Page 37 of Unbreakable
“Quiet now,” Dylan hummed, climbing out of the sheets with a face covered in me. He kissed me deeply, my taste coating his tongue and lips. I moaned again as I reached into his pajama pants, finding him rock hard and pulsing. I pulled on him, once, twice, swiping my thumb over the precum on the head. I drew my thumb up to my lips and sucked it into my mouth with a salacious smile.
“Dirty girl,” Dylan whispered, lowering himself to kiss me.
Then, there was a blood-curdling scream.
“GREY HAS A KNIFE!”
Dylan leapt off me and yanked up his pants. I was already halfway to the door while he was trying to tuck his erection away.
“I’ll go!” he yelled after me.
“You have a fucking boner!” I hissed back at him as I tugged my nightgown down and hit the top of the stairs. I thundered down them, jumping the last three stairs and almost eating shit at the bottom.
I turned the corner and made it to the living room, taking in the scene.
Bella was covered in vacuum dust, while Greyson stood amidst couch fluff, knife in hand.
“Drop it,” Dylan barked, skidding up behind me.
“Don’t yell at him,” I said.
“Don’t fight,” Bella cried, launching into actual tears.
“You left the knife out!” Dylan argued.
“Weleft the knife out,” I said. “I cut my hand and we didn’t clean up what I was working on.”
“Mommy, don’t fight with Daddy!” Bella went on. For how little Dylan and I fought, and almost never in front of the kids, I was surprised by Bella’s absolute meltdown over this. How Alice slept through all this, I’m not sure.
Dylan turned to Greyson. “Why did you cut the couch, Grey?”
Greyson’s eyes misted. “I don’t know.”
I got on my knees and held out my hand. “It’s okay, buddy. Can I take the knife?”
Greyson placed it in my palm. I handed it back to Dylan and wrapped my little boy up. “It’s alright, Grey. I’m glad you and Bella are okay. It’s our fault for leaving a knife out, but next time, either leave it alone or put it in the kitchen, okay?”
Dylan rubbed his hands through his hair looking at the sea of couch fluff. “Buddy, come on,” he whined.
“Enough, Dylan,” I said quietly.
“He needs to know what he did was wrong!” Dylan argued.
“He knows,” I stated.
“Bella, how’d you even get out of bed?” Dylan asked.
“Climbed.”
“You fucking kidding me?” Dylan breathed.
“Daddy, this is not the hockey rink,” I gritted out. “Please go upstairs and let me talk to our kids. Come back when you’re calm.”
“Don’t do that,” he said darkly.
All my muscles tensed. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t treat me like I’m one of the kids. I’m their father.”
