Morrison (Caldwell Brothers)

“I love you, little momma.”

Slowly, I guide her hips back and forth on me. Her head falls to my shoulder as I rock her into a slow buildup that ends with an orgasm shared with the chick who owns my heart.

“That,” I whisper against her cheek.

After I dry her body and mine, I decide to shave and make myself presentable for court tomorrow. When I finish, I see Hailey climbing into bed, ass in the air—and tagged “Caldwell’s Little Momma.”

I hurry and grab her hips before she makes it to the top of the bed. “You’re giving me shit about needing the word ‘owned,’ and you’ve already got your ass tagged with my name and yours?”

She rolls over and giggles. “Livi.”

“Aw, yes, Livi.” I kiss her again, ’cause I can’t help it. “What the hell am I gonna do with you?”

“Love me,” she answers with a vulnerability I have never seen in her before, and it is even sexier than the strength I saw in her on the first night.

Strength is a turn-on, but knowing that a woman who has lived the life Hailey has has decided to give me herself and her daughter, to trust in me, to give me lust, desire, and a responsibility I never knew I wanted so badly . . .

Now, that is sexy on steroids.

So I do just what she asks. I love her. All. Night. Long.

Hailey is quiet as she gets ready for court. I know she and I are good, but the insecurities caused by her not saying the words I want to hear are fucking with my alpha instincts. That’s why I’ve basically put them in storage until I know I’m not going to scare her off.

I also know she is exhausted, because so am I. Last night was nonstop body worship on both our parts. Fucking amazing.

She is less vulnerable now than she was, but I don’t know what she is going to do when put in the same room with that fucking piece of shit.

“Morrison,” I hear from behind me. I turn around to see her standing by the door, and I feel my jaw twitch and nostrils flare. “You okay?”

“Me?” I ask, pointing to myself.

“Yes, you. There isn’t anyone else—”

“Let’s keep it that way.”

Her lip turns up in the corner. “Are we gonna do this again?”

“If you say so.”

She rolls her eyes. “We’ll be late.”

“You got my name on your ass today?” I ask as I grab the suit jacket off the hanger. I turn around to find her standing right in front of me.

Instead of answering me, she reaches out and grabs my sack, squeezes, and then turns to walk away.

I grab her and pull her back against me. “Find what you’re looking for?”

“Yep.” She stares up over her shoulder at me.

“You haven’t said a word today.”

“I’m tired.”

“Sore?” I smirk as I kiss her neck.

“A bit, yes.” She leans to the side, exposing more of that beautiful neck.

“That’s hot.”

We arrive at Clark County District Court thirty minutes before the proceedings are scheduled to begin. We meet the prosecuting attorney, and he explains that I am going to be questioned and to just answer to the best of my recollection.

“Mr. Timmons is facing charges including vehicular assault, assault with a deadly weapon, attempted murder—”

“How long will he be in jail?” Hailey interrupts.

“We can offer him a deal—drop the attempted murder charge, in which case he would get two to twenty years, but the likelihood of him serving even five years is slight. I’d like to offer him assault with a deadly weapon with a mandatory four years in prison, followed by two years’ probation.”

“I want him to rot,” I tell the district attorney.

“I completely understand, but nothing is guaranteed in a criminal trial. He takes a plea, and you’ll know where he is for the next four years, minimum.” He looks at his watch. “I need an answer. If we can settle this now, we avoid court and save the taxpayers money. If you want me to take this to court—”

“Give him the plea,” Hailey says as she looks up at me. “It’s a guarantee. Marisa will be—”

“Eight, ten when he gets off probation. Still too young, babe.”

The attorney looks through his file. “Marisa is his daughter?”

“My daughter,” Hailey answers. “He agreed to give up his rights.”

“Do you have that in writing?”

“No, I have his word.”

The DA leans back in his chair and looks up at us. “So, this whole thing is about you, the mother of his child?”

“Watch the way you speak to her.”

“No disrespect, but if this goes to trial, they get a jury, and they spin it the right way—paint you as a cheat and you as a home-wrecker—he isn’t going to spend four or five years; they never do. I can’t tell you what to do. It’s your choice, Mr. Caldwell.”