Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Her mouth twists to the side.
“It’s okay if you weren’t. And it’s okay if you said you were because you wanted your dad to tuck you in again, honey. I know this is different and that maybe you were excited at first, but now you’re nervous about me sleeping over here.”
Her fingers go to her lips. “I want you to sleep over, but I want to be part of the sleepover.”
I nod in understanding. “Because you don’t want to feel left out?”
She nods.
“I get that, but the best part of a sleepover is waking up and making breakfast together, and then spending the day having fun. Nighttime is for sleeping, and if we don’t get a good sleep, it’s hard to have a good next day.”
“When I go to bed late, I’m grumpy.”
“And we don’t want to be grumpy for chocolate chip pancakes, do we?”
She shakes her head.
“So I’ll sing you a song, and then you have to try your hardest to stay in your bed and go to sleep, okay?”
“Okay.”
I curl up beside her and start singing a lullaby. When I get to the end, Peyton whispers tiredly, “One more?”
“One more.”
Before I start singing she takes my hand in hers and laces our fingers together. “I love you, Harley.”
“I love you too, Peyton.” I kiss her temple and fight to keep my voice steady as I sing the second lullaby. I repeat the final refrain twice, her hand going lax. I give it one more minute before I finally slip out of her bed and steal out of her room.
This definitely isn’t a long-term strategy, but she needs reassurance. And hopefully, with time, these sleepovers will become part of her normal.
Gavin is sitting on the couch, staring at the TV, a hockey game playing with no volume.
He glances in my direction and his eyebrow lifts. “Is she actually asleep?”
“I’d give it five minutes, but I think so.”
“Fingers crossed.” He pats the cushion beside his, and when I sit down beside him, he wraps an arm around me and pulls him into his side, bending to press his lips to my temple.
We watch the game on low for fifteen minutes before we deem it safe and turn off the TV and most of the lights, apart from the hallway. Gavin makes sure the doors are locked before he takes my hand and we pad quietly past Peyton’s closed door. I’m very grateful that Gavin’s room isn’t right across the hall or right next to Peyton’s, and that there’s a bathroom between them.
Once we’re inside his bedroom, he turns the lock on his door and takes my face in his hands, planting a searing kiss on my lips. I moan quietly, gripping his strong arms. I find the hem of his shirt and slip my fingers underneath, skimming the taut ridges and planes of his abs, up his chest, dragging the fabric with it.
His hands leave my face, and he yanks his shirt over his head, then crouches and grabs me by the ass, hoisting me up. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he lowers me until I can feel him, hard and thick between my thighs. He claims my mouth again, his kisses hot and demanding, full of pent-up desire. It’s been weeks since we’ve been able to steal any alone time. More than a week of talking about it, of late-night video chats from across the city where we talk about what we plan to do to each other when we’re finally naked and alone.
He carries me across the room to the bed, sets me on the edge, and grinds himself against me. I buck and groan quietly, especially when he tears his mouth from mine and nips his way across my jaw and down my neck. He shoves my nightshirt up and my sports bra along with it and latches onto a nipple, sucking roughly.
I gasp, and one of his hands presses over my mouth to stifle the sound. Which is a good idea, because he follows with teeth. “You think you can be quiet if I go down on you?”
I grab one of the pillows from the top of the bed. “With a little help, maybe?”
He chuckles and stands up, fingers dragging down my stomach and curling around the waistband of my leggings. I’m already throbbing between my legs, and he hasn’t even touched me yet.
I’m about to lift my hips when the patter of feet in the hallway puts me on alert. His doorknob turns, but thankfully it doesn’t open. “Daddy? I had a bad dream!” Peyton calls out.
“Give me a second!” His eyes flare as he looks down at his pajama pants, which are tented rather impressively. He tucks himself into the waistband, which doesn’t look all that comfortable, and pulls a shirt over his head. And then a sweatshirt for good measure. “We really need that weekend away before I die of blue balls,” he grumbles as he heads for the bedroom door. I bite back a smile, because I’m sure it’s uncomfortable, even if it’s kind of funny how perturbed he is.