Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
I can do this.
I repeat those words to myself as I force a grin. “Okay. Just once.”
“Just once,” Maren says to Katie. “Then how about we set the table for dinner?”
Katie nods enthusiastically. “But you fly first.”
Maren’s cheeks are definitely pink as she looks at me. “All right. So I’ll stand here . . .” I move right at the same time she moves left. Her shoulder collides with my chest, her hand brushing my stomach. The scent of fresh-cut flowers fills my head. Her perfume? It’s too delicate to be shampoo.
Whatever it is, it’s sexy, and I like it. Pressure builds in my core.
“Sorry,” we blurt in unison.
Maren laughs as she carefully steps in front of me, her back to my front, her fists on her hips again in that fucking adorable cheerleading stance. “It’s okay. I haven’t done this in a minute, so I’ll do my best to stay as stiff as possible.”
For the love of God, can you not say that word?
“Put your hands here,” she motions to her waist, glancing over her shoulder but not meeting my eyes. “You’ll have to keep your grip relatively firm so you can lift me.”
I silently gulp for air as I step forward so that our bodies are . . . way too close. Is the air conditioning not working? Jesus Christ, I just had the unit for this floor fixed. It should be pumping ice cold air. But I’m sweating fucking bullets.
“Go, Daddy, go Daddy, go, go, go Daddy,” Katie is chanting.
I close my eyes. The things I do for this kid.
Opening them, I do as Maren told me and put my hands on her waist. She’s so tiny and my hands are so big that they almost wrap all the way around her body. A shockwave of . . . something rips through me. Flexing my fingers, I wonder how she can feel so soft and so strong all at once.
“See how I keep my body straight?” Maren asks Katie, apparently oblivious to the desire roaring to life inside me. “Now it’s easier for your daddy to lift me up.”
I clear my throat. Give the very short leash I keep that desire on a mental tug. “Do I, uh, just pick you up and lift you straight up, or . . .”
Maren cuts me a saucy glance over her shoulder. “Unless you want to toss me all the way into the air? I’ll need ten or so feet to do a split.”
She can do a split?
I nearly bite off my tongue to keep from following that train of thought.
“Let’s stick with just lifting you up,” I manage.
“On the count of three,” Maren says. “Katie, you want to count us off?”
My daughter is bouncing on her tiptoes again, delirious with excitement. “One, two, three!”
My knees crack as I bend them. Just as I’m about to lift her, Maren covers my hands with her own, grip firm. Almost like she doesn’t trust me to hold her up.
Sweetheart, you’re a goddamn feather compared to the weight I use for squat thrusts.
I tighten my own grip, fingers finding purchase in the sweet little circle of her waist, and then I straighten, lifting Maren high into the air.
“Whoa!” Maren says.
I chuckle. “You really thought I wouldn’t deliver?”
“Now straighten your arms!” Katie yells, repeating Maren’s instructions. “Go Karen, go Karen, go, go, go Karen.”
“Maren,” I correct. “You just had it.”
She glances down at me. “You sure you got this, Tuck?”
“Don’t offend me, Karen.”
Her lips twitch. “Okay.” She lets go of my hands and straightens her arms. Then, surprising Katie and me, she starts doing a whole routine in the air, chanting a Carolina cheer in a loud, clear voice. She moves her arms in some kind of dance that looks like a more polished, much cooler version of YMCA, clapping her hands before waving pretend pom-poms.
Katie goes absolutely apeshit. My arms begin to burn, but that’s nothing compared to the throb that gathers between my legs. Maren’s body rocks in my hands as she moves, forcing me to tighten my grip. I’m worried I’m hurting her, but Maren keeps chanting, and Katie keeps shrieking.
Damn. Maren is good at this.
And damn if it’s not a fucking turn-on. The confident smoothness of her voice, the feel of her small but mighty body in my hands. Her chants echo off the walls. Alongside Katie’s laughter, they make the house feel very loud.
Very full.
My phone, which I left on the counter, chimes. The timer for the broccoli.
Too soon.
And not soon enough.
“Gotta throw the shrimp in the oven.” My biceps scream as I slowly lower Maren to her feet. “Hope you enjoyed your flight.”
I let out a silent sigh of relief when she’s safely on the ground. But then Maren pivots her body at the same moment I loosen my grip, because of course we’re moving in sync. My palm glides across her stomach. Her lower stomach. My thumb grazes the slice of bare skin above her shorts.