Kat

The slap slap of my bare feet on the hardwood echoes down the hallway to the sound of Scarlett cheering loudly in the kitchen. Who needs an alarm when you have your child’s voice to rouse you? Approaching slowly as to not disturb whatever it is they’re boisterously up to, I falter a step at the sight spread before me. On the stool, her back to me, Scarlett’s going wild—fist pumping the air, dancing in her seat. While Roxie lays on Ryker’s bare back as he does pushups. And they’re not just any pushups. We’re talking on the knuckles, back to his hands, one armed, the next arm, one leg up, then down. If there weren’t drops of sweat pooling on the floor beneath his face, I wouldn’t think he’s winded at all. Pausing midway down, in a plank pose, his face tilts up, and he notices me. A giant, albeit slightly naughty, smile curves at the corners of his lips. His blue orbs dance with mischief. I’m half tempted to escape back to my bedroom, where he can’t bewitch the butterflies in my middle that’re going berserk at his presence. They started last night even before he kissed … made love to my fingers. Who knew a few simple touches would start a blazing fire between my thighs? When I’d gotten back to my room, I didn’t make it two steps before I was fingering myself to a knee-buckling climax. If it weren’t for the wall to help support me as I banged my quivering sex to oblivion, there would be bruising on my knees this morning. He’s a sex God incarnate. Sweaty and shirtless with our daughter on his back? Sweet baby Jesus. I might as well surrender my ovaries right now. They’re begging to make six hundred more babies with this panty dropper … soaker … incinerator.

Ryker mutters something to Rox, whose chin’s resting on his shoulder. She glances up, smiling broadly. “Mom!”

Padding into the kitchen, my presence no longer a secret, I stand next to Scarlett. “Hey, Mom! Ryker has done fifteen pushups with Roxie on his back. Isn’t that cool?!” Her exuberance is a few decibels short of rupturing eardrums.

Patting my daughter’s shoulder, I kiss her cheek. “Ya don’t have to yell. I’m right next to you.”

Scarlett covers her mouth with her hand. “Ooops. Sorry. I’m just so excited! He’s super strong.”

Ryker resumes his pushups at a slower pace, gaze fixed on Scarlett and me. I wonder if he can tell I masturbated to him last night. Gee. I hope not. That’s embarrassing.

Heat suffuses my cheeks at the thought.

“That he is,” I comment, watching Ryker hold his opposing leg and arm up at the same time without falter. The defined muscles in his shoulders ripple. Oh my fairy unicorn princesses, this is not fair. There’s eye candy everywhere in the world. Like a single piece of deliciousness you savor and move on. Then you have my ex who’s a candy buffet the size of Walmart. The supercenter ones. Not the lame ass, basic bitch stores without grocery.

“Mom should get a turn, too,” Scarlett announces, brushing a blonde strand of hair off her face.

“No!” I object vehemently; in the same breath, Ryker says, “Sure.”

Shaking my head, I take a step back, poised to flee to the bedroom. “Not happening. No way.”

Ryker lowers himself to the floor, and Rox climbs off, but not before she pecks his cheek in thanks. Not sure how I feel about that one. I’ll digest it later.

Now upright, Roxie strides my way and wraps me in a tight hug. Scarlett joins in from the side. A second later, they’re shuffling me forward, toward their Dad. I try to drag my feet, knowing these little girls are up to no good. Except it’s impossible when you’ve got two children your size throwing their weight around.

Ryker’s hand seizes my ankle once I get close enough. “Come on, Kat. Join in the fun.”

“Yeah, Mom. Don’t ruin the fun,” Scarlett begs.

“You can do it, Mom,” Rox steps away, taking her sister with her. From the floor, Ryker pleads with terrible puppy dog eyes for me to play along.

Defeated, I harrumph, and tap tap tap my foot on the floor in agitation. “Just this once. I don’t wanna break your Da—Ryker’s back.” Oh no! Please say they didn’t pick up on the tongue slip.

Ryker saves the day when he thumb points to his taut back that’s littered with ink. “Sit down, facing my ass, legs straight out over mine. If you need stability, hold my shoulders or sides.”

Following his instructions to the T, I get in position. Palms curve over his damp shoulders. His skin’s incredibly warm, and his scent heady. All man, Old Spice deodorant, and pheromones. Any time now my panties will combust.

“You ready?” Ryker prompts.

“Yep. Don’t break anything.” I’d feel awful if he did.

“You don’t weigh that much, Kat. We talked about this last night. If you feel like you’re gonna fall, tell me, and I’ll stop. Girls, get to countin’.”

One-by-one, Ryker pistons his ridiculous hard body up and down in quick succession. Slow down, fast up. Roxie and Scarlett chant each pushup. By the time we crest fifteen, I start to freak, worried I’ll injure him if he goes any longer.

At twenty, when he becomes sluggish, I almost call it off.

“Four more,” he grits, the slick muscles beneath me vibrating under strain.

I wait it out, nervous he’ll not be able to move afterward.

Ages pass and the final pushup ends. Ryker lowers himself carefully to the hardwood and expels a rushed breath, body deflating, arms fanning out above his head. I scurry off, sitting on the floor beside him so he can breathe easier.

Ryker turns his flushed face in my direction, cheek resting on the floor. “You should sit on me more often,” he grins tiredly, drawing lungfuls of air through his nose. The muscles on his shoulders twitch every now and again, bald head glistening.

I nudge his ribs with my foot. “Be good. There are children present.”

Ryker scowls, lips pursing. “I am. I wasn’t talkin’ dirty. It’s good for me to have you sit on my back. There’s only so much training you can do with weights. You have to adjust and be more conscious of each movement when you’ve got somethin’ precious sittin’ on you.”

Oh. My mistake.

Opening my mouth to sincerely apologize, I falter when Ryker sits up, exposing the world to his glorious physique. Men like this aren’t real. They’re not. I close my eyes in disbelief and open them again. Ryker orders the girls to get their school stuff around. It barely registers because I’m too busy shamelessly objectifying perhaps the sexiest man God’s ever crafted. And God has created some mighty fine specimens. The Rock; need I say more? However, Ryker’s hotter. He’s gotten thicker—more chiseled since I saw him at Thanksgiving. When we had sex last, I didn’t take the time to appreciate his body in all its glory. I’m starting to sound like a broken record, aren’t I? Going on and on about his hotness. Well, I’m sorry. It can’t be helped. I’m a recovering Brent aka Ryker addict, who was just reintroduced to my drug of choice. Like most drugs, it sounds good. Looks good. You want another hit. But you know it ain’t good for you to relapse because you’ll be stuck going through detox all over again. And detox sucks.

Going about their business, the girls disappear, and Ryker climbs off the floor with the grace of a gazelle. He offers me a hand to help me up. I’m no fool, so I accept. With his assistance, I’m slightly less of a grunting pregnant mess getting off the floor. This is why chairs are lovely. They’re easy to get up from. The floor at this size, not so much.

Once I’m safely on two legs, I dust my sweatpants off out of habit. They’re not dirty. “Thanks.”

Ryker lifts his chin in acknowledgment, wipes his face off with a towel on the countertop, and guzzles a full bottle of water. Each pull of the cool liquid forces his throat muscles to constrict. There’s never been a sexier neck. Holy Moses. If I’m gettin’ off to throats, I think it’s about time I get laid. Between last night and today, I’m having a hard time keeping my wits about me. It’s difficult to remember why you’re keeping a distance when the hungry cooter in your pants wants to play hide the sausage. Whoever said only men think with their dicks was dead wrong. Pussies are demanding horndogs, too.

“What other exercises did you do today?” I ask lamely, trying to make casual conversation and failing.

“I ran two miles before I woke the girls up.” Ryker stretches his arms high, to the side, and pulls them across his chest. They’ve gotta be tight after that work out.

Desperate to find things to discuss, I scan the kitchen. It’s devoid of any dishes. “What’d the girls eat?”

“They wanted cereal. So I cut them up a few strawberries and bananas to go in some Wheaties. Rox also wanted a yogurt. I figured that was okay.” He shrugs one shoulder.

I nod. That’s a fairly healthy breakfast.

“We’ve gotta roll out in ten, munchkins!” he hollers.

“Okay!” Scarlett returns.

Ryker tosses his empty bottle in the trash, and, as quick as a snake strike, snatches my hand. Before I get a chance to object or dig my heels in, he drags me behind him to the walk-in pantry. “What are you trying to show me?” I squeak.

Ryker flips on the light, pulls me all the way inside, and slams the door shut. Then he attacks. Cupping my jaw in his big mitts, he takes my mouth in a punishing kiss, stealing the air from my lungs.

Oh, god.

I melt.

Our bodies collide in a tangle of limbs and tongues, slamming against the door. Clawing at his shoulders, nails finding purchase, I hook my leg around his and throw caution to the wind. I need this. I deserve it. The world fades into oblivion as I lose myself in him. Moans are swallowed. My belly dips. Waves of pleasure pulse between the apex of my thighs. Ryker’s body envelopes mine in blissful heat. My bump’s cradled in his crotch, cock, hard and delicious, pressing in, just enough for me to feel the steely length, but not so much it hurts. Passionately, our teeth, lips, and tongues battle for supremacy until I can barely draw breath.

There’s a knock on the door that vibrates through my spine. “Mom. Ryker?” It’s Scarlett.

Shit!

Ripping his lips from mine with a pained groan, Ryker replies in a moderately smooth tone, “We’re discussing something, beautiful. We’ll be out soon.”

Wait a second … there’s blood dripping down Ryker’s chin, and there are speckles on his chest. Blinking slowly, my brain still floating in a rose-colored fog, the world trickles back into focus like a saline drip, releveling my endorphins. That’s when I feel it. The fiery throbbing in my bottom lip. A gush of warmth runs down my chin, landing in fat droplets on my shirt.

A flash of concern washes over Ryker’s features. “Fuck! I broke open your lip. I’m so sorry. I shoulda known better. Hold your face, babe. I’ll get you somethin’.” Frantically, he searches the pantry for something to staunch the heavy bleeding. I cup my hand over it, coating my palm in crimson. It does no good.

Why do facial wounds have to bleed like a stuck pig? It’s gross.

Tearing open a new roll of paper towels, he rips off a long bit, balls it up, and presses it to the gusher. “Here.”

Afraid the bleeding will worsen if I move my mouth to tell him it’s not a big deal, I take over, holding the wad in place instead. Pacing the small space, Ryker grumbles a string of obscenities and yanks his cell from his track pants pocket. Wait. When did he put that there?

Tapping a few buttons, he smashes it to his ear. “Kade, get your lazy ass outta bed. Katrina needs you,” Ryker barks in the receiver.

There’s a muffled reply.

“I know what time it is. Leave the whore to see herself out. I broke open Kat’s lip when I kissed her.”

Cue loads of yelling. Ryker holds the phone away from his ear to prevent damage. Too bad I can’t make out Kade’s words.

“Calm down. I didn’t do it on purpose… I know I shouldn’t have kissed her… Have you seen her? You woulda kissed her, too, if she almost called you Daddy…”

So that’s why he kissed me? That’s sorta sweet. Guess it’s a good thing I kind of love that we mauled each other’s mouths. The bloody lip’s a measly casualty in the heat of the moment. The claw marks on his shoulders aren’t much better. I’m sure they’ll bruise tomorrow. See, that’s the telltale sign of a damn good kiss. One that knocked my world off its axis. There’s no guilt to mull over. I needed it, and he’s the best kisser I know. It’s a win-win in my books. Although, a change of comfy cottons is definitely in order.

“Yes, I put something to her lip, Numb Nuts… Fuck no. We’re not doin’ that. We’ll call this even… For what? Is that a joke? You tryin’ to tell me you weren’t the one sendin’ my old lady dick emojis…”

More yelling ensues.

Rolling his eyes at his brother’s theatrics, Ryker yanks the phone away from his ear again. “Kade’s a tad dramatic.”

He winks, and I force myself not to smile. They’re quite the brotherly duo. There’s no doubt emotions ride high in this family. Ryker keeps fidgeting every three seconds, tapping his fingers on his thigh, abs, arm. His leg bounces nonstop, and he keeps peeking at me with sorrowful eyes every half second to see if I’ve collapsed from blood loss. That’s not going to happen. If he doesn’t take a chill pill soon, I’ll have to step in. There’s no need to get bent, when all I’ve got is a simple bloody lip. No harm. No foul. And it doesn’t hurt much. I’ve been through worse.

“You done?” Ryker clips when Kade’s through berating him. “Good. Listen, I gotta take my kids to school. Rosie’s here to keep an eye on Kat. But I gotta bounce, or they’ll be late… Yes. We’re even… No. You’re not givin’ me a fuckin’ black eye for wakin’ you up… I’ll give you a black eye in return… Jesus Christ, Kade. Shut up, get on the bike, and ride your lazy ass here. Katrina needs you.” Ryker ends the call, not waiting for a reply.

Pocketing his phone, he turns to me, hands trembling. “I’m so sorry, babe.”

I nod, knowing that he is. It was an accident. The girls have them all the time. This is no different.

“Don’t be mad. Please.”

I shake my head, so he knows I’m not.

“Good.”

Tension drains from Ryker’s frame, and he gifts me a tiny yet wary smile. Hugging my shoulders with his massive arms, he drops a smooch to my hairline, pausing to nestle his nose there. “Love you. But I gotta jet. Our girls are gonna be late. Sorry, you can’t ride with us. But Kade’ll be here soon to fix my fuck up.”

With that, he gently shuffles me away from the door and opens it. Both kids are seated on the stools, chatting amicably until they see us exit the pantry.

“Mom! What’s wrong?” Roxie blasts off her seat to come to my aid. It warms my already full heart.

Knowing I can’t speak, Ryker answers for me. “I was showin’ Mom some stuff in the pantry, and she bent down to look. Hit her mouth on the shelf and busted her lip open again. That’s what was takin’ so long. We were tryin’ to stop the bleeding.” He points to his pecs and the mess smeared there. If the girls were a bit older, they’d realize Ryker probably shouldn’t have blood on his chin as well. Luckily, they buy the story hook, line, and sinker.

Roxie lays her head on my shoulder, fingers cuffing around my upper arm. “We can’t leave her like this.”

“Don’t worry. Kade’s on his way,” Ryker explains to pacify the children. The last thing I need is them fawning over me all day long, worried about my mouth. When all I need is for them to learn lots at school, some fresh glue for my lip, and a hot bath.

Briefly nuzzling the side of my head to Roxie’s, I then nudge her toward Ryker, who lifts his chin, silently checking to see if I’m good. Nodding once, I give him the A-Okay. He hesitates, studying my face. A frown mars his own as he turns to get our kids out the door.

Backpacks are slung, hugs exchanged, and the kids skip off to school without me in tow. It saddens me to see them go without me present, but something in my gut says this is good for them. That they’ll be alright. Ryker’s got this. He’s proven to be a competent father over the course of the last few days he’s been around. Which is more than I could’ve asked for since we were uprooted from Indiana. To be honest, everything, since we've arrived, has been pretty spectacular. Dinner with three of my favorite men. A big bathtub to soak in. A comfy bed. Entertaining books to occupy my mind. A nice bedroom for the girls. This move has turned out to be better than I expected. At least in the few days we’ve been here, it has. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.

Hiking my big booty up on a stool, I patiently wait for Kade to come fix my face. Perhaps I can convince him to take me into town for breakfast this morning. I’m craving a billion rashers of crunchy bacon. Not the limp, chewy kind. Only weirdos eat that. Wait. Are you one of those weirdos? Whoops. Sorry. I didn’t mean it. High five if you like bacon at all—even the floppy dick kind. #BaconIsLife. Shhh … don’t tell my kids I’m cool enough to use hashtags. It’ll damage my uncool mom rep.