I stretched and groaned as I flipped on my side, pressing my body closer to hers. My face settled in the crook of her neck, and I inhaled deeply.

She smelled like strawberries, and something else. Something citrusy that I couldn’t quite determine. A quiet moan escaped my lips as I pushed my nose in her hair.

My sleep-addled brain was struggling to wake up as my eyes fluttered open and gazed blearily ahead. I yawned deeply and rubbed my eyes, trying to get rid of the last remnants of sleep.

I didn’t usually wake up on my own, it often took one large alarm clock to get me up and running, but for some reason, I’d stirred on my own today. As soon as my eyes focused, I frowned as I tried to remember where I was.

This wasn’t my bed, and that definitely wasn’t my ceiling.

And who was sleeping next to me?

Suddenly, the events of the previous night came pouring forth, and I lay perfectly still as I cursed myself for being an idiot. How could I let myself cross that line with Lyla?

It was one thing to fantasize about her from a distance, and quite another to sleep in her bed, cuddled up to her all night.

How did that even happen?

Lyla was sleeping with her back turned to me, her chest rising and falling evenly, and her hair fanned out across the pillow.

My cock twitched as my eyes ran over her petite curvaceous body, and I let myself imagine all the things I wanted to do to her.

I gritted my teeth as I shook my head and shifted, so that I could cool off.

I began to massage my temples and figured the best way to calm down was to take a cold shower, but I didn’t want to risk waking her up. She was probably dead tired, and I wasn’t sure what I’d do if she turned to look at me with those plump lips, and her sleepy eyes.

I was still human after all.

The bed creaked and groaned as Lyla shifted to her side, facing me and giving me an ample view of her chest. Somehow, her flimsy tank top had ridden up during the night, and because she didn’t sleep with a bra on, her naked breasts were on display.

My mouth felt dry as I swallowed heavily, growing harder and harder with each rise and fall of her breasts. She had a peaceful look on her face, and I speculated about what she would look like writhing in pleasure beneath me.

Emily cried out, a sudden sound that had me glancing towards her room sharply. Lyla kept the door that connected their two rooms open to be able to keep an eye on her throughout the night, and I could hear Emily clearly from where I was.

I glanced regretfully at Lyla as my lust drummed through me, and my heart ached to comfort Emily. Finally, I carefully swung my legs over the side of the bed, pulled on my pants and padded softly to Emily’s room.

---

As soon as she saw me, her crying softened to hiccoughs as she raised her hands expectantly. Slowly, I slipped off my shirt because it was sticking uncomfortably to my back, and I crouched down to pick her up.

I began to bounce her up and down hoping that direct physical contact, and the rhythmic bouncing I’d seen Lyla do would calm her down. It wasn’t working as well as I’d hoped though. Sure, she wasn’t wailing anymore, but tears were still sliding down her cheeks.

“Shhh,” I said, softly. “It’s okay, darling. I’m here. Let’s not wake Lyla up, eh? We want her to rest for a bit.”

Emily grabbed a fistful of my neck hair and tugged rather painfully. “Ouch. You’ve got a strong grip, don’t you?”

Emily released the hair, apparently not happy with her results, and gave a quick sharp cry. “Oh, I get it. It’s because you like Lyla’s long blonde hair. Well, I can’t do anything about that, kiddo. I’m sorry.”

I pulled her away to look at her, and she gave me a tearful but angry look that almost made me want to laugh. “Oh, you are going to be headstrong, aren’t you? Just like your mother. I can see it already in the stubborn tilt of your chin.”

Emily gave me a sour look, as if I’d somehow done something wrong.

It had been a while since I’d taken care of her in the morning, and I didn’t recall her being this cranky. She was such a well-behaved baby that it was odd to see this side of her.

Perhaps it was something new? I’d have to ask Lyla once she awakened.

“Hush little baby, don’t say a word, Papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird, and if that mockingbird don’t sing, Papa’s gonna buy you a…teddy bear?” I suggested, hopefully.

A quiet chuckle sounded from behind me, and I wheeled around to find Lyla glancing at us in amusement. “That’s not how the song goes. You know that, right?”

“I couldn’t remember the lyrics,” I said sheepishly, as I tried to forget how she looked just a few minutes ago. Luckily for me, she’d switched to sweatpants and a shirt. She strode forward and held out her hands for Emily.

Emily cooed and ahhed as soon as she saw her, and impatiently wriggled from my grasp. Once Lyla placed her atop her shoulder, she instantly quieted down.

I flashed a hurt look in my daughter’s direction as Lyla smiled apologetically. “It’s just because she’s used to me. It doesn’t mean she loves you any less.”

“My pride is wounded,” I joked as I poked Emily in her sides. A bubble of laughter escaped her lips as she tried to bury her face in Lyla’s hair.

“So, that’s how it’s going to go, is it?” I teased as I made faces at her. “Alright, baby girl. I can see where your loyalties lie.”

“Your Dad is just kidding,” Lyla assured her as she rolled her eyes at me. “Also, he’s being a big baby right now.”

“I am not,” I said, defensively.

“You’re sulking.”

“I’m not sulking,” I insisted as I uncrossed my arms and kept them at my side.

“Really?” Lyla raised an eyebrow at me. “What do you call what you’re doing right now?”

“Parenting,” I responded, somberly.

“Those are some parenting skills,” she teased as she rocked Emily back and forth, much to the baby’s delight. The look of pure joy stretched across her features was unlike anything I’d ever seen.

“I’ll teach you some time,” I offered seriously, as I shoved my hands in my pockets. To her credit, Lyla was trying really hard not to stare at my naked chest. For some odd reason, I didn’t mind the intimacy of it.

Besides, we hadn’t done anything, and it was insanely hot.

Lyla shifted as she turned her attention back to Emily. “Are you hungry?”

Emily made a noise that could be construed as a yes as she babbled happily. “Let’s get you changed first.”

“Can I help?” I was quick to ask as I gazed at my daughter hopefully. Diaper duty was one thing I couldn’t honestly say I missed, but I suddenly wanted to be part of the day-to-day upbringing of Emily.

After all, I had no idea how many of those I had left. It was hard not to be feel disheartened by my meeting with Abigail Windsor yesterday. Even the sight of Lyla and Emily talking to each other couldn’t dispel the heavy cloud that suddenly shadowed our happiness.

“Of course, you can,” Lyla said, brightly as she handed me Emily. “I’ll get her bath ready first.”

---

Lyla went to the bathroom that she and Emily shared and drew up a bath. She was careful to place her arm in the water to make sure it wasn’t too hot or too cold. Once she was done, she prepared the baby shampoo, and the small loofa she used.

She gestured for me to bring Emily who started gurgling and clapping her hands together as soon as she saw the basin. Slowly, I undid her onesie and placed her into the water where she splashed her hands happily.

“Gee, thanks, Em,” I said, sarcastically as I stared at my jeans in dismay. The front portion was wet, and Lyla couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her lips.

“Collateral damage,” Lyla warned as she shrugged, a smile playing on the edge of her lips.

“How come she didn’t splash you?” I asked.

“Because she—”

I interrupted her by splashing some water across the front of her t-shirt. The comical look of surprise on her face was enough to make me chortle until I noticed that the front of her shirt now clung to her chest provocatively, and I could see the outline of her breasts.

My laughter died off uncomfortably as I shifted, and we bathed Emily together in silence, careful not to touch each other lest we be tempted to cross another line we shouldn’t. Once we were done, we headed to the kitchen, and Emily quietly sucked on her bottle as Lyla fluttered around putting on a pot of coffee and making breakfast.

“You don’t have to do that,” I said finally, as I perched awkwardly against the counter, in my own kitchen.

“I want to,” she insisted as she waved my protests away. “Besides, I make a mean omelet.”

“Really? I didn’t know,” I said, surprise lacing my tone.

“You’re always out of here in such a hurry, you’ve never gotten to try them, so here, sit down and enjoy.” She pulled a chair out for me and gestured for me to sit.

Bemused, I watched her flit around the kitchen, going from one corner to the next as she took out bits and pieces of food, making herself right at home. It was a sight that filled me with an odd sense of peace.

It was as if Lyla belonged there in my kitchen.

Strange as that may sound.

Her shirt rode up to reveal her lower back as she tried to reach for the salt on the top shelf. She huffed in frustration as I got out of my chair and went to help her. I chuckled as I handed her the salt, our hands brushing against each other in the process.

“It must be nice to be tall,” she mumbled as she avoided looking at me.

“It has its perks, but so does being short,” I offered as I moved back to my chair.

Lyla pushed her hair out of her eyes and gave me a pointed look. “Only tall people can say that. What possible advantage could there be to being short?”

I thought about it for a second, scratching my chin thoughtfully in the process. “Nobody asks you to get stuff.”

Lyla barked out a laugh. “Yeah, I guess that’s one thing.”

“Nobody asks you to play basketball,” I added.

Before I could continue my list, the doorbell rang, bringing our brief interlude from reality to a crashing halt. Lyla gave me a questioning look. “Should I get that?”

I shook my head. “I should probably get it.”

With my heart in my throat, I opened the door, mustering up as much fake bravado as I could drum up.

A young man who was in his early 20s with too much gel in his hair, and small murky brown eyes stared at me in disinterest. He looked like he was fresh out of college, or still in it, which made me wonder what he was doing here.

A wave of relief washed over me. “Can I help you?”

“Are you Clay Baker?”

“Yes.”

“Sign here, please.” He held up a pen and paper, so I quickly scribbled my name. “What’s this?”

“You’ve just been served.”