Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
She slowly pulls her lip from his hold. “And we know you’re not just anyone.” Her little temptress fingers unbutton his jeans and pull down his zipper.
It’s not a good idea. He’ll miss his flight. Livy’s in labor.
But … his dick doesn’t understand why he needs to make this flight. All his dick knows is Frankie’s on a mission to wrap her warm, wet mouth around it. And his dick is a huge fan of Francesca Holter’s mouth.
“Frankie …” He says with a pained voice.
She wrinkles her nose. “Sorry. You’re right.” She glances at her watch. “We’re adults with responsibilities. You’ve been an awful influence on me these past few days.”
“Get on your knees,” he says, shoving the front of his jeans and briefs down just enough to release his erection.
Frankie lifts a brow. “Are you—”
“On your fucking knees,” he says in a firm tone, but he can’t help but smirk because he’s biting his tongue to keep from saying “please.” A man needs to have standards. He’s saving actual begging for a last resort.
Frankie blinks several times before matching his smirk and lifting her skirt to kneel before him. She wraps her hand around the base and circles the head with her tongue.
Eu-fucking-phoria.
He blinks heavily, lips parted, when she takes him in her mouth. Then, his phone vibrates in his pocket.
“Goddammit,” he grumbles, instantly feeling guilty, thinking it could be Livy. Sliding it out of his pocket, he answers it, even though it’s not Livy.
“What?” he snaps.
Frankie’s lips pull into something resembling a grin, but she doesn’t stop what she’s doing, and he’s confident he’s never idolized anyone … until now.
“Livy’s in labor. And I’m just now finding out you’re in New York?” Jessica asks in a scolding tone.
“Not a good time.” He bites his lip.
Fuck that feels good.
“Are you getting on the plane?” Jessica quizzes.
“I’m getting off.”
Frankie stops, eyes wide in disbelief.
Jackson slowly shakes his head at her and pushes into her mouth a little deeper.
“You’re already in Boise?”
“No.”
“Then where are you getting—oh god. Are you having sex?”
“I have a flight to catch. I’ll call you later.” He slides his phone onto the counter, which makes Frankie release him and stand.
She straightens her skirt, tucks in her blouse, and sips her coffee like she didn’t just have his dick in her mouth.
“I hate my sister,” he grumbles, zipping and buttoning his fly.
Frankie dumps the last of her coffee in the sink and wraps her arms around his waist. “Go witness a miracle.” She walks forward, forcing him to retreat slowly—a dance to the door.
“I’ll call you.” He kisses her one last time, wishing he could take her with him.
Frankie wipes a little lipstick from his lips. “You better. And you better send me lots of pictures.”
Jackson can’t contain his grin. Miraculously, so much of his life has turned into a miracle. Despite the death. The grief. The agony of living more than one life. Somehow, he’s found his place of peace, and it’s a goddamn miracle.
He doesn’t look back when he heads out the door, but he calls to her, “I fucking love you.”
There’s a pang of disappointment when Jackson arrives at the birth center to his sleeping daughter with a babyless belly and the guy who knocked her up asleep in a recliner with a tiny baby pressed to his bare chest.
Slade peeks open one eye when Jackson approaches him. But Grandpa Jackson gets shot down with a tiny headshake. Slade’s not giving up his baby just yet.
“Fucker,” Jackson mumbles.
Slade closes his eyes and smirks.
“Daddy,” Livy’s groggy voice draws Jackson to her bed.
“Hey, baby.” He kisses her forehead. “I missed it.” He frowns, sitting next to her.
She eases her body to a sitting position, rolling her eyes. “You didn’t miss anything. I wasn’t going to let you watch.”
“Where’s Wylder?”
“Jess and Luke have him.”
Jackson nods, trying to hide yet another punch of disappointment. They made it before he did.
“Where’s Frankie?” Livy’s gaze jumps over Jackson’s shoulder to the door.
“New York.”
“She didn’t take you back?” Livy pulls out the pouty face she’s perfected since she was old enough to figure out that her dad’s a sucker for it.
“I’m not a lost puppy.”
“You are.”
“Are you going to tell me who’s under that blanket?” He jerks his head toward the baby.
Livy grins. “Your granddaughter, Ryn Adeline James.” The second she says it, tears fill her eyes—the happy kind. And in the next blink, they slide down her flushed face.
Jackson’s chest constricts while he works his words past the congestion in his throat. “She would be so proud of you.” He wipes her tears just before kissing her forehead. “Adeline?” He narrows his eyes.
“It’s Slade’s mom’s middle name.”
Jackson nods. It’s Frankie’s middle name. This might be the most perfectly named baby ever. “Now tell that oaf of a husband of yours to give me my granddaughter.”