Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
“I think you can do away with the Mr. and Mrs. We’re John and Kate.” John and I shake hands.
“Alright. Ready to head in? Lawson mentioned Fletch will be calling, and it’ll be easier to do this with everyone over. Mae won’t have to relive it,” I suggest.
“Yeah, we better get. JW, a lot of shit happened to you, too. Make sure if you need help, you get it, too.” I don’t shrug him off; he’s right. I’ll have to deal with almost losing Maeve and not being able to do a damn thing about it replaying day and night in my mind's eye.
“I will.” Our conversation tapers off as we walk inside where everyone else is gathered. The minute the door opens, the loud noise we could hear from the outside quiets down, and all eyes are on us, including Mae’s.
“Perfect timing. Fletch is calling now,” Lawson announces. I walk to Maeve, hand wrapping around the back of her neck while being careful not to jostle her too much.
“Am I on speaker?” Fletch asks.
“Yep, everyone is here,” Lawson replies.
“Good, I’m going to make it short and sweet. Clayton Smith, along with all his aliases, is being held without bond. Since he’s created felonies in multiple states, the United State Marshalls are involved as well as the FBI. I’m officially off the case. You may get a call for further information. Though it’s doubtful since I handed over all your statements. I’ll keep you in the loop regardless. My IT guy back in Peachtree used his magic, so the bad reviews are gone, your website is back up, and you’re the sole owner once again. I think I’ve got all the basics covered. Any questions?”
“Thank Christ,” I say.
“Finally,” is Mae’s response.
“Thanks, Fletch, we appreciate all your help. Couldn’t have done it without you, man,” I tell him with everyone else giving their own soft replies.
“Anytime. I have no doubt we’ll be on the phone again sometime soon. The Johnson brothers keep me on my toes.” Mom and Dad let out a bark of laughter, the rest join in, and when Fletch hangs up, my eyes focus on Mae. She breathes a deep sigh of relief. There’s only one way to celebrate this shit being done, and that’s with my mouth on hers.
EPILOGUE
JW
One Month Later
“Maeve.” I walk up behind her. She’s in the zone, completely oblivious that I’m inside the store with her. Whisked Away is closed for the day, the outside light is off, and there are no cars in the front parking lot. That’s probably why she’s got the music thrumming through the speakers louder than normal. Her hips are swaying back and forth while my woman sings along to Ty Myer’s Drinkin’ Alone.
Maeve’s body tenses for a moment until she realizes it’s me. Once Clayton Smith was put behind bars on concurrent charges in a federal prison, we all heaved a sigh of relief. There were also a lot of changes in our day-to-day life. The bakery got outdoor security cameras, Maeve now parks in the back instead of the front, and the back door is always locked. We both also have key fobs to arm and unarm the alarm. The way Maeve is so zoned into her work, it’s no wonder she didn’t hear me or feel my presence until I wrapped my body around hers.
“Joseph.” Her head relaxes against my chest, hands still in the dough she’s kneading. The ingredients off to the side clues me in on what she’s making: cinnamon rolls. My lips land on hers. Her soft little purr gives me all the invitation I need. Her tongue slides along mine, and I take what she so willingly gives. “What are you doing here?” she asks between kisses. When she left for work this morning, she was wearing a tank top, a skirt, and a pair of white canvas sneakers. I knew what I’d be doing the minute we were both off work. Except I couldn’t wait for her to come home.
“I think it’s pretty obvious. You in this skirt, hands busy and occupied. Today’s my lucky fucking day.” Her eyes flutter closed as I slide my hands downward, pulling the fabric with the tips of my fingers.
“That’s not fair,” she bemoans while pressing her ass into me at the same time. I move back, wanting to see what she’s wearing beneath the flowy skirt.
“Motherfucker.” I’m damn near breathless. “Elbows. Arch your back and show me.” The missing panty lines and not feeling any fabric clued me in about the lack of undergarments.
“Daddy.” She’s bent over, hands no longer in the dough; they're now gripping the edge of the table. Flour is dusting her workspace, making more of a mess than normal, and we’re both about to reap the rewards.
“Baby girl wants her daddy. You knew what you were doing this morning putting this on, didn’t you?” She is wearing panties, if you can fucking call the G-string that. My pointer finger slides beneath the material, and drag it along nice and slow. The lower I go, the more soaked the fabric becomes.