Page 91 of Child of Mine

“Whip it out, mister. We ain’t got all day.”

“You can’t talk in that accent. You make me think of my mother.”

“Oh, we can’t have that,” I croon, dropping to my knees and unhooking his belt. Moving quickly, I ease his cock out of his boxers and stroke up its length. Within moments, my lips, tongue, and hands have him biting his own fist in an attempt to stifle a groan.

“I want to make you come,” I say before taking him deeper into my mouth.

“Fuuuuck,” is all he seems able to say in reply.

Since time is precious, I go for it, stroking and sucking until his entire body goes rigid and he keens softly in what I’m pretty sure is ecstasy. The hot liquid pumping into my mouth seals the deal.

After I grab a box of tissues to clean up, he pulls me close and groans into my crotch. “Damn. We don’t have time for anything else. You took off those panties for nothing.”

“I don’t know. That was pretty hot.”

“I need you in my bed,” he growls.

“When does your mom leave?”

“Tomorrow, late afternoon.”

“I have a show tomorrow evening.”

Talk about kinks in the schedule.

“Are you off Sunday?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you are mine both Saturday and Sunday nights. Think we can work that out? If I take Lilah tonight and all day tomorrow?”

My answer pulses low in my body as he pulls me onto his lap. “I think we can.”

Taking my face in his, he whispers, “I love you, Bel.”

A smile so wide it feels like it might crack me in two spreads across my face, but I can’t help but make light. He is riding a blow job high, after all. “You don’t have to say that to get laid, you know.”

“I know,” he says, all serious. “But it’s the truth, and I need to tell you. I would like to be your partner in everything.” He takes my hand and presses it over his heart. “You’ve had a piece of me since—well, probably since I watched you do that back walkover on TV. Every other moment I spend with you, you steal a little bit more.”

I’m speechless, both in my head and outside of it. I don’t think I can say the words back, so I kiss him, hoping that he’ll feel all the unnamable things I’m feeling.

And be patient enough to let me catch up.

* * *

HENRY

She didn’t say it back.

I let that thought linger in my mind and prick my heart for precisely thirty seconds. Then I set it aside and move on because I’m hauling around a lot less baggage than she is. Plus, I have a list longer than my arm to get through if I want to take the weekend off and spend my days with Lilah and my nights with her mother.

Mymother has been unbelievable. In her uniquely bossy way, she’s got everyone in love with her, from Carol to Doris to the mailman. And of course, Lilah.

Friday night, when Bella has a show, I take my other girls to the movies. We feast on popcorn and soda while watching a goofy comedy calledHoney, I Shrunk the Kids, then go out for pizza afterward.

Saturday morning before my mom has to go to the airport, she, Lilah, and I take the books to the library, where the sleuthing I made time for yesterday pays off. I didn’t say anything to Lilah, but I called and found out that the library has a story hour at ten. I also found out from Doris that more than one mom has complained about said story hour, saying that the librarian who does it is unenthusiastic at best, hostile at worst.

The moment one child recognizes Lilah as she passes through the arch that leads into the children’s section, I feel for the librarian. Within seconds, every single kid in the room has wiggled off a lap or lurched up from the floor to toddle-run at Lilah, mobbing her like she’s a miniature rock star. Which she is.

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