𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗠𝗮𝗺𝗮 𝗗𝗶𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀
by Belle Brooks Author can be read as a standalone.
This Book is Rated ‘𝙀’ for: 𝗘𝗫𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗠𝗘 Parenting.
𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗧𝗔𝗜𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚 Grossness.
𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗚 Relationships.
𝗘𝗫𝗖𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗜𝗩𝗘 Cussing, under ones’ breath.
And a whole lot of 𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗙𝗨𝗟 situations!
𝐄𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐭
Nick falls against the door frame, his back pushed to the wood.
He clutches his chest. “Well blow me down. Cindy Crawford is on my bed. I’m one dumb, lucky son of a gun.”
I giggle as I rake my gaze from his shaggy brown, but sun-bleached hair, to his chestnut eyes. His navy-blue work clothes are covered in speckled plaster dust remnants. He’s never been more handsome to me. Even though he has many creases around his eyes and across his forehead these days, and he sports a tiny dad-potbelly that once was a tight six pack, I’d never want to change a single thing about him. My husband is perfect.
He growls from deep in his throat. His straight white teeth are on full display. Then he licks his lower lip.
“You like what you see?” I give him a cheeky wink.
He bares his teeth, gnashing them together. “So, so very much. I want to lick, bite, and devour every single piece of you. You are better than ice-cream and you know how much I love me some ice-cream…”
𝐻𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠. 𝐴𝑛𝑑, 𝐼 𝑑𝑜. My cheeks redden with heat.
“My wife is hot.” He kicks off his boots, unfastens the belt holding up his strides, and stalks to the end of the bed.
“Honey, clothes off outside the room. The dust will go everywhere, and I hate cleaning, you know this.” I shouldn’t care, our house is perma-messy, but plaster dust is hell to clean off fabric.
“Sorry, babe.” He turns in a flash, rushes out of the bedroom, and drops his draws in the hallway. He unbuttons his work shirt, revealing the hairy chest he tells our boys he got from eating all his greens as a young whippet, before stripping the material completely away. He stops. Our eyes connect.
“Jocks off out here too?”
I nod.
He removes them in one swift motion.
“Am I right to come in now?”
‘The Beast’ draws my attention. I wiggle my eyebrows in response.
“Geez you’re a horn dog.”
I smile. “Uh-huh.”
Nick doesn’t walk or saunter into the room. Instead, he does a jig, like a poorly postured version of a cha-cha, slide. I giggle.
“Are you laughing at me?”
I sit upright and point to my chest. “Me? Laughing at you? Never!”
He rushes in my direction, lunges onto the bed, and pushes me flat on my back—him hunched over the top. His pearly whites blind me. Oh, how his smile could light up the stormiest of days. Our eyes find each other.
“Hello, you,” he says.
“Hello, you.”
𝗔𝗩𝗔𝗜𝗟𝗔𝗕𝗟𝗘 𝗡𝗢𝗪!
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