Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Chapter 7
Bunny
I let my legs that are dangling off the edge of the kitchen table gently rock, suck the white, homemade frosting off the tip of my thumb, and lovingly beam down at The Kid who is finishing up his holiday cookie creation.
“Look!” He angles his plate for me to better admire his artwork. “He’s a gingerbread manchanic.”
Oh…
Oh…boy.
How can one person be this adorably awful?
“Get it?” Additional enthusiasm rips through his expression. “Manchanic?!”
Rather than snow on his parade – after all it is Christmas Eve – I simply coo, “You’re cute.”
Kid’s cheeks slightly blush as he brushes off the praise with a bashful smile.
“Really?” grumps Mutt from the seat beside him. “He makes a corny fucking dad joke-”
“I gotta practice,” our boyfriend interjects, grin wildly growing. “I mean I am gonna be a dad.”
He is.
They both are.
And that’s where I’m trying to keep my focus for now.
My attention.
My energy.
Yeah, Brad’s dead – for a fucking fact – but the saga that is McAdams I know isn’t.
However, it’s literally almost Christmas.
The first Christmas I get to actually spend with people I love, living and building a life we love, which is something I never thought I’d have.
That I’d live long enough to have.
I wanna enjoy it.
Fuck that, I’m going to enjoy it.
I refuse to let Brad steal that from me from the beyond.
And if he magically feels the need to go all ghosts of Christmas past on me, I will not hesitate to call the local ghostbusters to assist in him fucking off.
And they actually have that in this town.
Like it’s a real thing.
Posie told me about it.
Where they meet.
How often.
That they call themselves The First Vibes club.
Even their open invitation policy to have anyone join that wants to assist in warding off evil spirits or beings from their homes or places of business.
Not really my thing but sometimes weird times, will wield weird measures.
Such as mauling a stalker to death.
Nolan poorly hides his warmth over the father fact. “Like I was sayin’-”
“Complaining,” I correct while dipping my middle finger into the leftover frosting once more.
“How come he gets praise over his farmer joeman-”
“Manchanic,” Kid huffs on a snatch of a gumdrop.
“-but I cleverly make you in a bikini-”
“That’s not clever.”
“-and I’mma gingerbread morman?”
“You tryin’ to say Mormon?” Kid questions during another gummy grab.
“No, I was trying to combine moron and gingerbread man into like a pun thing like you did.”
“Ohhh,” our boyfriend nods between smacks, “fail.”
“Epic fail,” I instantly echo.
“Stout Scarab fail.”
“Ouch,” grumbles Mutt while pulling off the two M&M candy pieces to the “bikini” top.
“Cars shouldn’t have fucking mustaches.”
“And gingerbread women shouldn’t be topless.” My hand gestures towards my cookie-based homage. “Now, I look like a gingerbread stripper.”
“Yeah, well, your ass should’ve showed me more love when you were a gingerbread newlywed appreciatin’ a little love in the sun with two gingerbread manhunks.”
Swiping another round of frosting out of the bowl precedes me shaking my head. “You are not good at word play.”
“And you are the sexiest mess I’ve ever seen in the kitchen.” He carefully wipes off the frosting I flung during my previous hand motion from his forearm. “Kid doesn’t even get this much shit everywhere when he’s making lasagna from scratch.”
There’s no stopping my fingers from flying up in surprise. “You can make lasagna from scratch?!”
“I can,” Kid warmly chuckles prior to pointing to the droplet on my thigh. “And you really can’t keep things clean in here.”
“You can’t even keep you clean in here, Rabbit,” Mutt swiftly teases.
My mouth instantly drops to unleash a snappy retort yet has the clapback cut off courtesy of his tongue slowly swiping away the drips on my bare thigh that’s closest to him. Rather than scold, I whimper and writhe, two actions that apparently warrant another roll of his tongue over the sensitive spot.
This time my frame inches closer to the edge of the table prompting Kid to clamp his hand down on the opposite thigh.
Push it open wider.
Hungrily murmur, “I see another spot that needs to be wiped up.”
The feeling of his warm, wet tongue on my figure also receives a whimper.
A wiggle.
“Such a messy, little slut,” Mutt wolfishly chastises at the same time he pushes my thigh further as well. “You need us to clean you right here, right now, don’t you?”
“Yes,” airily leaves me while extending my non-injured wrist backward for extra support.
“Yes, what?” grunts the older grouch in the room before indulging in a harsh bite of my inner thigh.
“Yes, Sir,” I swiftly amend, thankfully rewarded for my quick, moaned correction.
Each of my men work in tandem to wash away the droplets of frosting.
Brazenly bathe the brown skin they cross.
Maneuver me out of my cheeky, lace panties and into a sprawled position that allows my toes to lightly brush the tops of their now exposed cocks.