She grabs the phone and answers, clearing her throat like she’s about to take a business call. Except she’s sitting in my kitchen in my shirt with my cum still inside her, so the professional act is… ambitious.
“Hey, baby.”
“Hey, Mom. You sound weird.”
Two words into the call and the kid smells blood. Smart girl. Must get it from her mom.
I chuckle. Low. Under my breath. Apparently not low enough.
Lilah pauses. “Wait… who was that?”
Ina’s eyes go wide. She slaps her hand over the mic and mouthsI will kill youat me. I lean against the counter, take a sip of coffee, and watch my woman unravel. Her face is priceless. The panic. The way she’s gripping that phone like it’s a grenade.
“Mom?” Lilah’s voice goes sharp. “Who is that?”
Ina removes her hand. “Yes, baby?”
“Who. Is. That.”
She should lie. Say it’s the TV. Miguel. A podcast. But my girl panics. And when Ina panics, her mouth runs before her brain can catch up. It’s one of my favorite things about her.
“He’s a… he works in genetics.”
I nearly choke on my coffee.
“You’re sleeping with a scientist?!” Lilah sounds like Christmas came early.
Ina squeezes her eyes shut and pinches the bridge of her nose. “He’s a cattle-breeding specialist.”
I’m done. Shoulders heaving. Tears forming. She smacks my chest without looking at me…her small palm hitting my bare skin, the sting of it so light it barely registers. But I feel it. I feel every time she touches me, even in annoyance.
“Oh my GOD, Mom.” Lilah hits a pitch that could shatter glass. “You’re sleeping with the bull guy?!”
I lean toward the phone. “I’m Beau.”
“BEAU?!”
Ina looks like she wants the earth to open up and eat her whole. “He’s just…”
“Mom. You sound like you’re still in bed. Are you in bed with the bull guy right now?”
Ina hangs up. Stares at the phone. Then at me. Her brown eyes, wide. Her full lips pressed together. A vein in her forehead that I’ve never seen before, pulsing.
“This is a fucking nightmare.”
I pull her off the stool and into my arms. She resists for half a second…her hands flat on my bare chest, her fingertips pressing into my pecs…then collapses against me. Her face tucks into my neck. Her arms wrap around my waist. She’s warm and small against me, her tits pressed soft against my stomach, her breath hot on my throat.
“You okay, Mama?”
“Don’t call me that.”
I grin into her hair. She smells like maple syrup and sleep and my soap.
“I’m never showing my face again.”
“Yes, you are. And you’re gonna be glowing when you do.”
She groans into my neck. The vibration makes my cock twitch against her belly. Down, boy.
