20
Asher
After cleaning up,I turn off the lights in the kitchen and quietly check on Bea, who’s thankfully soundasleep. When I return to my room, I find Claire exactly where I left her, with her hair askew and her naked back on full display. I call her name, but she doesn’t respond. She’s completely passed out. Sitting on the bed, I contemplate waking her, but when I study her lovely features—her flushed face, her angelic lips squished against the mattress, her exquisite lashes resting peacefully against her skin—I can’t find it in me to disturb her.
This woman has my handprints branded on her ass. How can I possibly kick her out of my bed?
Though I could lie here all night and watch the rise and fall of her back as she breathes, I cover both of us with the sheets. I’ll let her sleep a little, then I’ll carry her to her room.
In one minute.
Just one minute…
21
Asher
I awaken to a startling crash,my eyes flying open. Something’s different. I’m not on my usual side of the bed and the room is too bright.
When I reach across the mattress for my phone, it’s not there. Instead, I discover a body. A warm, verynakedbody.
“Daddy!” My daughter calls out from somewhere in the house.
“Shit. Claire,” I whisper-yell, jostling her. Her back is still slightly sticky with my cum despite my cleaning efforts last night. It would turn me on if I weren’t freaking the fuck out right now. “Claire. C’mon. Bea’s up. I don’t want her to find you in here.”
She groans, rubbing her face against the pillow. “Hmm?”
“You’ve got to wake up,” I tell her. “Bea’s going to walk in here and?—”
She bolts upright and peers around, a confused expression plastered on her face. “Shit. Where are my clothes?”
“Daddy?” Bea’s right outside my door.
“Just a second, Dolly,” I call, heart hammering, cursingmyself for lying down before I moved Claire. But she was so warm and… “Quick. Under the bed.”
She stares at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. And she’s probably right. But she complies, nevertheless.
Just in time, too, because my daughter swings the door open and hops onto my bed, oblivious to my morning crisis. When I sit up, I spy Claire’s bra and underwear off to the side on the floor and pray Bea doesn’t notice.
“Good morning,” I tell her, acutely aware that I’m naked under the sheets. “Why don’t you find some cereal, and I’ll meet you out there in a minute?”
Ignoring my suggestion, she asks, “What does S-P-A-N-K-M-E spell?”
I swear a muffled squeak sounds from beneath the bed.
“I’m sorry, what?” Surely my five-year-old didn’t just ask me what I think she did.
She’s clutching a Jenga piece in her hand. “What does S-P-A-N?—”
“I heard you,” I interrupt, confiscating the block and stuffing it under my pillow. “I’ll be taking this, thank you.”
“What’s it say?” she asks again, her little brow furrowed.
“Umm…” My mind shorts out. Shit.Quick. Think of something. “It says span…spancakes.”
“Spancakes?”
“Uh-huh. Looks like someone spelled pancakes wrong. Isn’t that silly?”
