beg and whisper things we didn't even want our children to know we knew how to say.
"Fuck, squeeze my cock," I demanded, slamming harder and faster, the sounds of our bodies slapping together filling the kitchen, but almost completely drowned out by Shy's cries as she got closer and closer to that edge. "Come for me," I demanded, fucking her harder still, close to losing control myself. "There you go," I groaned as her pussy spasmed around me, milking my orgasm from me as she cried out her release.
"What was that?" Shy gasped not two minutes later, before the sweat even got a chance to dry, before either of us could fully catch our breath. "Was that a car door?" she asked, shoving me backward, eyes huge as she hopped her bare ass off the counter. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God," she whimpered to herself as, sure enough, there was the sound of another car door slamming. "They're coming!" she gasped, shoving her legs into her pants, and nearly falling over if I hadn't reached to grab her. "Are they early, or were we occupied for longer than I realized?" she asked, grabbing the rag and bottle of cleaner and spraying the counter liberally as I pulled my shirt back on.
Then the door was opening, slamming off the wall, making me glad I'd installed the wall guard only the weekend before or I'd be spackling over another hole from the knob.
"Oh, hey guys!" Shy said, voice overly cheerful, painfully overcompensating for almost getting caught getting railed on the kitchen counter like we were a couple of horny teenagers. "Did you have so much fun with... what happened?" she asked when Mae gave her a pout.
"Boys," Mae grumbled, folding her arms across her chest, and walking away in a huff.
"Yeah!" Kali agreed, imitating her big sister.
"They're being dramatic," Belle said, shaking her head as she put Isaiah down in the kitchen.
"That is very on-brand for them," Shy agreed.
"There is a new boy in their class. And he is the first one who has ever been able to best Mae. She's not happy about it. I tried to remind her that when I was starting to learn self-defense, that the boys beat me all the time until I got better."
"What'd she say to that?" I asked.
"Well, she told me that they beat me because I was old," Belle said, pressing a hand to her heart. "That stung a bit, I'm not going to lie."
Belle had chosen not to have children of her own. I'm sure part of that came from never really getting into any serious relationships with men thanks to her life spent helping fellow women. She talked, occasionally, about adopting some older teenage girls one day when her life calmed down.
We all secretly wanted that for her. She'd done so much good work over the years, setting up her own gym where she taught budget-friendly classes for at-risk kids and teens, doing free self-defense classes for female survivors of rape of domestic abuse. She had so much to give to the world, and we hoped she would one day slow down enough to enjoy a little bit more of a family type of life. If that was what she wanted.
"How was the little one?" Shy asked, bracing herself for the worst. He was a little young for the classes still, but pitched such a fit about wanting to go, that Belle brought him along. Even though he'd once gotten into the powder she kept around for the pull-up bar and spilled it over in front of one of the giant fans, filling the entire room—and covering all the sweaty gym goers—with the white powder.
"I, ah, I think it might be best if you just... don't ask that question," Belle said, grimacing. "Trust me, you don't want the answer. But no one was hurt. Just my floor. It's fine. Everything is fine," she added in a tight voice that said she was about to go pound on some poor sonofabitch at the gym to release some of the frustration.
"Sorry," Shy said, grimacing. "We will pay for it."
We'd learned to say that phrase a lot since becoming parents.
"It's fine. Don't worry about it. I have to get going," she said, turning to make her way toward the door before turning back, a wicked smile toying at her lips. "Hey, sis?" she called.
"Yeah?" Shy asked, straightening.
"Your panties are sticking out of your pant leg. Just thought you should know that," she said, laughing all the way out the door.
But before Shy could even reach down to fetch them, there was Isaiah, grabbing them, then the bottle of cleaner Shy had abandoned, and setting to cleaning the front of the fridge.
With Shy's panties.
Shy stood there horrified for a long moment before a laugh bubbled up and burst out of her. The sound of it drew me in. And before long, we were both half folded over, leaning against each other as she laughed at the absurdity of it all.
We'd been so lost in the moment that we missed another door opening and closing.
But then there was Eddie, coming into the kitchen with grocery bags because Shy had totally guilted into coming over to make dinner because she knew she would be cleaning all day.
"Hey, yo, little ese is cleaning the fridge with your drawers, mami," Eddie declared, calm, matter-of-fact.
The next round of laughter went on for longer still.
I found after a lifetime of seriousness, of sternness, that joy and laughter came easily with Shy, with our kids.
Hell, she stopped making jokes about how little I smiled years ago. Because she and our children gave me a reason to do so on a daily basis.
So much had changed.
All—fucking all—of it for the better.
All because this woman once tried to kill me.
Also by Jessica Gadziala
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