I tightened my hold and worked my shaft to the point I was panting. Legs. Legs. Legs.
Semen shot out and hit the wall.
“Wicked,” I grunted as I slowed my strokes. Another spurt coated my hand, and I slumped against the tile.
Congratulations, pecker. You just set a world record for fastest nut ever by a grown-ass man.
* * *
I hung a towel around my neck and slung open the shower door.
Legs. Those fucking legs peeking out of one of my T-shirts.
“Ever heard of a thing called privacy,” I barked even as my dick came to attention.
“We’re not kindergarteners,” she said sweetly before sticking a toothbrush in her mouth.
“Make sure you find the mouthwash.”
I strode from the bathroom, already rock hard again by the time I reached the bedroom.
Congratulations, pecker. You just set a world record for fastest recovery by a grown-ass man.
I couldn’t be pleased with my stamina for being pissed off with Marlow and her damn legs.
“If you poke her in the back it serves her right.”
“Were you talking to somebody?” She stood in the doorway to the closet as I pulled on pajama pants.
“No.”
“Were you walking around naked in front of my son?”
“It’s not like we don’t have the same stuff.”
“It is very similar.” She hit me with a genuine smile. “Especially in size.”
Her back hit the doorframe when I crowded her space. I towered over her, those pupils dilating in her dark eyes.
“I’ve heard a lot of things coming from your mouth. Complaints about my dick? Is that what those screams were, Wicked? Cause they sure didn’t sound like it to me.”
She swallowed thickly. “Maybe you don’t have much experience.” The words lacked her usual punch.
I inched my face closer to hers. “How many times have you touched yourself thinking about me? Did you just do it in the shower?”
She pushed at my chest. “Don’t talk to me like that.” Short puffs of air escaped her parted lips.
“I’ve been thinking about our communication problem.” My breath hit her in the face. “You and I do plenty of talking, but we’re speaking the wrong language.”
“You’re insane.”
I trailed my finger down her cheek, skated it the length of her neck. She shivered. “Hmm. Your body likes what I’m saying just fine.” I nibbled her ear. “It’s that head of yours that’s the issue.”
“I’m not stupid,” she breathed.
I pulled back and stared into her eyes. “No. You’re one of the smartest women I’ve ever known. But your head controls your mouth, and what comes out of it is dangerous. Except when I do this.”
I palmed her jaw and gently sucked in the crook of her neck, remembering how much she’d liked that. The scent of her skin was driving me wild. The softness. I wanted to keep exploring her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. I wanted to taste all of her.
“Patrick.” My name was a breathless plea.
I smiled in satisfaction. “See what I mean.”
She slapped me in the arm. “Get off of me.”
I stepped back, and she nearly slid down the wall. “Are those words I should pay attention to or ones I should ignore? It’s hard to tell the difference with you.”
“Shut up.”
“Too much talking, Wicked.” I climbed into bed. Blake mumbled and rolled toward me. “Night, little man.” I kissed the top of his head and reached over to flip the master switch for the lights.
The room went pitch black.
“Patrick,” Marlow whispered. “I can’t see.”
“You’ll find your way.”
She cursed when she bumped into something, but eventually the bed dipped.
“I hate you.”
“You’ve already told me that.”
“I really mean it.”
“Sounds like your problem, not mine.”
A little body snuggled against mine and this weird peace settled over me. I put an arm around Blake and held him close. Maybe it was my problem, after all.
Chapter Eleven
Marlow
I pried my eyes open. A solid, bare chest greeted me. On top of it was my favorite person in the world, zonked out and drooling.
An arm was wrapped around me. There wasn’t a millimeter of space between me and Patrick, my leg draped over him and my arm over the two of them.
I didn’t move for fear of waking them. Patrick’s features were smooth, those lines of worry that usually creased his eyes nowhere to be found. He came off as a happy-go-lucky type of guy, but there was something more. I felt it.
That pissed me off. I didn’t have room for any more feelings. I endeavored not to feel anything, except when it came to my son. It hurt too much.
“Feeling better?” His rough voice raised goosebumps on my skin.
“Yeah.”
Neither of us made any attempt to move. My heart beat a little harder in my chest.
“When do you need to be at Holt’s?”
“No certain time,” I said softly. “I need to go home and get clean clothes.”
“You just wearing old T-shirts?” I nodded. “Borrow one of mine. I won’t tell anybody you wore the same jeans twice.”
I scowled, but wasn’t actually angry. “Everybody wears the same jeans more than once.”
“Not ones as filthy as yours.”
“I see you wake up being an ass.” For once, there was no bite though.
“How! Ass!”
“He’s expanding his vocabulary.” Patrick grinned.
I jerked away, rolling my eyes. I could hate Patrick Whitley when he was being an asshole, but when he was sweet and funny—and drool-worthy in his morning sleepiness—that was much harder. I needed to get out of here. My son and Patrick wore matching pouts as I got out of bed.
But my little one would need his diaper changed and some breakfast stat, or we’d start the day with him in a foul mood. Like his mother.
“How do you feel about seeing Grandpa?” I infused false cheer in my voice.
“How. Ass.”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Dad was going to die when Blake sprung his new word on him in public.
I’d never been around kids much before I had Blake, so I’d been unsure of growth development timelines. After a lot of reading and a chat with the pediatrician, I’d learned kids did things at their own paces. Some toddlers were more talkative by the time they were my son’s age. Some were not. And that was okay. Blake would say more when he was ready. I wouldn’t push.
Patrick rolled out of bed. His back muscles flexed as he stretched above his head. “Mind making some coffee? I need to get on with it.”
My make your own damn coffee came out as a “sure.” He disappeared into the bathroom, and I wandered downstairs.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror. My hair was a rat’s nest where I’d slept on it wet. I was pale and looked more exhausted than I felt.
* * *
“Don’t tell Patrick we took a banana.” I shifted Blake on my hip and peeled back the skin.