“T  

his needs to stop, G.”

“I know.”

“It’s been seventeen years, and I know it’s hard—believe me, I know just how hard it is. But it’s time to let it go, baby.”

“I can’t. I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can. You’re so much stronger than you think you are. So much stronger than I would’ve been had the tables been turned. You’re missing out on so much of what you have here. Life is for the living, G, and yours is beautiful. What you’ve built, what you’ve achieved? I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“You don’t mind . . . I mean . . . do you care? Does it bother you?”

“Of course it does. Of course I wish it was you and me and our kids, but that isn’t the way it worked out for us. I’m just so glad that you’re happy, that your life is full, and you’ve got a man that loves you exactly the way that I do, except he’s a bit more of a control freak where you’re concerned. You’ve got us both wrapped around your little fucking finger.”

“He’s a good man.”

“He loves you; that’s all I care about.”

“What does that mean? What d’ya know? Is he not a good man?”

“G, calm the fuck down. I didn’t mean anything other than he could be the patron saint of husbands and it wouldn’t matter to me if he didn’t treat you right. But he does. You and the kids. He makes me sick he’s so fucking perfect.”

“He isn’t perfect. He leaves wet towels on the bed and whiskers in the sink, and he doesn’t always flush.”

“Are you being serious right now? He doesn’t flush in case it wakes you up, and you are the messiest person I know, so don’t even go there with wet towels on the bed. You’re a total slob when you wanna be and then completely anal about everything being spotless when you don’t … especially when your mother’s coming over.”

“I love that you still know me so well.”

“Always, G. Always.”

“You’re gonna go, I can feel it.”

“I can’t help it, babe, I have to. I just want . . . just try to have a good day today. Let go of the guilt. Do your Christmas thing, but let your people love you. Your kid's worry. Your husband worries, and the Looney Tunes you call family worry.”

“I’ll try.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Good girl. I love you, Georgia Rae.”

“I love you, too. Kiss Beau and baby M for me, and tell them I love them.”

“They know, G. They know.”

 

 

I sit up straight, my eyes wide as they attempt to take in my surroundings. The room’s dark, but I can hear at least one bird singing outside.

Cam still sleeps soundly beside me, but it’s Sean’s lips that I can feel on mine. I brush my fingers over them and breathe in deeply.

I both love and hate moments like this. They make me feel completely torn.

I stare down at my husband. His arms are stretched out above his head, disappearing under the pillow that his head rests on.

At my request, he’s been growing his hair since last summer. He’s had it trimmed a couple of times, but at the moment, it’s the perfect length. It curls where it reaches his collar, and the front is long. Though he usually pushes it back, right now it’s partly hanging in his face. I want to reach out and run my fingers through it and then rake my nails over the beard covering his cheeks and chin. It’s a gorgeous silver-grey and has become one of my favourite things about him.

One of an endless list.

He’s my rock. My world. He makes me who I am, a much better person than I could have ever hoped to be, and yet, here I am, watching him sleep after waking from a dream about the other love of my life.

Sean McCarthy.

He doesn’t come to me often these days. But when he does, I know.

I can feel him, smell him.

On me.

I slide out of bed and head for the bathroom. I do what I need to do, wash my hands, and lift my hoodie from the hook where I left it last night as I slide my feet into my UGGs and head out onto the landing.

Our bedroom is at the very back of our house, and the kids’ rooms are all towards the front. Kiks is the only one with her door open, so I take a peek inside to check on her. She’s our sensitive child and has recurring nightmares. They started when we explained to the kids about my past, about Sean, Baby M, and Beau. She knows about Tamara, how she died, and that Cam was shot . . . and she worries about all of it.

I feel guilty about this. The fact that my past has impacted on my daughter’s peace of mind. Given a choice, I would’ve protected all of my kids and only told them what I felt was necessary, but there’s something out there called the internet, and we thought that it was best we told them the truth and answered their questions ourselves.

Becks lifts his head from where he’s curled at the bottom of Kiki’s bed and looks towards me, his tail wagging while the rest of him remains still.

My daughter’s dark hair is spread out around her as she lies with her face buried in the pillow. A black T-shirt covers her skinny frame, and I watch her shoulders move up and down as she breathes.

Kiks, Lu, and George will all be turning fifteen after Christmas, and our house is a hive of teenage hormonal tension. Kiks probably causes the least drama, unless of course, Lu chooses to pick a fight with her.

I head down to the kitchen and make myself a coffee. Our other dog, Rooney, isn’t in his bed either, and I assume he’s with one of the other kids. George probably, since Lu and Harry both complain when the dogs lie on their beds, which, considering I have a no dogs upstairs rule, should never actually happen. But I’m only their mum, no one ever bloody listens to me.

The whole world thinks I’m some kind of superwoman who’s battled on through tragedy to build an empire and become a world-renowned philanthropist. My kids and my dogs, though, couldn’t give a monkey’s about any of that and have very selective hearing when it comes to listening to anything I say.

I sometimes wonder if they would listen if I stamped my feet and shouted, “Do you know who I am?” Probably not. They’d all be wearing their noise-reducing headphones and not hear a word.

Or, they’d just blatantly ignore me.

I smile to myself as I head to the mudroom, pull on Cam’s quilted Barbour jacket, and grab a blanket from the basket I keep by the back door. If only they knew about the things I used to get up to. I used to live such a rock-star life. I could never confess to my kids some of the things I’ve done over the years. Some of them when I wasn’t much older than they are now. Lu would disown me, Kiks would pass out in shock, George would just go into denial and Harry? Well, I might just get a fist bump from him. He usually has my back.

I collect my coffee from the kitchen and head out to the back patio. I sit in one of the swinging two-seaters and cover myself with the blanket. It’s absolutely bloody freezing, but no matter what the weather’s like, this is my favourite spot to come and think out my thoughts.

Today is the first of December. Seventeen years ago on this very day, I lost the then love of my life in the most horrific of circumstances.

I lost my son. My sweet innocent baby boy, who never got to take a single breath.

I almost lost my own life, and for a long time after the accident, I wished that I’d been killed too.

This year though, I feel a little different about the anniversary of Sean and Beau’s deaths. It still hurts. It’ll always hurt. Not just today, but every day. I will forever feel that short, sharp stab to my heart the moment thoughts of them hit my conscience, that will never change, and I don’t want it to.

But after so long, I feel like I’ve finally accepted that I can’t change what happened on that cold icy day so many years ago. I’m not sure if I’ve just accepted it or if I’ve gotten over the guilt of being the only survivor. The guilt of being able to move on, once again find love and have four beautiful children.

Do you ever get over something like?

They say that grieving is a process, and by ‘they’, I mean just about everyone I came into contact with when I first lost Sean. It got to the point where I not only wanted to end my own life, but that of every person who felt the need to talk me through the stages.

Denial.

Anger.

Bargaining.

Depression.

Acceptance.

I’m not sure that there’s a hard and fast rule about the order in which you’re supposed to experience each of these, but I feel like finally, I’ve reached the last one.

So yeah, today is a different first of December than the previous seventeen. I won’t be curling up in a ball and hiding away from the rest of the world wishing things were different. I won’t be running around our house, maniacally hanging Christmas decorations on anything that stands still long enough, in an attempt to ignore the guilt I feel for moving on.

Today, I’m gonna be a functioning mother to my kids and a put together wife for my husband. . . that’s the plan anyway.

I pull my feet underneath me in the big chair and lean across the arm to push the button on the patio heater. It lights instantly, casting a glow all around me and competing with the sky, which is starting to change colour. There is a blackbird singing in the distance, and if I listen hard enough, I can hear the horses in the stables.

The couple buying Lu’s horse are coming tomorrow. They have a ten-year-old daughter and want to get her a horse for Christmas. Lu isn’t interested anymore. She whines and complains constantly about the early mornings and rarely rides these days.

She doesn’t have a boyfriend yet, but I know it’s gonna happen soon. I close my eyes and smile when I think back to being her age. I’d been obsessively in love with Sean McCarthy for four years when I was fifteen.

My stomach flip-flops around inside me as I think about the fact that I was exactly the age the girls are now when I lost my virginity to him.

He was my life.

The other half of me.

A loud sob takes me by surprise as it escapes my chest, travels up my throat, and forces its way out into the cold, early morning chill.

So much for this year being different.

“I’ll let you off that one, G. Now get your shit together. You’ve got this.” I hear Sean’s voice in response.

I wonder why this happens? Why I sometimes hear him, dream about him? Maybe I’m a little bit insane, perhaps I’m totally mad, and no ones noticed it yet. Perhaps they have, and I’m just such a nut job that I’m delusional.

I mean, what sane person sits outside at seven in the morning when it’s below zero and has a conversation with herself and her dead husband?

The timber door opens, and I jump.

“Fuck me!’ Tallulah gasps, her hand goes to her chest, and she stills.

“Lula!”

“What? You scared the shi . . . z outta me. What you . . .” She trails off and studies me for a few seconds. “You all right?”

My daughter isn’t stupid, neither of them are. Lu might not be as sensitive as Kiks, but she’s highly perceptive, and just like her dad, she can read people like a book.

She’s also probably aware of the date.

“I’m fine,” I lie.

“Should I get Dad?”

“No, let him sleep. I’m okay, I promise.”

She tilts her head to the side and chews on her bottom lip.

“One day, will you tell me about him?”

Air whooshes from my lungs and exits my nose with a puff of condensation, making it visible.

“Sean?”

“Yeah.”

“What would you like to know?”

“What it was like being married to someone so famous, being so young, and ya know . . . everything that happened.”

I swallow.

“What do you know already?”

Her eyes dart away from mine, a move that I make when I’m either caught in a lie or about to tell one.

“I’m sure you’ve already read plenty online.”

“Yeah, but half of that probably ain’t even true, I’d rather hear it from you.”

“Isn’t true.” I correct her.

Fuck me, I’ve turned into my mother.

“What ain’t?”

I shake my head and let out a sigh. My kids speak far more proper than I ever did, but the occasional “ain’t” slips in there every now and then. And where Lula is concerned, the F-bomb, too.

“I was pointing out that the correct word you were looking for is ‘isn’t’ not ‘ain’t’.”

“Oh, don’t start.”

I fight my smile while wondering how many times I’ve had this conversation with my own mother as I watch Tallulah roll her eyes.

Not wanting to argue with my daughter or get into a conversation about my past, I go for diplomacy and a subject change.

“Where’s Kiki?”

“She’s up, and nice divert by the way.”

Despite the cold, I feel my cheeks heat. I’ve been busted by my own fifteen-year-old daughter.

“I’m not diverting, we’ll talk, but today isn’t the day.”

She studies me for a long moment. Her blue eyes, which are so much like mine, roam my face.

“I’m sorry, Mum. For what happened to you.”

My lips tremble, and my chest judders as I fight not to cry. It isn’t just the date and the topic of conversation, it’s the fact that I’m having it with my daughter, the one that Cam usually has to step in and stop me from throttling.

A tear slips from my eye, and Tallulah steps towards me.

“Sorry. I should’ve picked a better day to bring this up.”

She hits me with force as she lands in my lap.

I’m shocked at her show of emotion and wrap my arms around her skinny frame. The door to the back deck slides open, and Kiks steps out while staring down at her phone. She takes a step back when she sees us, and like her sister, her hand flies to her chest.

“Bloody hell, you made me jump. I was just texting you—” Her eyes dart between us. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Lu and I say in unison. Kiki’s dark eyes, which are so much like her dad’s, continue their dance between our faces.

“Just giving Mumma a cuddle,” Lu explains.

“Why, Wha’dya do?”

I smile at that. Lu is the one out of our four that’s usually in trouble, so Kiki is right to suspect.

Tallulah lets out a huff. “It’s December first, I’ve not done anything wrong. I just thought Mum could do with a cuddle.”

Kiks licks her lips and nods slowly. “You doing okay, Mum?”

“Doing better now that I’ve had a cuddle.”

Kiki throws herself down beside Lu and me, wrapping her arms around both of us, and sounds breathless as she says with her lips pressed against my cheek, “Sorry today is a sad day for you. I hate this day every year and just wish I could make it better.”

I smile.

And I cry.

“You do make it better, Kiks. You, Lu, George, Harry, and Dad. You all make it better. Not just this day, but every day of my life.”

Neither of my girl's replies. We just hold on to each other while the birds sing their dawn chorus and we gently swing back and forth in the cold, early morning air.  I take a moment to appreciate how lucky I’ve been in my life to be loved the way that I am.

I hear the door slide open again.

“What the . . . what the fuck are you doing? What’s wrong?” Cam’s voice booms across the decking.

“Just giving Mumma some love on her sad day,” Kiks states, her mouth still pressing against my cheek.

“George?”

He’s worried. I know him well enough to be able to hear it in his voice.

I wipe my face on Kiki’s shoulder and look over it at my husband.

“You all right, babe?”

“I’m all right. The girls were just looking after me.”

I kiss both of my daughters on the tops of their heads. “You best get over to the stables, else you’ll be late for school.”

They each kiss me on a cheek, stand, kiss their dad good morning, and then walk side by side across the grounds of our home towards the stables.

I watch them for a few seconds. The emotions caused by that little moment we just shared threatening to burst out of me in the form of heaving sobs and tears.

I turn my face towards Cam, my eyes meeting his as he studies me warily. Eyebrows drawn down, his lips pressed together, forming a plump pink line amongst the salt-and-pepper whiskers of his beard.

My husband is so fucking hot.

“Kitten?” he questions again. Despite him having to witness me falling apart in some way or another on this date for so many years, I can still hear the concern in his voice.

“I love you.” I know he knows this, but I want and need for him to hear me say it.

“I know. I love the fuck out of you, too.” His wet tongue slips out of his mouth and slides back and forth across his bottom lip.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Come over here.”

His hands go to his hips, settling just over the waistband of a pair of jogging bottoms. His broad top half is covered by a grey hoodie. He again studies me for a long moment, but when I give him my best sad-eyed, pleading look,  he relents and cautiously moves towards me.

My big, confident, handsome Tiger is always unsure of what mental state I’m going to be in on these kinds of days. Usually, he stands back, observes, and works out on instinct what I need from him.

Cam sits down heavily in the chair beside me, causing it to swing back and forth. Sliding his arm around my shoulders, he pulls me into him and kisses the top of my head. I slide my own arm across his flat belly and pull myself closer. He then covers us both with the blanket I have on my lap.

“What’s going on?” he eventually asks.

“Nothing much. I came out here to drink my coffee, the girls came out and caught me having a moment, and then the three of us shared another moment. Then you came out, making my morning perfect.”

“Babe, it’s fucking freezing. If you come back inside, I’ll make you nice and warm and show you what a perfect morning’s really all about.”

I rest my cheek against his hard pec and my hand against his hard dick.

“The kids have to get to school. Are the boys up?”

“Don’t know. But if you don’t take your hand off my morning wood, my dick will be up, and I’ll be taking you back to bed and calling them a taxi.”

I slide my hand back up to his belly, this time under his hoodie so I can rest it against his hot skin, saying, “Ya know what would make my day better?”

“Sitting on my face?”

I nudge him with my shoulder as I shake my head.

“The trees are getting delivered today, and Squires are coming to do the outside lights. Can we keep the kids home and just have a family day?”

He leans away so that he can look down at me. “That’s how you wanna spend today?”

Surprise evident in his voice. He’s lived with my usual manic routine on this anniversary for too long not to be shocked that I want to spend it differently this year.

I’ve been selfish. I know I’ve been selfish, but in all honesty, it’s the one day of the year that I’ve always let my grief entirely consume me. If I don’t take this day, I don’t know that I’ll get through the rest of them.

To the rest of the world, it might look like I have this amazing, beautiful life, but I still feel the hurt caused by the events that happened to me seventeen years ago. I have scars, both physical and mental. I don’t see a counsellor anymore, and I’m not on any kind of medication, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still hurting. I just choose to take one day a year to grieve. When the painful memories threaten to consume me, I count the days until the first of December, when I know I can let that happen.

Yeah, it might make me selfish, but I also think it makes me a better wife, mother, person the other three hundred and sixty-four days of the year.

“Yeah,” I tell Cam honestly. “That really is how I’d like to spend the rest of the day. Let’s do the decorations and then go out to eat somewhere nice. All of us, together.”

I’ve rarely seen Cam cry.

That horrible time I found him a drunken mess at his old flat above the wine bar.

When our children were born.

Our wedding day.

He doesn’t cry right now, but his eyes are shining with tears. Mine just roll down my cheeks. Again he runs his tongue over his bottom lip while gazing down at me. He blinks, and a tear catches on his thick dark lashes.

“Then let’s do it, Kitten.”

I give him a wobbly smile. “You boys are not to touch my trees, though.”

He returns my smile with a knicker combusting one of his own and leans forward to rest his forehead on mine. “We wouldn’t dream of it. I think we’re all aware of how anal you are about your decorations.”

“It’s just a small area of my life where I feel like I actually have some kind of control.”

He buries his face into the curve of my neck, his breath deliciously hot against my skin. “You can control me anytime you like, babe.”

“Yeah, I think we both know that that’s a lie. You hated it when I handcuffed you.”

“You wouldn’t do as you were told.”

“That’s kinda the whole point. I was supposed to be in charge, you were supposed to do as I said. That’s what being in control means.”

He bites down on the soft skin behind my ear, and despite the warmth radiating from the patio heater, his body, and being under the blanket, goose bumps assault my skin.

“Yeah, fuck that. I’ve changed my mind. You get your way with most things, but in the bedroom, I’m in charge.”

I shudder. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love that he takes charge in the bedroom. It gives me a chance to just shut out the world, shut down my brain, and do nothing but enjoy what he does to me.

After knowing each other for over thirty years and being married for fourteen, our sex life is still off the charts. Cam is as insatiable as ever, something I don’t think will ever change. He can’t pass me without touching me in some way—usually in a totally inappropriate way, and I hope that never stops.

The patio door once again opens, and this time it’s George who sticks his messy head out.

“What are you doing?”

“Just talking,” Cam responds.

“It’s freezing. Why are you talking out here?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell him. “We’re coming in now. You can go back to bed for a bit if you want. You’re all staying home today.”

I watch as my son’s eyebrows pull down into a frown as he looks between us.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just wanna spend the day with you all. We’ll put up the trees and the decorations, and then we’ll go somewhere nice for an early dinner.”

“But it’s . . . that’s what you wanna do today?”

I smile while watching my son’s handsome face screw up in confusion. “Yes, that’s what I wanna do today. Now go inside and tell your brother.”

George’s eyes do one more dance between my and Cam’s faces, and then he heads inside.

“I warned them all last night to give you a bit of space today and reminded them of the date.” I wrap my arm as far around his hip as I can and squeeze us together tightly.

“Thank you.”

“Thank me later. Let’s get inside, I need a coffee.

 

O  

ur boys both turn in our direction as soon as they hear the door.

George, who has had a bit of a growth spurt over the last few months, is now only just a little shorter than Harry. They look more like twins than brothers who were born almost a year apart.

George turns back towards the toast he’s in the middle of buttering, but Harry eyes me warily.

“Morning.”

“Morning,” Cam and I both respond.

“George tell you you’re all staying home today?” I ask.

“Yeah, what’s that all about?”

I shrug, let out a long sigh and give him a small smile.

“I’ve not finally lost the plot if that’s what you’re worried about. I just want you all close today. I thought we could do the trees and decorations and then go out for an early dinner.

George turns around, and I watch as the boys share a look.

“What? Why you two looking at each other like that?”

“Mum, you go mad if we mess with your Christmas trees or decorations, so I think you’re lying. You’ve definitely, finally lost the plot if you’re gonna let us anywhere near them.”

Cam passes me my coffee, but his eyes don’t meet mine as his lips fight a smile. George is staring at the floor, also, it seems, fighting the need to smile. Harry’s full-on grinning while my eyes dart between the three of them.

Noise travels from the mudroom, and the girls appear, talking and giggling, and then stop dead in their tracks as they take us all in.

“What’s wrong?”

“Bloody hell, if I hear that one more time today . . .”

“Mum reckons we can all have the day off and help her put the trees and the decorations up,” Harry informs his sisters.

“Yeah right,” Tallulah snorts as she talks and laughs at the same time.

“Stop messing with me, what’s really wrong?” Kiki asks.

“He’s serious,” George adds. “Tell them, Mum.”

One pair of blue eyes and four pairs of brown are all on me.

“He’s serious, I thought it’d be nice to have a family day.”

“What, and you’re actually gonna let us touch your trees and decorations?” Lu sounds incredulous as she asks.

I watch Cam roll his top and bottom lips between his teeth, and my hands go to my hips as I start to feel defensive.

“Are you lot all taking the piss outta me?”

They all double up and start laughing, and I feel my nose tingle and eyes burn with tears. I wanna find it funny. I know they’re only joking, but today . . . today, I’m just not in the mood to be laughed at.

“Babe, we’re not taking the piss, we just know full well that there’s no fucking way you’re gonna let any of us near your trees or your decorations.”

“I’m not that bad.”

“Yes you are,” they all state while still laughing.

I am that bad.

“Well, this year’s different, you can all have a go.”

“Why? So you can change it all as soon as we go to bed like you used to when we were little?” Lu asks.

I did use to do that, I didn’t think they’d noticed.

“Yeah, we knew,” Harry tells me. “We always knew.”

Cam slides his hands around my waist and grins down at me. “Please tell me I’m not a terrible mother.”

His brown eyes twinkle, and he leans in and kisses my forehead. “You’re not a terrible mother, you just suffer with what the kids call CDO.”

They all start to laugh again, I don’t.

“I don’t get it, what’s CDO?” I question.

“It’s like OCD, but you’ve got it so bad that the letters have been rearranged in alphabetical order so you don’t have a meltdown of Georgia proportions,” Lu informs me.

I open my mouth a couple of times.

Fucking cheek. I can’t believe they all talk about me behind my back. I continue to stare up at Cam, whose eyes are watering as he attempts to suppress a laugh.

“Where’d you hear that saying? How’d you even know what a meltdown of Georgia proportions is?”

“Coz Nan says it,” George informs me.

“And Marley and Lennon,” Lu adds.

“And Grandad says it to Lu whenever she starts throwing a tantrum—”

“All right, all right. I get it,” I interrupt Harry’s input.

My kids all straighten and look at me with cautious smiles on their faces.

“Am I that bad? Would you all rather go to school?”

I get a chorus of no from everyone, and Cam pulls me into him.

“Right, well you can all stay home and pass me the decorations, if anyone touches anything, you’ll see first-hand what a meltdown of Georgia proportions is really all about.”

***

I end up burning some bacon for breakfast, we all pick at it, and then Cam and the boys go out to the garage and bring in the boxes of tree decorations while I take a shower.

When I get out, I check my phone. I have messages from Jimmie and Ash.

Just a heart from each of them.

No words. Just a simple heart that says so much . . .

They want me to know that they love me and are thinking of me. They want me to know that if I need them, they’ll come running.

With wine.

Vodka, too.

My girls get me. They’ve always gotten me.

I stand for a few long moments in my bedroom. I’m dripping wet, with just a towel wrapped around me, and take a moment to bask in the fact that I’m loved.

I’m not the easiest person to love or even like. I’m aware that I’m selfish, whiny, and self-absorbed. I’ve tried to be better as I’ve gotten older, but traits of thirteen-year-old me still make an appearance every now and then.

Despite this, Jimmie and Ash have always been there for me, loving me like only family can, and their simple text messages have my chest feeling tight, my throat closing up, my eyes and nose stinging, and my lips trembling.

I know that at some stage today I’ll get a call from my brother. Just the thought of someone else, someone that I love, feeling anywhere near the depth of loss and grief over Sean’s death that I do causes a physical ache that radiates from my chest and hurts every part of my body.

Marley calls me on this day every single year without fail. I never answer, but I want this year to be different.

I go back to my bathroom, clean my teeth and moisturise. I won’t bother with makeup until we’re going out later, by then, I’ll probably be in need of another shower.

Once I’m dressed, I sit on the edge of my bed and make the call that I should’ve been making every first of December. I’m not the only one that lost so much on that day.

“Little sister Georgia, what’s goin’ on? You all right?” There’s only a slight pause between each of his questions.

I can’t get my words out.

I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea.

“Marls.” My brother’s name escapes on a shuddered breath.

“I know, Porge, I know.” I hear him draw in a long inhale and let it out slow and shaky.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry.”

“You at home?”

“Yeah, in bed with a bottle of his favourite bourbon. I was trying to get drunk enough to call ya.”

“I felt brave.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah, then I heard your voice, and it all went to shit.” I smile through my tears as my brother chuckles.

“So, what’s happening? You’re up and functioning, what’s going on there?”

I let out a weighted sigh. I’ve spoken to Marley before about my dreams and how vivid they are, so I’m not embarrassed to tell him.

“He was here this morning. Told me its been going on for too long. He said that Cam was a dick for being so fucking perfect and that it was time for me to sort my shit out and stop falling apart on this day every year.”

“I think he’s right. Cam puts all of us to shame, and you do need to get your shit together, we both do.”

“Agreed.”

“Wanna get shit faced with me?”

“Absolutely.”

“You coming to me or am I coming to you?”

“I’ve given the kids the day off school . . .” I trail off as I think about why I did that. “I just wanted them around me today, ya know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I promised them a late lunch or early dinner once we’ve put the decorations up—”

“We’ve?” he interrupts. “As in you and the kids, or you and the people you get to put up your decs?”

“Well, I did mean the kids and me . . .”

“George . . .”

“Yes, I know. They’ve told me all about my CDO.”

His laughter resonates through the phone and touches every part of me. Hearing that from my brother is exactly what I need right now.

“Anyway, you’ve just given me an idea. Squires are coming today to do the outside lights and decorations, I’m gonna ask them if they can do the inside, too. I cooked the kids breakfast, but they’ll probably be starving again by lunchtime—”

“Wait! What? You cooked the kids breakfast? Are they okay?”

“Fuck off.”

“George, seriously, what were you thinking?”

“I love you dearly, but you are gonna get a kick in the bollocks if you keep on.”

“Oh and there she is. My bitch of a little sister is back.”

“I’m not a bitch,” I whine.

“No, you’re not a bitch, you’re not someone that can cook, either. You need to leave that to Christine and put your family out of their misery.”

“It’s her day off. She doesn’t come in Friday to Sunday.”

“Perhaps you should think about renegotiating her contract.”

“Fuck you.” I smile at his laughter again, even though the jokes on me. I’ve tried to be a good cook; it’s just not a skill I possess.

I look up and see Cam leaning against the frame of our bedroom door, watching me intently.

“So, you take the kids for lunch, feed them something edible, and then all come over to ours. I’ll give Lennon a bell and see what they’re up to, sound like a plan?”

“It does.”

“Right, well I’ll see you then . . . and George?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for the call. You’ve turned my shitty day right around and even managed to make me laugh. I know that picking up the phone couldn’t have been an easy thing to do. Fuck me, I know I have to get drunk every year before I can do it. I love ya.”

I don’t respond to that. Instead, I swallow the ball of emotion caused by his words and say, “Love you, too. I’ll text when we’re on our way.”

I watch as Cam’s eyebrows shoot up and then cast my eyes down at my phone as I end the call. I’ve had a couple more text messages while I was chatting to Marley, and I open them up.

 

Bailey: Thinking of you, little sister Georgia. We’ll raise a glass to Maca and your babies today and have a drink with you all at Christmas. Love and miss all of you, from all of us xxx.

 

The second is from Nina Reed. Despite her being younger than us by about fifteen years, Jimmie, Ash, and I have become good friends with her, and she’s now one of our trusted inner circle.

 

Nina: Thinking of you all on this saddest of

anniversaries. With much love from the Reeds xxx.

 

I breathe in deeply through my nose and watch Cam as he stalks towards me. Once again, my nose tingles, my throat burns, and unshed tears sting the backs of my eyes.

I look up into my husband’s ruggedly handsome face as he nudges my legs apart with his knees and then squats down in between them.

His big hands go to my hips, and he drags me onto his lap and both of us to the floor. I bury my face in the curve of his neck and breathe in deeply. He smells like my entire world.

“Talk to me,” he orders.

“I love you so fucking much.”

“You already told me that this morning.”

“I know, but I want you to understand just how much.”

One of his hands cups the back of my head and the other slides around my waist as he holds me tightly against him.

He flexes his hips.

“I’m not convinced. I need you to show me.” I smile, and my chest moves against him as I laugh.

“I showed you last night.”

“That was ten hours ago. I’m old and forgetful, remember? I need constant reminding.”

“You’re full of shit.”

He digs his fingers into my ribs and bites my neck. I squeal, and he licks a path over the teeth marks he’s probably left on my skin.

He pulls on the messy bun my hairs piled up in so that my face tilts up and my eyes meet his.

“The kids are downstairs reminiscing as they go through the boxes of Christmas decorations, we’ve got about fifteen minutes before Tallulah gets bored and starts bitching. Show. Me. You. Love. Me.” He punctuates his words with bites, licks, and kisses to my lips, face and neck.

He’s grinding against me, knowing full well that I won’t be able to resist him.

I rise onto my knees, leaving a space between us and slide my hand inside his jogging bottoms and boxers.

His dick is hard and hot as I stroke him from root to tip, rubbing my thumb over his slit each time I get to the top.

He throws his head back, and I admire what I can see of his throat, but I need more.

I stop my stroking and grab at the hem of his hoodie, he catches on to what I’m doing and helps me to ease him out of it.

“Top off, I need to see you, Kitten.”

He leans back on his palms and watches as I pull my T-shirt over my head. I reach behind me to take off my bra but pause when he orders, “No, leave it on. Lift your tits out, I wanna see them.” My internal muscles tighten, and my thighs grip his hips. I fucking love it when he gets all bossy in the bedroom.

I look down at my peach coloured La Perla bra and then back up at Cam, who’s still staring at my chest.

“You do it,” I whisper. He shakes his head.

“No. You do it. Pull down the lace and play with your nipples for me.”

“T.” I sigh.

“Do it, Kitten. Right fucking now.”

I look down at my boobs. Goose bumps cover my skin, and my nipples are like bullets. I rub each of my palms over them through my bra before pulling down the cups and leaving them exposed.

“Fuck me, Kitten, you look so fucking beautiful right now. Stroke my cock baby. Grip it tight and stroke.”

Again, with no hesitation, I do exactly what he says. Clear cum is leaking from the tip of his dick, and my hand slides up and down smoothly.

His hand goes to the small of my back, he pulls me closer and covers my left nipple with his mouth.

“Need you. Need you inside me.”

“I know, baby, I know.”

Without another word, Cam flips me onto my back, pulls off my leggings, and buries himself exactly where I need him.

We groan out our pleasure in unison. He slides his hands under my arse cheeks, tilts my hips up, and drives deeper.

I hook my legs around his thighs and dig my nails into his arse cheeks, pulling him into me harder.

“Fuck, I love when you do that,” he pants.

“I want more.”

“I know, but I love it when you show me how much.”

We fuck.

It isn’t lovemaking. We did that last night.

This is fucking.

This is my perfect husband fucking the sadness out of his not so perfect wife.

He knows exactly what I need, and he’s delivered it with perfect timing.

He fucks me to the point of distraction. Completely senseless. He fucks me until I forget my name, the date, and the horrible events that changed my life seventeen long years ago.

 

 

 

 

A  

   fter another quick shower, I arrive downstairs to find that Harry and George have abandoned the decorations that are spread all over the hallway and the girls are sitting on the floor going through the very last box.

Tallulah is wearing a headband with a flashing star on top, and Kiki has on a Santa’s Little Helper pixie-style hat with red tracer lights racing through it.

They’re discussing a couple of Tinker Bell tree decorations we bought for them in Florida one year. They’re so deep in conversation, recalling the holiday where Lu pushed Kiks in the pool over something or another, that I manage to take a couple of pictures of them on my phone without them spotting me.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding—”

“Harry!” I shout.

“Sorry, but this ref needs glasses. No way was that offside,” he calls out from the games room where he and George are on the PlayStation.

Every year, I promise to get a swear jar in time for the new FIFA game to come out, and every year I forget.

The level of swearing they reach would give my mother a coronary if she were to hear it.

“Okay, kids, change of plan. We’re gonna go to Lakeside, do a bit of shopping, grab lunch at wherever you choose, and then go to Ash and Marley’s.”

“What about the decorations?” Kiki looks up from her spot on the floor.

“Dad’s on the phone to Squires now, he’s asking if they can do the inside as well as the outside decorations. I’ll just add our personal bits and pieces over the weekend.”

Lu and Kiks both stare up at me blankly, as if I’ve just spoken to them in Hebrew and they’ve no comprehension of what I’ve said.

Harry and George poke their heads around the game room’s door and look at me in much the same way.

“What?” I question, wondering what the fuck is wrong with my kids.

“Squires?” H questions.

“You’re letting someone else do the inside decorations?” Kiki asks, sounding astounded.

“Yes. All change this year. I’m handing it over to someone else and having a day out with my family. If you all keep looking so shocked, or I hear a single mention of CDO or meltdowns of Georgia proportions, you’ll all take the bus to school without any lunch money for the rest of the year.”

They all take turns staring wide-eyed at first me and then each other.

“Come on then, get yourselves sorted.” I clap my hands as I speak, and the kids all head up the stairs.

“And remember, it’s just Lakeside, not a film premiere or a fashion show we’re going to.”

Their mumbled responses are indecipherable as I head into the kitchen for a last-minute tidy up before we leave. Although, knowing how long my kids take to get ready, I’ve probably got time to wash and dry three loads of washing, so I head out to the utility room instead.

 

Shopping is interesting. Because of mentions of Sean and the anniversary of his death on the news and social media, pictures have been broadcast and posted of the two of us. Meaning that I’m recognised a lot more than usual. Something I didn’t even consider when I suggested our family day out.

I get asked for my autograph three times and pose for four photos. Cam makes sure to keep the kids out of the way while this happens, which is a hard and fast rule of ours.

We’ve been papped with the kids occasionally, but if it’s possible to have any control over pictures being taken of our children, then I exert that power to the fullest.

The kids choose Wagamama for lunch, and as we wait for our table, it takes me a few moments to realise that the place has fallen quiet and people are staring.

“Dad, that woman’s taking photos,” Kiki whispers loudly.

We all turn in the direction that Kiks gestures, and sure enough, an overly made-up woman, who looks to be in her fifties, has her phone aimed in our direction.

“Turn your backs, kids,” Cam says just as I start to make my way over to her table.

“Georgia.” I’m grabbed gently by my elbow and turn to see my husband shaking his head at me. “I’ll deal with it.”

“But—”

“No, not today.”

I let out a huff, and he leans in, kisses my temple, and leaves me with the kids.

Things like this really piss me off. My kids are not part of my past life, and even if they were, nobody has the right to take photos of them without my or Cam’s permission.

In the beginning, we had to have Benny with us everywhere we went, but things have quietened down over the years and the interest in me waned. Now, we only really have security with us if we’re going to a public event where we know there’ll be lots of photographers.

If I am recognised, then people are mostly courteous and will ask to take a selfie or for me to sign something. I always oblige. I think they feel they’re getting a little piece of Sean by getting a little piece of me, and I’d never deny his fans that.

What looks like a manager appears and heads in our direction with a smile on his face.

“Hey, I’m Brett Davies. I’m the day shift manager here.” I take the hand he’s holding out and shake it, returning his smile.

“Georgia McCarthy-King. We honestly don’t want to be putting you to any extra trouble, we were just after a table for six and some lunch.”

“Of course. We’re just setting you up over in the back corner, we thought it’d be a little more private for you.”

We’ve eaten here numerous times, it’s a favourite of the kids, and we’ve never had a problem, but I really can’t be bothered to argue, so I smile sweetly and thank the manager.

“It isn’t a request. Either stop taking photos of my kids, or I’ll take your phone off you.”

Both Brett and I turn to where Cam is standing, arms folded across his chest as he glares down at the woman who was taking photos.

The man sitting opposite her stands.

“Shit,” I whisper-hiss as Brett makes his way over to Cam.

I’m not sure what to do. We should just leave, but then, why the fuck should we?

“Is there a problem?” Brett asks.

“Yeah, there’s a problem. This prick’s accusing my misses of taking photos of his kids when she was just checking her phone.” The man that stood up—her husband I assume—accuses.

“Bullshit, she was taking photos.”

“Prove it.” The woman pipes up. She’s short, blonde, and . . . curvy? She’s talking to Cam but looking at me with a sneer on her face.

“Mum, let’s just go somewhere else,” Kiki says as she grabs hold of my hand. She hates when this kind of thing happens, whereas Lu, George, and H all have their phones out, checking to make sure their hair looks good. Lu even pulls a lip gloss out of her pocket and promptly applies it.

“Madam, as the manager, I’m going to kindly request that you keep your phone on the table while Mr King and his family enjoy their lunch.”

“Since when did you have a no phones policy?” the husband asks.

“Since I just made one.”

“Oh, I see. Special rules apply just because some D-list celebrity that used to fuck a rock star—”

The bloke doesn't finish whatever he was going to add to that charming little sentence before Cam reaches across the bench-style table and drags him across it.

Chairs scrape and plates, glasses, and cutlery crash to the floor.

“Cam, no, just leave it. They’re not worth bothering with.”

The look he gives me tells me to shut the fuck up and stay out of it, but I ignore it and move towards him.

“Go back to the kids, George,” he orders.

“Yeah, fuck off, Georgia,” the woman shouts. She obviously has some kind of beef with me.

“Do I know you?” I question.

“Not really, but I know you. We went to the same school. You always did think your shit didn’t stink. Then you married that Carnage bloke, and we all got to look at the lovey-dovey photos splashed everywhere of the pair of ya. Didn’t mind having ya photo taken then, did ya?”

Cam’s stare slices between the crazy lady and me, begging me to let him break either her phone or her husband’s nose. I’d rather he did neither of those things right now. At least not while everyone else in the restaurant is watching.

“And that gives you the right to take pictures of my kids, does it? Cam, put him down,” I order, he ignores me.

She stands when I reach her table, and I can see that calling her curvy was doing a disservice to curvy women. She’s round like a beach ball with massive boobs, a big belly, and short legs.

I lean in and whisper in Cam’s ear, “Other people are pulling out their phones and filming this, please let’s just leave it.” Without even looking my way, he releases the bloke, gives him a shove, and we watch as he lands on his arse back on his side of the table.

“Like I said—”

“I’m not interested.” I cut her off and turn to Brett, asking, “Is our table ready?”

He looks at me and blinks—or flinches, I’m not sure which—and gives a stuttered, “Ye-yes,” in response.

I call the kids over.

I could stand here and argue with these people. We could cause a scene and even demand that they be thrown out, but I’ve learned my lesson over the years. The press will run with whatever version of events they see fit to and rarely will it be the truth. If we make a big deal out of this, then it’ll give value to whatever pictures she’s already taken of us, and the last thing I want is these fuckwits making money out of images of my family.

“Follow Brett,” I tell the kids, who are all eyeing me warily, waiting for it all to kick off.

I take hold of Cam’s hand and smile at the couple in front of me.

“Enjoy your lunch. Thank you for ruining ours and making what is already a difficult day for me even worse. I hope you find someone to buy those pictures you’ve taken of my children without my permission and that your conscience allows you to enjoy spending it on something that makes your sad little life happier.”

The people sitting farther down the bench start clapping, then they stand and continue clapping. After a few seconds, the entire restaurant joins them.

All the while, I fight the urge to cry and to rip the troll-faced bitch’s throat out.

Cam pulls on my hand, kisses the top of my head, and says into my ear, “Love the fuck outta you, Kitten.” He then leads me over to our table to where our kids, my reason for existing, are waiting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I  

 text Marley and tell him we’re about a minute away, and the gates to the grounds of “Rock Star’s Retreat” are swinging open as we arrive.

We’ve been blown out by our kids, all requesting to be dropped off at home on our way from Lakeside to here. I wasn’t happy at first, but then Cam reminded me that the last thing I probably wanted to do at their age was hang out with my parents, aunts, and uncles, so, once again, I took a deep breath and let it go. I’ve done so much of that today, I really should consider changing my name to Elsa.

Cam’s been quiet on the drive. Well, he’s been quiet since the restaurant incident. I’ve not pushed him for an explanation since I’m sure at some stage he’ll tell me. Once he’s worked it out in his own head.

We pull up on Marley’s drive at a little after six.

Four minutes after six to be exact.

I don’t move.

Cam doesn’t move.

“Un-break My Heart” by Toni Braxton is playing through the sound system until Cam turns it off.

We sit in absolute silence as I watch the clock on the dashboard.

At eight minutes past six, Cam moves his seat back, leans across the centre consul, and lifts me to straddle his lap.

He slides his arms around my waist as I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his chest and throat.

We’re back to where we were this morning. Except this time, there is nothing sexual about our embrace.

This time, it’s all about my husband holding me together at the exact moment my little boy was born not breathing and unresponsive seventeen years ago.

This time, it’s all about me seeking comfort from the only man on this earth capable of giving me exactly what I need.

We hold each other in silence until Cam finally says, “You were fucking amazing in that restaurant today, Kitten. You blew me away.”

“I wanted to cunt punt the bitch.”

“Language.”

“Oh, fuck off. That little troll would’ve deserved it.”

“She did, and I know full well that was what was going through your head. Fuck me, it even went through mine. That was what made what you said to her even more spectacular. I’m so fucking proud of the way you handled things … especially on a day like this.”

“Thank you. I just didn’t wanna make the six o’clock news tonight or let the troll-faced beach ball make money from whatever pictures she took and have the kids involved.”

“Love the fuck outta you, Kitten. Let’s go raise a glass to Sean and your babies and get drunk with your family.

 

 

Marley’s front door is unlocked, and hand in hand, Cam and I walk right through to the open-plan kitchen and family room.

Somehow, despite my husband being perfect and saying the exact things I’d needed to hear out in the car, I’d managed not to cry. As I make my way into my brother’s house and am greeted by the wide-eyed stares of my family, though, I feel myself wobble.

Marley has a glazed look in his eyes, and I’m not sure if it’s the effects of being drunk, stoned, or because he’s just sad.

The conversation falls silent as my brother walks towards me. Cam releases his grip on my hand as Marley wraps his arms around my shoulders and pulls me into his chest.

“Little sister Georgia, it’s so very good to see your face.”

“Big brother Marley, you have no idea.”

“Oh, I think I do.”

He leans around me and holds his hand out to shake Cam’s. “Big man. Good to see ya.”

“Likewise.” Cam holds up a bottle of Pappy Van Winkles bourbon, and Marley’s eyes widen.

“Well, fuck me, even better to see ya.”

As Marley moves from me to Cam, Lennon steps into my personal space and pulls me in for an even tighter squeeze.

“Porge.”

“Len.”

He kisses the top of my head and then quickly shifts his attention to Cam, Marley, and the fifteen hundred quid bottle of drink they are admiring.

Then my girls are in front of me. Without a word, Ash reaches out and squeezes my boob.

“What the fuck!” I slap her hand away as I speak.

“Yeah, it’s really her.” She looks over her shoulder and informs Jimmie. Jim and I roll our eyes as Ash grabs me and kisses both my cheeks noisily. “Damn good to see ya, slutster. You still have such great tits by the way. No wonder TDH can’t keep his hands off them.”

“He loves me for more than my tits, I’ll have you know.”

“I do, her blow jobs are pretty fucking epic, too,” Cam calls out.

“Dude . . . that’s my sister,” Marley objects.

Jim and I again roll our eyes.

“Long time coming, Georgia Rae, but seeing you like this today makes my heart happy.”

“Happy to be the cause of your happiness, Jamie Louise, and I’m only here thanks to the love, support, and patience of all of you lot. Now, get me a drink, I’ve been sober far too long today.”

Surrounded by the people that knew Sean best, I drank, I talked, I smoked a little weed, I danced, I sang, and eventually . . . I cried.

When there was no more drinking, singing, talking, dancing, smoking, and crying to be done, my husband carried me out to a taxi and took me home.

Thanks to the people that had always been unwavering in their love for me, I’d had the happiest, saddest day of my life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A  

   couple of weeks later, I’m sitting at Jimmie’s breakfast bar, drinking a cup of tea.

I’ve had a stand up argument—well, a full-on screaming match actually—with Tallulah this morning, and it left me shaken.

She couldn’t find her school shirt. She has six school shirts, but she wanted to wear this particular school shirt. I’ve a feeling it’s because the shirt she was looking for is a size too small and makes her boobs look like they’re going to burst right out of it.

When I told her I’d sent it with a bag of other stuff to the clothes bank over the weekend, she hit the fucking roof and told me I was a control freak who needed help and that she was moving out and going to live with my mother.

Yeah, good luck with that.

Good luck to both of them.

Before I inflicted physical harm on my daughter, I got in my car and drove to Jimmie’s, leaving Cam to deal with the school run.

“I don’t know why you let her get to you. Dealing with her is like arguing with yourself, and you should know by now you never listen to anyone.”

I stare down into my tea, chewing on my lip.

“Am I that bad?” I eventually look up and ask.

Jimmie gives a small shrug. “You’re a lot better now than you used to be, but when you were younger, once that red mist came down, it was always better to walk away until you’d calmed down. Lu’s the same.”

“Do you never row with your girls?”

“Of course I do. Harley’s pretty easy going, but Paige, she’s more like you, especially lately.”

I watch as Jimmie reflects my actions from earlier and stares into her teacup.

It makes me feel like a shitty friend. Things haven’t been great between Jimmie and Paige for a little while, and I know that it’s partly my fault.

Paige is, once again, back with her on-again-off-again boyfriend of the past eighteen months.

What are the odds that Lennon and Jimmie’s daughter would end up dating the son of Rocco Taylor and Haley White? Considering who his parents are, RJ is actually a really nice bloke, or at least he seems to be.

I’ve not been around him that often, I think Jim deliberately tries to keep us apart, which I’m thankful for. I may not have issues with him, but I won’t lie and say it’s easy to be around him. He looks a lot like his dad, and I’ll never forgive or forget what that man did to my family, what he took from Sean and me, and the way his actions changed my life irrevocably.

I know that my own stubborn pigheadedness is to blame for the years Sean and I spent apart, but it all started with him—Rocco Taylor.

And as for her, his mother, Haley White? It doesn’t matter that she’s seriously ill with sclerosis of the liver and has apparently been dying for the past eighteen months, I would happily punch the head in of that excuse for a human and enjoy it just as much as I did the last time.

Forgiveness is not part of my vocabulary where those two are concerned.

“How are things between the two of you?”

Jimmies eyes slice to mine, and her chest heaves as she lets out a sigh and shakes her head.

“Something’s not right, George. She came back here Sunday with a broken wrist and a cut over her eye, she—”

“What the fuck, Jim?” I interrupt. “What happened, why didn’t you tell me?”

“She reckons that she had too much to drink on Saturday night and fell down some steps.” I watch as she rolls her lips together, her voice quieter, she adds, “We’ve been that drunk, George, we’ve bruised our knees and scraped our palms, but she didn’t have any of those things, just a cut over her eye and a broken wrist.”

I feel sick. My heart smacks against my chest like it’s trying to escape.

“Where is she now? What did Len say? You think he’s hitting her?”

She nods, and my blood feels like ice as it pumps through my veins. I can’t get my breath.

Domestic violence is not something I’ve ever experienced, and the thought of somebody deliberately hurting my niece—or any other member of my family—sends my head into a spin. My first thought is to react with violence. I want to hunt that fucker down and feed him his own bollocks until he chokes, fucking him up the arse with his own dick in the process.

“Oh my god, Jim, I don’t know what to say.”

“Len went out looking for him Sunday night, but apparently, he flew back to L.A. Sunday morning with the band. She’s still denying that he had anything to do with it and reckons that he wasn’t even there, but I went online and found pictures of them out together on Saturday night.”

Jimmie’s face crumbles, and I move around the breakfast bar to where my beautiful friend is falling apart and wrap her in my arms.

“She’s my little girl, George, the thought of someone hurting her, him especially. That fucking family have put us through enough.”

“I know, I know, Jim. I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Can’t believe what’s happening?”

I turn my head to see Paige standing in the middle of the kitchen staring at us. She looks terrible. There’s a cut and a bruise over her left eye, a slight bruise on her right cheek, and her wrist is in a plastic cast. But it’s not just that; she’s so unbelievably thin. She’s always been thin, she’s a model for crying out loud, being thin goes with the territory, but she’s at least a stone lighter than when I saw her last, which was only about six weeks ago.

I watch as she slowly licks her lips and asks slowly, “What did you tell her?”

I pull away from Jimmie so that she can wipe her eyes on the cuff of her sweatshirt sleeves.

“She told me that she’s worried about you. How’d you cut your eye and break your wrist, Paige, and don’t even attempt to bullshit me.”

“None of your fucking business,” she snaps back at me. I’m shocked, but try not to show it.

We’ve always been close, and she’s never spoken to me like this before.

“You’re my niece, that’s my best friend, your dad’s my brother. I’m making it my fucking business.”

She flinches at the harshness of my tone, and alarm bells instantly start to ring. Paige has always been confident and feisty. The girl standing in front of me now appears to be anything but those things.

“I tripped up a couple of concrete steps when I came out of the club Saturday night. I put my hand out to stop my fall and landed awkwardly on my wrist, kept going forward and hit my face and brow. I was drunk, it was my own fault.”

I don’t believe a word she’s saying, but that’s probably because not only does this involve a member of my family, but also involves the son of Rocco Taylor and Haley White. As much as I’d like to consider myself a fair person and give RJ the benefit of the doubt, in reality, I don’t. In my head, I’m already on the phone to Cam, telling him to track RJ down—wherever he might be in the world—and deliver a message that he’s to stay the fuck away from my niece and every other member of my family.

With that message, I’d also like a little warning sent, a clue or a hint given as to what the consequences might be if he doesn’t comply. Just a small one . . . nothing that hurts too much.

“Sit down,” I order. “You want a tea or a coffee? You need to eat, too, you look like you’re about to snap.”

“Says my aunt who has less fat on her than a lettuce leaf.”

“Sit down and shut up before I slap your skinny arse,” I again order.

“I’ll make some eggs,” Jimmie says while moving towards the fridge.

“I’ll do it,” I suggest.

“No!” They actually both shout the word out at the same time. I hold my hands up in surrender.

“Okay, chill the fuck out. I’ll put the kettle on, is that all right?”

“Can you burn water?” Paige directs her question at Jimmie, and we all laugh.

“Georgia could burn the sun,” she responds, and for a little while, we drink tea, eat scrambled eggs on toast, and talk shit. Paige continues to deny that RJ had anything to do with her injuries, and Jim and I continue not believing her.

Eventually, I bring up the subject of Christmas.

“Nina, Conner, and the kids are coming to ours for Christmas this year.”

I watch as Jimmie’s eyes slide to Paige, and I know I’ve said something wrong.

“Really? Why’s that? I thought they usually spent it with his family.”

Jimmie plasters on a smile as she speaks, but it’s as fake as a politician’s promise.

“Yeah, they do, but his dad’s going on a cruise and one of his brothers is doing something or another, so they all just decided to do their own thing this year. Ash mentioned that they were coming to ours, then asked me if they could come, so I called her and invited them.”

Paige puts her fork down, her food unfinished. Jimmie does the same.

“What you doing, d’ya know yet?” I aim my question at Paige. When I asked her last, she said she didn’t know if she would be in the country due to work commitments. Because she’s just told me that she’s had to cancel all of her work for the next six weeks, I’m assuming that’s no longer the case.

“Can I bring RJ and his mum?” The tone she uses to ask the question tells me she already knows what I’ll say, but I almost choke as I answer.

“No.” I don’t hesitate with my response. I feel like I’ve been stabbed in the heart. “Absolutely not. Never in a million years would I have that oxygen thief in my home or around my family. I can’t believe you’d even ask me.”

She shrugs.

She fucking shrugs as if what she just asked for is another cup of tea or for me to pass her a pen.

“Don’t ask, don’t get.”

“But you must’ve known what my answer would be. Have you any concept of what that woman did to me?”

“Its ancient history and she’s dying.”

“Well, she best hurry the fuck up and get dead. The world’ll be a much better place when she does.”

“She’s a human being, Georgia, one that happens to be my boyfriend’s mum.”

“She also happens to be the cunt who falsified a rape claim against my husband and brother and then stole four years of my life.”

I stand and push back the stool I’ve been sitting on. I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing. I can’t fucking think straight.

“Well, then the answers no, I won’t be there.”

I nod. I’m wounded to the core and can’t believe she’d choose her over me. I feel an ache of betrayal bloom in my belly and the  burn of tears in my eyes.

“I need to go Jim. I can’t be around her right now.”

Jimmie follows me as I head towards the front door.

“Now do you see what I’m dealing with, George? I stayed quiet so you could see. I don’t know my own daughter.”

I stop at the front door and turn and face my best friend, my sister.

“I love you, Jim. I love all of you, and I totally understand if you want to have Christmas here so that you can spend it with Paige, but there is absolutely no fucking way I’m having that woman anywhere near me and mine.”

Jimmie shakes her head. “I’m not generally a violent person, but you’ve no idea how hard it was in there not to slap my own kid. I don’t want him or his mother here, and right now, I don’t want to be around Paige, either.” I pull her in for a cuddle. “I’m so sorry,” she says into my ear.

“Don’t be, none of this is your fault.”

“Yeah, I keep trying to remind myself of that. Dry your eyes, I don’t want you driving like that. You won’t be able to see properly.”

I give a small smile and kiss her cheek.

“Yes, Mum, I promise to drive careful. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” she responds as I head out to my car.

I feel like my head’s about to explode.

What a morning.

First Tallulah and now Paige.

Perhaps it’s not them. Perhaps it’s me who’s the total bitch.

I call Cam.

“Kitten. You calmed the fuck down?”

I both smile and cry at the sound of his voice. Where would I be without this man and the way that he loves me?

“Barely. Did they all make it to school all right?”

“Yep, now I’m home all alone, sitting in my office answering emails.”

“I’m five minutes away, what d’ya wanna do?”

“You in every orifice.”

“I’ll allow you inside two and neither will be my bum.”

“You’re no fucking fun.”

“Take it or leave it.”

“Oh, I’ll take it one of these days. Drive careful, but get home quick. I love ya.”

“Love you, too.”

I end the call with a smile on my face. My shitty morning made better by the man who constantly rocks my world.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cam

M  

 

   arley looks up from his gift and directly at my wife, unshed tears shining in his eyes as he smiles.

“It’s perfect,” he says quietly.

Georgia shrugs. “I thought maybe it was time for a new one.”

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely it is.” He stares down at the black leather guitar strap she’d had made for him and runs it between his finger and thumb.

Georgia had explained to me that she used to buy both Sean and Marley a new one every year as a gift. She would use her dressmaking contacts and have them stitched with the band’s logo. Marley’s would also have the initials BBM—Big Brother Marley—stitched into it, and Sean’s would have G&S TWIMTB—Georgia And Sean. The Way It’s Meant To Be. When she lost Sean, she stopped the tradition, but this year, for some reason, has seen a massive turning point in the way she’s dealt with the loss, and she’s gifted her brother something that obviously means a lot to him.

“Ohhh, leather. You gonna tie me up or whip me with it later?” Ash leans over Marley’s shoulder and asks.

His eyes dart up, and he scans the room, making sure none of the kids or his parents have heard her remark.

“Gag you with it if you don’t shut up.”

“Oh, Rock Star, that works, too. Can’t wait.”

“You’re giving me a boner in front of my parents, baby.”

“I got under the dinner table and gave you a bl—”

“Ash,” I snap. “Little ears.” I gesture towards Conner and Nina’s boys, who are playing with the action figures they’ve just unwrapped.

While Conner is laughing, Nina, who’s a lot quieter than Ash, Jimmie, and Georgia, is staring wide-eyed.

“Sorry,” Ash calls out to anyone that wants to listen.

 

 

It’s the end of another Christmas day.

Our home has been filled with noise and chaos for almost forty-eight hours now, but things are starting to wind down.

The girls just need to get the message.

Georgia’s parents have gone off to bed and so have Bailey, Sam, their kids and Conner and Nina’s boys. The younger adults and teenagers are scattered around the house doing fuck knows what, but it’s Christmas, 3.20am boxing day morning to be precise, and I’m past caring.

“If I hear this song one more time, I might just shoot someone,” Lennon states as I top up his glass.

“Don’t let Georgia hear you say that. She’s had this shit playing nonstop for the past three weeks.”

“Jimmie’s the same. The house has been lit up like Blackpool since the first of—” He stops and then corrects, “The end of November.”

We give each other a nod, both knowing the importance of the date he was going to say.

The first of December is always a tough day for Georgia. Always has been, always will be. I’ve learnt over the years just to play it by ear. Some years the day goes by quietly, others it’s manic. What has become a tradition is that it’s the date the house gets decorated for Christmas. I think this is just a way to keep her brain occupied and busy.

This year, things changed though. It was like a switch had been flipped inside of Georgia, and she finally found it within herself to leave her guilt behind and see past the grief.

I know there will forever be a part of her that isn’t just mine. A part that I will always share with Sean McCarthy and their babies. I can mostly deal with that. I have the odd moment of self-doubt, but I know that she loves me. I know that what we share is pretty fucking amazing and that we lucked out when we found each other again and then went on to have our kids.

She’s the other part of me. I don’t go in for all the mushy bullshit, but I am seriously not complete if I’m not around her.

Despite sometimes being a mouthy, stubborn, selfish pain in the arse, she has always loved me fiercely and with so much passion that it blows me away. To have gone through all that she has and still have that capacity to love our kids and me the way she does astounds me.

I watch Georgia now as she messes with the laptop connected to the Karaoke machine. We bought that thing as a joint present for the twins a few years back, but it’s the triplets, the terrible trio of Georgia, Jimmie, and Ash who put it to most use. Tonight, they’re joined by Nina.

The girls have just finished murdering “Santa Baby” and are now debating which song should be up for slaughter next.

That’s a lie, actually. Georgia has a great fucking voice, the other three, not so much.

I watch my wife as she smiles towards the laptop, knocks back the champagne that’s in her glass, and turns towards Marley.

“Big brother Marley, come sing with me?” The other girls boo and hiss at being outed, but Georgia just turns her beautiful smile and her glassy eyes towards me. My heart rate accelerates, the way it has done for over thirty years now. The way it always will.

She’s my world.

I have a life I once never dared to hope for, but I got it, and it’s all because of her.

“Top me up, Tiger!” she shouts over the microphone, and because I’m more of a pussy than a Tiger where she’s concerned, I pull a bottle of the bubbly from the ice bucket on the coffee table and head towards her.

I hear a kercha sound from behind me as someone tries to mimic the sound of a whip cracking and turn to give Marley and Reed my middle finger before giving my wife my undivided attention.

I quickly move the bottle of Krug out of the way as Georgia wraps her arms around my neck and slams herself into me.

“Merry Christmas, T. I love you so fucking much.”

“You’re drunk,” I reply.

“Drunk, sober, or somewhere between, I still fucking love ya.”

“Yeah?”

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely, baby.”

“Does that mean I get anal tonight?”

She throws her head back and laughs. My dick twitches, and I can’t help but grind my hips against her.

“Easy, Tiger.” She licks her lips while still grinning at me. “Nice try, but no. That thing is never going to be banging my back doors in, not ever. I can think of somewhere else you can put it, though.”

She’s swaying us from side to side as she speaks, and I can’t help but smile at her drunken attempts to stay upright and focused.

“Yeah, you may be wanna put my baby sister down, King. She might be your wife, but she’s also my singing partner.”

I turn to see Marley heading towards us.

“You tell him, Rock Star!” Ash shouts from somewhere, probably two streets away with her big mouth.

I kiss Georgia’s lips and then her nose. “Sing with your brother, Kitten. Your audience is getting restless.”

“I’m not done with you yet, so don’t go far.”

She attempts to wink at me as I step away, but instead, it turns into a sort of long, drawn-out blink, and I can’t help but chuckle. I love seeing her relaxed amongst her family and friends like this, but I’ve learned from years of loving this amazing woman, that when she’s been drinking, one wrong word said, a song played, an event mentioned, anything that stirs up past painful memories and it’ll be instant tears.

I retreat far enough away to be able to take in the show and stand next to Jimmie. I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pull her into my side, and kiss the top of her head.

“You all right?” I question.

Jimmie and Len have had a tough couple of weeks with their eldest daughter, and I know they’ve both been worried sick about her.

“Not bad, it’s not been the easiest of days. We’ve not heard a word from her.” I nod, but really, I have no clue how she must be feeling.

“Queenie doing all right?” Jim asks, obviously wanting to change the subject.

“For now.” I smile down at her as I speak and notice that she too can barely focus.

“What exactly the fuck did they put in that champagne?” I ask her.

She laughs and shrugs. “Dunno, but it’s fucking great.”

We both fall silent for a moment as we watch Georgia and Marley break into song. It’s Elton John and Kiki Dee’s “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart.” It’s been their party piece since they were kids and the reason my daughter is called Kiki.

“She’s so lucky to have you, you know that, right?”

My chest feels strange, and my throat constricts. I give a small laugh.

“I think it’s the other way around, Jim.”

“There’s no one else out there that could have saved her. No one else that could’ve put her back together the way you have. No one else that would put up with her shit the way you do.”

“You’ve been her best mate almost her entire life. You never seem to have a problem putting up with her.”

Jimmie gives me another unfocused, wonky grin and a shrug. “What can I say, I love the skinny bitch.”

I laugh. These girls love each other to the point that I’m actually jealous of how close they are, but they insult each other like they are each other’s worst enemies. Even so, God help anyone else that throws an insult in the direction of any of them, because they’ll soon unite. Georgia, Jimmie, and Ash are a force to be reckoned with individually, but when they join forces, you better get your running shoes on.

“Ditto. Although, I’ve gotta say that my wife ain’t skinny, she’s fucking perfect.”

“You’ve got your beer goggles on, Cam. I’ve seen more fat on a chip.”

I look up as I hear Georgia call into the mic, “Tiger. This way. Now!”

She hands the mic to her brother, grabs my hand, and marches me out of the room to the sound of wolf whistles, clapping and oi oi-ing.

“Dare I ask where the fuck we’re going?” I follow her swaying form out to our laundry. She pulls me into the room, slams the door behind us, and launches herself at me.

Her mouth slams down on mine, and her legs wrap around my waist, her arms around my neck.

I step forward a few paces and lift her up, sitting her back down on the edge of the worktop.

“I need you,” she pleads. Her hot breath hits my ear and the side of my neck. It’s all the encouragement I need.

“Lift your arms baby.” Her top has buttons down the middle, but I can’t be fucked wasting time with that shit and just pull it off over her head.

“Bra,” I order.

“Love it when you’re bossy.”

“No you don’t. You cop the hump when I tell you what to do.”

The room is almost pitch dark, but I can just make out her beautiful smile.

“Not when we’re having sex I don’t. I love it when you take charge.”

I know this, and even if I didn’t, it wouldn’t change anything. Georgia gets away with most things where I’m concerned, but in the bedroom, I’m the fucking boss.

“You gonna let me have your arse then?”

“Answers still no, and unless you have about four inches cut off that thing and lose some girth, it always will be.”

Yeah, I’m the boss in the bedroom—except when it comes to that.

I help Georgia in her fumbling attempts to get my T-shirt over my head, then lean forward and draw one of her nipples into my mouth while brushing my thumb back and forth over the over.

“I fucking love your tits.”

“I love your dick. Help me get my jeans off.”

She undoes her belt, button, and zipper.

“Lift your arse.”

I pull her jeans over her hips and then take off my own as she toes them down her legs and off. Without even checking that she’s wet—I know that she will be—I pull her to the very edge of the worktop and slide inside her.

“Fuck,” we both say at once.

“Feel good, baby?”

“The best.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“Kiss me.”

I slam my mouth against hers and oblige. Our tongues tangle, dual, and taste. I pull away and bite, lick, and suck along her jaw to her ear and down her neck before heading back to her mouth.

I slide my hands under her arse cheeks and lift her slightly, which earns me a groan as I hit her at a different angle.

“Fuck, that’s good,” I tell her.

She leans back on her elbows, allowing me to watch myself slip in and out of her. Sliding one hand out from under her arse cheek, I brush over her clit with my thumb. Her legs tighten around me, her back arches, and I know she’s almost there.

I feel her internal muscles squeeze my cock as she pants, “Coming, Cam, coming.”

“I know, baby, I know. Let it go, Kitten. Give it to me.”

She moans loudly, and that’s all it takes. Two more thrusts of my hips, and I’m letting go inside her while she continues to squeeze and milk my cock.

She lifts herself up and wraps her arms around my neck. The sensation of her tits brushing against my chest makes my dick give a final twitch inside her, and she gives a little giggle.

“Love to hear that laugh, baby.”

“And I love you. Merry Christmas. Thanks for another perfect one.”

LENNON

 

I watch my wife flop down onto the sofa and tuck herself in between my brother and Reed. She’s smashed, but just at that perfect level of smashed that she won’t suffer too badly in the morning if she has a glass of water, lemonade, or anything non-alcoholic right about now.

I don’t wanna kill her buzz, but I don’t want her suffering tomorrow, either. With all the singing she’s been doing, her throat must be dry anyway. My cock stirs as I think about the perfect cure I have for her parched throat.

I’ve had a semi for her all night anyway. Watching her sing, dance, and move those hips of hers has me adjusting myself constantly.

She woke me up with a blow job early this morning—it’s a Christmas tradition in our house and has been ever since we moved in together, which was a lot of years ago.

I top up my glass with more of Cam’s best bourbon and watch her throw her head back and laugh at something my brother says to her.

I still get a little twinge of jealousy in my gut when I watch them together. Even after all these years, they still flirt exactly the same way that they did when we were all kids. I trust them both implicitly, but … I’m a bloke, and protective of what’s mine. I just can’t help it.

When we were younger, a lot of people thought that Marls and Jimmie were together, and that wasn’t a bad thing. My wife was fourteen when I fell in love with her, which might sound like the stuff of fairy tales, but I was eighteen—so, not so much. Kissing and holding hands was as far as it went, and all of that had to be done in secret. We got away with it until Christmas of 1983, and then Georgia caught us.

I thought it was gonna be the end of my involvement with the band when it all blew up, but we made the best of a bad situation and got on with things. Jimmie and I still kept our relationship secret from her parents until she turned sixteen.

If one of my girls had brought a twenty-one-year-old bloke home when they were just sixteen, I would’ve hit the fucking roof, but Jimmie’s mum and dad were surprisingly cool about it.

Jim’s always had a wise head on her shoulders, and I think her parents trusted her choices.

Right now, I wish my eldest daughter was more like her mum and less like her aunt. I love my sister, but when she was younger, I sometimes worried myself sick with her behaviour, much like I am Paige.

I’m tugged from my thoughts as Cam walks back into the room, my sister trailing behind him. Her hair is freshly brushed, Cam’s isn’t. Both of them have flushed cheeks.

Ash interrupts her rendition of The Waitresses’ “Christmas Wrapping” and asks over the mic, “Is that fresh fuck I smell, Georgia Rae?”

Georgia launches the bottle of water she was carrying at Ash, who catches it like a pro.

Cam heads towards me, obviously in need of a drink, while my sister squeezes herself between Marley and Jimmie on the sofa.

She leans in and kisses Marls on the cheek. “I love you dearly, big brother Marley, but your taste in women is shit. Your wife has a fat mouth.”

“I know, she has no gag reflex, either. They’re two of the reasons I married her.”

“You know it, Rock Star,” Ash states before pretending to deep throat the microphone.

“That woman seriously has no filter,” Cam says from beside me.

“Nope,” I agree. “Never has, never will.”

We both observe our wives in silence. They’re side by side, heads together, deep in animated conversation.

“Looks like Jim is getting a blow-by-blow account of whatever you two have been up to for the past twenty minutes.”

Cam turns his head towards me with his dark eyebrows raised, but before he can say a word, I point my finger at him. “Don’t. I do not want to know. She might be turning fifty, but she’s still my baby sister.”

He throws his head back and gives one of his big booming laughs.

“As if I was gonna tell you I’ve just fucked your sister in our laundry anyway.”

I shake my head and walk away.

“Where’d you get the water from, Porge?” I ask my sister, using her old childhood nickname.

“Don’t call me that. In the fridge in the laundry.”

“Is it safe to go in there? Do I need to watch out for sticky tissues?” I joke.

“Nah, you’re good. I used a tea towel out the drawer and did a thorough clean up.”

“Classy, Porge, classy.” I once again shake my head and walk away. My family seriously have no issues with sharing. Everything.

“Get us a bottle for Meebs please, Len?” Reed calls after me. No clue why he calls his wife Meebs, her name’s Nina.

“I don’t need water, there’s more champagne in the fridge,” Nina protests as I head off to fetch water. When I return, Jimmie’s not where I left her.

George and Marley are belting out a stellar version of The Pogues’ “Fairy Tale Of New York.”

Cam and Reed are sitting on the edge of the sofa, watching them, and Ash and Nina have moved the coffee table out of the centre of the room and look like they’re attempting to waltz around together in the space.

“Where’s Jim?” I ask Cam.

“Went looking for you.” He gestures towards the hallway I just came from.

I retrace my steps and notice a glow coming from under the door of Georgia’s office and open it.

Jimmie’s inside, standing by a shelf with a photo frame in her hand. She turns her head and looks at me. Tears fill her eyes and spill down her cheeks.

“Babe?” But I already know what it is she’s looking at. She holds out the frame so that I can see it. It’s a picture of Maca and Marley together. They look so young, but then, it was a long time ago. They’re both wearing tuxedos, their shirts and ties both undone. Maca is swigging a champagne bottle, his eyes laughing into the camera. Marley has a big grin on his face and a cigarette hanging from his lips as he holds on to his bottle.

“I took this photo,” I say quietly, placing it carefully back in its place on my sister’s bookshelf.

“I know. I remember the night. They won best everything, didn’t they? Song, album, video?”

“Yeah,” I say, letting out a long sigh.

“Happy days.”

“They were.”

“We’re so lucky, Len,” Jimmie throws her arms around my neck, and I pull her in close to me.

“They were lucky, babe. For as little time it was, they had each other, and they were in love. When he died, Maca was the happiest I’d ever known him.”

I don’t wanna stand here getting choked up right now, and if we keep reminiscing about the past, it’ll end with the both of us crying.

Things have been tense at home. Our eldest daughter, Paige, has barely spoken to either of us in weeks, and because Georgia refused to extend the invitation to Paige’s boyfriend and his mum, she’d refused to spend Christmas here with us.

I can’t even believe Paige would ask that of my sister. She knows the story, we’ve explained the connection between Georgia, Sean, Marley, and her boyfriend’s parents. Yet, she still asked my sister to extend the invitation to include RJ’s mum, the woman that tried to frame my brother for rape.

I don’t know the person my daughter has turned into since she’s been with RJ, but what I do know, I don’t fucking like, and that’s really horrible thing to feel about your own kid.

Jimmie has been really down about it. Don’t get me wrong, there’s no blame on Georgia’s part. I totally understand why she doesn’t want the bloke or his mother in her house.

Despite the history between his family and ours, in the beginning, we set our differences aside and gave him the benefit of the doubt. Over the past year, I’ve seen changes in my daughter that I don’t like.

I’ve always hoped that I raised my kids to make wise choices, but, right now, with the way Paige has been behaving, I’m doubting myself as a parent.

I kiss the side of Jimmie’s neck, my hand sliding under her T-shirt. I press the cold bottle of water to her bare skin, and she gives a little squeal and smacks my chest.

“Drink some. I don’t want you hung over in the morning.”

Without arguing, she unscrews the cap, and I watch her throat move in the lamplight as she gulps down almost all of the contents.

My cock stands to attention as I watch her pull the bottle away from her mouth and lick her lips.

“Fancy a quickie?” I ask, hopeful.

“Here?”

“I locked the door behind me.” She gives a quick raise of her eyebrows before giving me a sexy smile, grabbing my T-shirt, and pulling me towards her. My mouth finds hers, and I kiss her gently at first. Her hand makes its way into my hair, and her fingernails rake across my scalp. My girl knows exactly what I like.

“Take your jeans off and bend over the desk,” I order. She moves instantly. “Take off your top but leave your bra on.”

I watch her shimmy out of her jeans, wondering how the fuck she got in them in the first place.

I undo my own jeans, pull down my boxers, and begin stroking my cock. “Leave the thong,” I instruct as she starts to take it off. “Lean over, baby, show me how wet you are.”

She moves the chair away from the centre of the desk and leans right across it.

I move towards her. Pulling her thong down over her hips, dropping to my knees as I slide the scrap of fabric down her thighs, letting it fall to the floor.

Raking my teeth over each of her arse cheeks, I slide two fingers inside her.

“You’re wet, baby.”

“Always for you, Len.”

Standing, I give her right arse cheek a slap.

“Again,” she whispers.

I drag the tip of my cock from the crack of her arse down to her entrance. As I slide inside her, I slap her arse, pull down the cup of her bra, and squeeze her nipple.

“Fuck.”

She pushes back into me as I grip her hip.

“Just a quickie, babe, remember? I’ve been watching you shake that arse all night; I’m not gonna last long.”

“Harder. Fuck me harder.” As if I’d say no to that request! I pull her back onto me as I reach around and rub my middle finger over her clit. With my free hand, I pull down the other cup of her bra and pinch and pull at her nipple.

“Len-Lennon. More, I need more.”

I bite down on her shoulder, and her groan almost turns into a growl. I have to put my hand over her mouth because she’s getting so loud, and then bury my face in her neck to stifle my chuckle. She reaches around both of us and claws at my arse cheek; her nails dig into my skin as she tries to pull me closer. The fact that she wants me so bad has me coming undone, I just hope she is, too.

Her loud moan and muscle spasms let me know she’s there, and I let go inside her.

After a few moments to catch our breath, I flatten my front to her back, wrap my arms around her waist, and pull her close.

“Thirty-three years, baby. I never thought back then that I could love you more, but every year gets better.”

“Stop trying to make me cry again.”

I kiss the back of her sweaty neck and then run my tongue over the same spot. Her muscles clench around me, and my cock gives a little jerk.

“Rather make you ‘come’ again.”

She turns her head and smiles at me. “That’d make it four O’s in less than twenty-four hours. Anyone’d think it was Christmas.”

“Every day is like Christmas with you, though, baby. I got lucky, you’re the gift that keeps on giving . . . and taking. We should spare a moment to think of Santa right now. Poor old fucker only gets to come once a year.”

This time she gives me a different type of groan. “That’s worse than one of Cam’s jokes.”

“It is one of Cam’s jokes; he cracked it earlier.”

We’re both quiet again for a moment.

“I love you, Lennon Layton. Thank you for our amazing life and another fantastic Christmas. I know things have been a bit shit lately, what with everything that’s been going on with Paige, but I’m so very glad to have you to lean on through it all.”

“Teamwork, baby, team—”

I’m cut off as someone bangs on the door.

“You better not be having sex in my office. I have security cameras in there; everything gets recorded. If you are, I’m so showing it to Mum and Dad tomorrow.”

“Fuck off, Porge.”

“Make me! And don’t call me that!”

I lay one more kiss beneath my wife's ear. “Merry Christmas, baby, now let’s get you cleaned up.”

 

MARLEY

 

“Where’s Jimmie?” Georgia asks, flopping down on the sofa next to Ash.

“Went wandering off earlier. Len went looking for her. Now, who knows. Probably shagging in your office or somewhere.”

Ash then proceeds to pout her lips and look at me.

“Everyone’s getting some tonight except for me. I’m not feeling the love—or your dick. Not. At. All.”

“Baby, I was singing. I know I’m good, but I can’t give you a live version of “Fairytale Of New York” and sex at the same time. Especially in the middle of my sister’s family room with an audience.”

She gives me a lazy, drunken smile. “You used to like people watching us.” And fuck me if I’m not suddenly rock hard.

Now that no one is karoakeing, the only sound in the room is our conversation, but then all falls silent when we hear a loud groan coming from the hallway.

“Oh my God, they are actually having sex in my office,” Georgia snaps, her head turning towards Cam. “T, they’re shagging in my office.”

Cam shrugs his big shoulders. “So?”

“That’s . . . It’s . . . no, just no.”

“Calm the fuck down, Kitten. They’re fucking, not killing each other.” But George isn’t listening. She hauls herself off the sofa and sways her way up the hallway.

“Ooops.” Ash giggles.

“You better not be having sex in my office.” We hear George shout as she bangs on the door. “I have security cameras in there; everything gets recorded. If you are, I’m so showing it to Mum and Dad tomorrow.”

“Georgia, leave them the fuck alone,” Cam calls out to her.

“Fuck off, Porge.” We all laugh at Lennon’s response.

“Make me! And don’t call me that.”

“Go sort your sister out.” Cam looks at me and orders.

“Get fucked. She’s your wife; you sort her out.”

“You two are such a pair of pussies,” Ash adds.

We are. None of the men in our family are brave enough to deal with Georgia when she throws a tantrum or has a meltdown.

Reed and Nina are watching us with amusement.

“I agree with Ash, you’re a pair of pussies,” Reed chimes in.

“You go and sort her out then,” Cam and I both suggest, just as we hear more banging on the office door.

“For fuck’s sake.” Cam sighs, marching out of the room like a man on a mission.

“Go get her, Tiger!” Ash shouts after him.

“You got this big man,” I add, as Cam flips us all his middle finger.

We all fall silent, listening for how he’s gonna “handle” her, but all we hear is George scream and then giggle.

“Surely, he isn’t gonna shag her again?” Ash grumbles.

“Well, it’d be one way of shutting her up,” Reed responds.

“Oh, don’t bet on it. When Georgia’s on a mission nothing can stop her,” I tell him.

“Bet if TDH stuffs that nine-inch dick of his down her throat, she’d shut up. That thing could probably even shut me up.”

Nina spits her drink at my wife’s remark. I choose to ignore it.

Cam steps back into the room and has George hanging over his shoulder.

“I’m taking my wife to bed. You all know where you’re sleeping, right? Help yourselves to anything you want. Thanks for a great day and night. Say goodnight, Kitten.”

He spins around so that George is facing us. She pulls herself slightly upright and waves her hand.

“Good night, Kitten,” she slurs, then giggles, and then screams when Cam slaps her arse. We are all still watching as she buries her face in his jean-covered arse and bites it.

“Ow. That fucking hurt.” We all laugh at that. The fact that skinny George is brave enough to do that to a big bloke like Cam amuses the rest of us.

“Night. Love you all. See you for brunch tomorrow.”

They retreat up the hallway to the sound of all of us remaining wishing them good night and thanking them for a great day and night.

“You ready for bed, Mrs Reed. The boys are probably gonna be up in about two hours.”

Nina already has her eyes closed. “You can deal with your sons in the morning. I’m staying in bed.”

“Yeah, we’ll see. Come on, let’s go. Night, you two.”

Conner’s wife is tiny, and he has no problem picking her up and carrying her out of the room.

I pull Ash across my body so that she’s straddling me.

“Where’d you want me to fuck you, baby?” I ask as she nuzzles into my neck.

“Not up the arse, I didn’t bring any lube,” she mumbles. Making me chuckle.

“Noted, but I meant did you have a room preference.” I continue to laugh.

“Oh, soz,” Ash again mumbles, this time on a yawn. I slap her backside. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

I stand with her still wrapped around me like a monkey and make my way up to the room we’re staying in, making sure to bang on Georgia’s office door as we pass just to piss off my brother. That earns me a “fuck off” from both him and Jimmie, making Ash giggle into my neck.

I throw her gently on the bed and know immediately that I’m gonna be shit out of luck if I was hoping to make love to my misses. She’s practically out cold already.

I pull off my jeans and socks, then pull Ashley’s UGGs and jeans off. I chuckle at the knickers she has on underneath. They’re like a little pair of shorts in a baby blue colour. On the front is a rather raunchy looking Alice from Wonderland, winking and pointing down between my wife’s legs. Under the picture are the words: “Eat me.”

I know it’s wrong to take advantage of her while she’s drunk, but fuck it! I blame Alice; she ordered me to do it. I lean forward and bury my face between Ashley’s legs and breathe her in at the same time as I reach inside my boxers and grip my dick.

I plan to leave it at that, go to sleep with a hard-on and wait until my wife is cognizant and aware of the dirty things I’m doing to her. I might be a perv, but I’m not a fiend, after all. But then Ashley’s hands are in my hair, pressing into the back of my head, forcing my face down harder between her legs.

“Take them off, Rock Star. Take off my knickers and fuck me with your tongue and fingers.” And because Marley loves Ash, I do exactly that.

Within seconds, her underwear is off, my tongue is working her clit, and I’m curling two fingers inside her. I keep working at my dick with my free hand as Ash positions her legs so that they’re hanging over my shoulders, tilting her hips up into my face and giving me access to her tight little arsehole.

Her knees press against my ears on either side of my head, her heels dig into my shoulders, and her hips gyrate up into my face.

“Nearly there, baby.”

“Wait for me,” I order. When I know I’m close, I slide two fingers inside her arse, her back immediately arches off the bed, her legs tighten around my head and shoulders, and her internal muscles grip my fingers as she groans. I push her legs away, sit up, and come all over pussy and lower belly.

Her blue eyes shine up at me.

“Thought you were tired?” I question.

She grins back at me lazily.

“Your hot mouth on my mildred woke me up.”

We stare at each other in silence for a few long moments.

“Love you, Baby, Merry Christmas.”

“Love you, too, Rock Star. Thanks for the orgasm.”

 

Georgia

 

My head spins as Cam lays me on the bed and peels me out of my clothes.

“Teeth,” I mumble.

He pulls me up, slings me back over his shoulder, and carries me to the bathroom where he sits me beside the sink.

He just has his boxers on, and I close one eye so that I can try to focus on his beautiful body and the way his muscles ripple and move.

Cam will be sixty soon but has the physique of a man half his age. He works hard at it, and the results are evident for all to see.

“You are so fucking hot, Mr Tiger Husband.”

He chuckles as he passes me my toothbrush, now loaded with paste.

I take it from him and begin brushing.

“Mr Tiger Husband. That’s a new one.”

“Yeah. Just made it up. You like it?”

“You made it up, just for me? Then, of course, I love the fuck out of it. Spit.”

I frown as I try to process what he just said.

“Mt mo malmays ma mullow,” I attempt to talk around the mouthful of foam I’m now holding on to, smile, and then lean over and spit it into the sink.

“What was that?” Cam asks, handing me a glass of water.

I take it, rinse my mouth, and spit again.

“You told me to spit, but you always tell me to swallow,” I explain.

“I meant the toothpaste, Kitten. You spit the toothpaste but swallow my cum.”

“Oh.” I laugh and then squeal as he picks me up and carries me back to bed.

Cam helps me out of the rest of my clothes and then hands me one of his T-shirts to sleep in.

We climb under the duvet, and he pulls my back into his front, my safe place.

My thoughts are an erratic jumbled mess, and for some reason, memories of when my family had me sectioned jump to the front of my mind.

“Thank you for a merry Christmas, Cameron. I’m glad I didn’t die and stayed alive to share all of this with you.”

“Georgia, what the fuck?” I’m flipped to my back, his big body covers mine and his angry scowl darts all over my face.

“What?” I question.

“What d’ya mean you’re glad you didn’t die?”

I shrug, and tears start to burn my eyes and nose.

Letting out a deep sigh, I admit, “I thought about it almost every day until you came back into my life. As soon as I realised I’d never stopped loving you, you gave me a sense of purpose, a reason to get out of bed every day.” Tears are falling freely from my eyes now, running into my ears and over my neck.

I feel tired and woozy. I just wanna go to sleep.

“If I didn’t have you, I think I’d probably be dead,” I tell him honestly.

“Don’t fucking talk like that, George. You found me. We found each other, and neither of us is going anywhere. Now go to sleep, I don’t wanna hear any more dying bullshit.”

“There is no more dying bullshit, that’s exactly my point. It’s because of you. You saved me and I know it’s taken a lot longer than it should’ve but I’m there Cam, I’m finally there.”

Thoughts and words are swirling around in my head, and I’m not sure if I’m speaking out loud or just thinking them.

He once again repositions us, and the last thing I remember is my Tiger Husband kissing the top of my head and whispering, “You are the most complicated human being I have ever met, but I love the fuck outta you and wouldn’t change a thing. Merry Christmas.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That’s It For Now…

But Keep Going For A

Little  Taste Of What’s Next…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The   Definition   Of   Insanity

Coming In 2017 . . .

 

Prologue

PAIGE

“I  

t’s your sixteenth, Paige. Not your eighteenth, not your twenty-first, your sixteenth. You are not holding it in a nightclub.”

I carried on walking towards my uncle’s office, ignoring my mother’s argument being shouted from somewhere behind me as she tries to keep up.

“Let’s just talk to Cam; there may be a way around this. Perhaps if she has it on a Sunday, or holds it in the VIP area with a strictly no alcohol policy in place? Although, I’m not sure if that’s even legal, so we’d have to check on that first.” I heard my aunt say to my mum, using a placating tone. If anyone can win my mum around, it’s Georgia.

I stopped and turned around to face them as they walked across the empty nightclub towards me.

“You’re so negative sometimes, Mum. Why can’t you be more like George? Instead of shutting down every suggestion I make, why can’t you at least try to see if it’s doable first?”

“Don’t speak to your mother like that.”

My eyebrows instinctively shoot up to my hairline at my aunt’s words. She is the coolest person I know and usually has my back, so I am a little surprised by her tone and feel my cheeks flush.

“I’ll help make this happen if it’s legally possible but don’t be rude to your mum. Otherwise, you’ll be sitting at home on your Jack Jones for your sixteenth, or worse still, the whole family will drag you to The Harvester and make you spend it with us.”

I fold my arms across my chest and glare between my mum and my aunt. I couldn’t think of anything worse than spending my sixteenth birthday at The Harvester with my insane family. We’d probably end up getting thrown out . . . again.

“I thought we were banned from The Harvester?” I question.

“Weatherspoon’s then, we’re not banned from there,” my aunt snaps.

“I think we are actually. Remember that time we popped in for a quick drink and that woman flashed her tits at Marley and Ash threw a bottle at her?”

“You’re not helping, Jim.”

I let out a loud huff, and they both look at me.

“Jesus, this is like déjà vu. She looks exactly like you at that age,” my mum says quietly, my aunt smiling at her words.

“It’s not fucking funny, George. You’re not the one that has to put up with her tantrums and meltdowns of Georgia proportions.”

I just give a loud yawn. I’ve heard it all before.

“Jim, you handled me just fine when we were fifteen, I’m sure you can handle her now that you’re a grown arse woman.”

“Yeah, just like you handle Tallulah.”

“I handle Lu just fine, and if I can’t, Cam does.”

“Pfft, she has Cam wrapped around her little finger.”

“Oh my god, are you two just gonna stand and argue all day?”

“Shut up.” They tell me in unison.

“And cover your mouth when you yawn. Did your mother teach you no manners?”

My mum glares at my aunt, her mouth open in shock at her accusation.

Giving another huff, I flick my hair over my shoulder, and stomp towards my uncle’s office, swinging the door open without bothering to knock.

I stop in my tracks as soon as I realise there is someone in there with him.

Cam is sitting back in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle, and propped on his desk.

The other person is a man, but I can only see his dark hair and his legs. He has the ankle of one resting on the knee of the other.

They each have a short rounded glass containing an amber coloured liquid in their hands.

Cam looks up, wide-eyed with surprise at first and then he gives me a smile.

“Book, what you doing here?”

My uncle tells the worst jokes ever. Because my name is Paige, he’s always called me Book, and he seriously thinks he’s funny. He’s not. And even when he is, I’m funnier.

“All right, Queenie, how are you?” His surname is King, so my play on his name has always been to call him Queenie, which is actually funny, considering the size of the man. He’s big, like really big. Taller than my dad, my pops and my uncles and cousins. He has really wide shoulders, and I suppose you might call him good-looking in an old man kind of way . . . he must have something going for him anyway because my aunt married him, and she is beautiful. So beautiful that she was once married to a famous rock star.

“Paige, you can’t just barge in there without knocking,” my mum calls from behind me. I turn and roll my eyes at her.

G is pretty bad arse most of the time, except when she bangs on about being respectful to my mum. My mum has a stick up her arse most of the time though when it comes to manners, not swearing, pronouncing my words properly, knocking on closed doors before entering a room . . .

I remember that I’ve come to ask my uncle a favour and turn to give him my sweetest, most innocent look, but the man that is sitting in the chair on my side of the desk has turned it to face me.

My heart and my belly do this thing. It’s like they’ve somehow become tethered inside me. My belly tries to turn itself in knots, pulling my heart down into it. My heart attempts to escape and flies up through my chest, lodges in my throat and beats erratically.

He stares at me with the bluest of eyes.

I’m just fifteen years old, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that this grown man sitting in front of me is potentially going to be my first real-life crush and quite possibly, the love of my life.

 

 

 

 

 

Prologue

Will

 

 

“S  

o you’re happy with all the changes, the new terms, expectations and package?”

“Yeah, it all sounds good. Do I get a choice of car?”

My boss cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes as he looks at me. My heart rate accelerates marginally.

Cameron King is now somewhere in his late forties or early fifties, but he’s still an imposing and formidable force. Using the help of Google, I’d done some research. Despite the fact he was portrayed as a mild-mannered nightclub owner and businessman extraordinaire, happily married to his beautiful wife and devoted to his family, you could write a book about the things that bloke had supposedly gotten up to in his past. And I was man enough to admit, he scared the living fucking daylights out of me.

“Will a Land Rover work for you?” He asks, a small twitch at the corner of his right eye the only indication that he's being just a little facetious.

“Depends on the colour.”

He raises his eyebrows and stares at me.

Fuck, I hope he gets that I’m joking.

I’ve been working for K.L.U.B for over six years. Out of all of the partners who owned the nightclub chain, I’d had more dealings with Cam King than any of the others, and right now I was just accepting a job working directly for him as South East of England area manager, looking after the K&K clubs in that area.

“If I let you choose your own, will it stop you walking around with a face like a smacked arse?”

My stomach churns as I think about the reason why I’m wearing the expression my new boss just described so eloquently.

She was really doing it. My Sarah Sunshine was really gonna marry the Aussie fucker. I’d gotten the invite yesterday morning, making me want to vomit up my coffee.

“Will?”

“What?” I start as Cam calls my name and snap at him a little more harshly than I intend.

“D’you want this job or a fat fucking lip? Coz you’re going the right way to get the latter.”

“Sorry. Sorry, Cam. Of course I want the car…shit, the job. I mean the job. I definitely want the job and the cars great too. A Land Rover, wow, yeah, that’s great. Thanks.”

“All right, you can shut the fuck up and stop brown nosing now. What’s wrong? The reason I’ve poached you for this role is that you’re always so switched on. Right now, I’m worried I’ve made a mistake and picked the wrong man for the job. So, I’ll ask again, what’s going on?”

He stands as he speaks and proceeds to pour us both a bourbon from a bottle he’d taken from the small bar area in the corner of his office.

“Nothing. It’s all good.”

I like my boss, but that’s what he is, my boss. I wasn’t about to get into a D&M with him and discuss the ‘the one that got away’.”

He passes me my glass, sits down and stretches his long legs out, resting his feet up on the corner of his desk. He watches me the whole time, staring silently while tapping his index finger on his bottom lip as he does.

“I’m not your mother or even your father for that matter, so I don’t need to know all the ins and outs of your business, but what I do require from my employees, is honesty. You don’t have to tell me what it is that’s obviously pissing you the fuck off right now, but don’t lie and tell me that it’s nothing.”

I knock back everything in my glass. The bourbon warms my belly and makes my head spin slightly as I consider my response.

Cameron King is a lot more perceptive than I gave him credit for. I suppose living life as an East End gangster, as he once did, being able to read people is essential to staying alive.

“It’s a girl.” I stare into my now empty glass and confess. I have no one else I can talk to about this. Usually, it’d be Luke, but Sarah, the girl that has broken my heart, is his sister, and Liam, the Aussie fucker she’s going to marry is his business partner.

I hear Cam let out a long sigh, before he stands, collects the bottle from the bar and places it between us on his desk.

Without making eye contact with him, I top up both our glasses.

“So a bird has got you all twisted up like this?”

I finally look up and meet his eyes, nodding my head slowly as I do.

“Not just any bird, the bird.”

He nods in return, wiping his hand over his mouth and the salt and pepper beard on his chin.

“What’s she done?”

“Marrying some other fucker.”

“That’d explain the face then.”

“It would.”

“Fucking hurts like nothing else. I know, I’ve been there.”

“You have?”

He nods his head, “and I’ve gotta say, you’re handling it a lot better than I did.”

“I don’t wanna handle it I wanna do something about it. I wanna stop her from doing it, stop it from happening.”

“Why don’t you then?”

“I left it too late. I had the chance. I’ve had many chances. I just didn’t take them. I thought I had more time and then along he came and swept her away, right out from under my nose and there’s been fuck all I’ve been able to do ever since.”

“Does she know?”

I lean forward in my chair and rest both my elbows on my knees and drop the hand holding my glass down between them.

“She knows, but I didn’t tell her how I felt until after he’d shown up, not until I realised that something was going on between the two of them.”

He chews on the inside of his lip for a few quiet seconds, and I got the sense that he’s contemplating whether or not to say something.

“I lost Georgia once,” he finally says.

I’m shocked. Not only by his confession and the fact that he’d confided in me, but also by the information.

Cam’s wife is stunning, in a supermodel kind of way. She’s probably around forty and as gorgeous now as she was in the pictures I’d seen of her in newspapers and magazines while I’d been growing up. It’s entirely apparent to anyone that’s ever been in their company, that they’re bang in love. The way they look at each other, it kinda makes you uncomfortable to be in the same room.

“To another man?”

“Well it weren’t to a fuckin’ woman. My wife don’t swing that way.”

I roll my eyes and let out a long breath through my nose. “I didn’t know if you meant you fucked up and she left.”

“I did fuck up. A bit like you, I kept my mouth shut for too long and didn’t tell her how I felt. I went away on a business trip, and by the time I got back, she’d reconnected with her ex.”

Fuck, it was hard enough never to have had Sarah. Imagine having her and then losing her. I think it’d kill me. This hurts hard enough.

“So it was before you were married then?”

“Yeah, way before then. I think she was only about nineteen at the time.”

“What happened?”

“She married him.”

“Oh fuck. Maca? You were with her before she married him?”

“Yep, not for long, but long enough for me to know that she was the one.”

He sips his drink, before adding, “it nearly killed me. I’d spent the previous couple of years getting myself cleaned up. After the death of my first wife, I was a mess.”

He sips his drink and shrugs, “I’m not an alcoholic or a drug addict, but I have been known to overindulge when things get tough. When I met Georgia I was the happiest I had been for the first time in years, maybe in forever, but definitely for a while. Then I lost her, and I just needed something to numb the pain. Cocaine, whisky, vodka, they all fit the bill.”

He lets out a long breath, causing his lips to roll together.

“You need to accept it and move on Will. I’m probably not the best person to give advice, but I will tell you this, you can either live each day in the hope that something will happen to make her come back to you, or you can save yourself a whole world of heartache and pain, and move the fuck on.”

“Is that what you did.”

“Nope.” He doesn't hesitate with his response. “I knew that one day I’d get her back. I never expected it to happen the way that it did, nor would I have ever wished for that to have happened, but, I just always knew, in my heart, in my gut, even in my head, I just knew that my time would come.”

“I don’t feel that.”

“That you’ll one day get her back?”

“Yeah, I know that I’ve lost her for good.”

“Then move on. If you don’t, the hurt will consume you, churn you up and spit you out, that, in turn, will make you a shit employee and I don’t employ shit. I only employ the best.”

I give him a small smile, “and there I was thinking that you wanted to be my new dad and that you actually cared.”

“I’m not that old you cheeky fucker, and I already have four kids of my own, thank you very much. And…” He lets out a long slow breath before continuing. “I do care, about my business. You’re a part of my business, so, I’ll give you this one last piece of advice.”

He stares at a framed photo that sits on the desk in front of him. I can only see the back of it, but I know from memory that it’s of him and his wife.

He takes a sip of his drink and then raises his eyes back to meet mine.

“If you do ever get another chance with her, or, if you ever meet another girl that makes you feel the way that she did, or does, don't hesitate, not even for a second to let her know. Make sure there is no miscommunication between you. Just put it the fuck out there and let her know exactly how you feel.”

He gives his big shoulders a small shrug, but before either of us can say anymore, the door to his office swings open and the voices of at least a half-dozen women talking at once invades our space.

Cam's eyes widen before he smiles.

“Book, what are you doing here?”

“Alright Queenie, how are you?” I hear someone question. The accent is similar to Cam’s, cockney or Essex but at the same time slightly refined. ‘Posh Essex,’ if there is such a thing.

“Paige, you can’t just barge in there without knocking.”

Cam’s eyes widen further, and I turn my chair to face whoever has caused the noise and interruption.

I get this feeling inside me, but I’m not sure where it’s actually centred, it could be my chest, it could be my belly. It’s like when you think there’s one more step left at the bottom of the stairs when you’re in the dark, but there’s not, and just for a split second, you think you’ve missed it and are about to fall. That feeling where everything inside you plunges and then drags itself back to its rightful position, only my insides have lost their way on the return journey, becoming twisted into a tangled mess, making my gut churn.

I stare at her.

She stares right back at me.

She’s young. About twenty if I had to guess. And she’s stunning. Tall, slim. Long, light golden coloured hair. Olive skin and gorgeous blue eyes that look almost too big for her delicate face.

“Kitten.” I hear Cam say from somewhere within the room. I move my eyes to his wife as she appears in the doorway and my stomach once again takes a dive to my boots, and my heart all but stops beating when I realise the likeness of the younger woman to Georgia King.

Fuck. My. Life.

She must be their daughter. My bosses daughter for fuck's sake. I have to shut down each and every improper thought I’ve had the previous few seconds. Thoughts about those pouty lips wrapping around my dick, thoughts about those big blue eyes, smeared with mascara as I fucked that beautiful mouth.

I blink, take in a deep breath and tuck each and every one of those inappropriate thoughts away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lesley Jones was born and raised in Essex England but moved to Australia in 2006 with her family. Her first book, Saviour, was published in 2013 and she quickly gained a reputation as a writer of gritty, down to earth characters, involved in angsty and emotional plot lines. Carnage, her third novel, has won a number of awards for ‘Best Ugly Cry’ Her readers love the fact that she can switch her stories from hot and steamy, to snot bubble ugly crying, followed by laugh out loud moments, in the space of a few sentences. She has declared that the very best part of her job is meeting her readers and has travelled the world a number of times over the past few years to do exactly that.

When not writing, she has admitted to being a prolific reader, getting through around four or five books a week. She is a fan of trashy reality TV, listening to music, watching her son play football and enjoys a glass of wine… or three.

 

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