Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 68576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“Y-yes,” she breathed.
I gave it to her harder.
Not faster, though.
Slow, hard thrusts, filling her up and gauging her reaction with each thrust.
She cried out again, but this time not in pain.
And couldn’t stop myself from letting go.
From reaching for her clit after letting her nipple go.
I circled it once when she started to come.
So. Fucking. Responsive.
My balls drew up, and I started to go right along with her, pulsing hot jets of cum inside of her with each thrust of my cock.
“Oh, God,” she breathed, her body sprawling. “What the hell was that?”
I pulled away, my gaze going to the mess we’d made, and reached forward to wipe it all away with the white towel.
“Gonna need to bleach this,” she breathed, eyes closed.
I grinned and pulled away, going back to the shower and turning it on.
When it was hot, I came back to the bed and gathered her into my arms.
Together we took another shower.
Only when we were dried off and once again in bed did she ask the inevitable.
“Why are you here?” she whispered.
I looked at the ceiling.
At our bodies plastered together in the mirror that was facing toward us.
“I had a weird day today,” I said. “I didn’t know what to do.”
Didn’t want to arrest you.
My every instinct had said that it was wrong, but fuck.
I really hadn’t had a choice.
“I thought you were fired?” I said before she could reply to my earlier statement.
“I was,” she hedged.
I looked over at her then.
“Did you blackmail them to get your job back?” I wondered.
She shrugged. “I did what I had to do.”
I didn’t want to know.
Well, I did.
But it might be best not to, just so I could have plausible deniability.
Nobody offers to show me a cool rock they found anymore. Adulthood is so dumb.
—Atlas to Pepper
ATLAS
Getting calls with children involved sucked.
Getting calls with babies involved were even worse.
“Unit 1882,” the dispatcher said. “Call came in at the Corner Store right next to you about a baby being left in the car.”
I looked over at the Corner Store.
It was a huge country store that was similar to a Tractor Supply, but on steroids. It also had two restaurants in it, as well as a gas station. It was a tourist trap and was supposed to be competition for Buc-ee’s on the corner of the interstate.
Usually, people spent an hour there or more.
“Unit 1882 responding,” I said as I put the car in drive.
My stomach was somewhere in my throat as I made the mad dash across seven lanes of traffic to pull into the Corner Store.
I parked the car across four parking spots and ran toward the locked Suburban.
It looked familiar, but I didn’t give it any more thought than that before I reached the group of people.
“It’s locked,” someone said as I arrived. “We’ve tried all the doors and windows. You’re gonna have to break it.”
I didn’t waste time.
When it was August in the middle of Texas, you didn’t have much time to waste when it came to kids being trapped in hot cars.
“The baby’s cries are weakening,” another good Samaritan said. “I almost broke it myself when you came to a stop.”
I took my baton out of my belt and used the back handle to break the glass on the driver’s side.
The glass gave way with a satisfying pop, and I used the baton’s barrel to clear the glass away as I leaned into the vehicle.
It unlocked, and the man nearest me was already opening the baby’s door.
I pushed him out of the way, and immediately took the young boy out of the car seat.
He was flushed, lethargic, and crying so weakly that my heart started to pound in my throat.
Without much thought, I ran with him into the building, hoping that the cooler air would help while we waited for an ambulance.
The moment we were inside, I placed him flat against the front desk, and started to strip off his clothes, knocking a bucket of hat clips off right onto the floor in my haste.
“Oh my God!”
“My baby! Oh my God! My baby!”
The mother came barreling toward me, but a man stopped her with a lethal, “Stay the fuck back!”
“That’s my child!” she cried.
The voice.
The voice was so fucking familiar.
I chanced a glance after I stripped the baby down to his diaper.
“Water,” I said as I looked around. “I need water.”
That is when my world stopped.
Because the familiar voice of the woman trying to get to her child belonged to a woman I knew well.
Biblically.
Emory.
I turned back to the baby, and that’s when I saw the birthmark on his rib cage.
I had the same one on my own.
My stomach sank.
“You aren’t getting anywhere close to him,” I heard another woman say. “You made us think that you’d gotten him out of the car!”
An ice cold bottle of water was given to me, and I picked the baby up in my arms like he weighed nothing.