“There’s so much more to come. Just you wait.” With that, he walks us towards the kitchen counter and proves to me everything he’s said.EpilogueBraxtonSix In A Half Years Later“Oh shit, you’re in trouble, boss man,” Craig says when he sees Rowen’s truck pulling in. Today is her day off. The twins have run her ragged more and more lately. Having them here doesn’t always work to our advantage. Hell, it’s not easy having almost five-year-olds under foot, and what they say about the terrible twos, that was a lie. I think this year has probably been the hardest when it comes to our strong-willed children.
“Fuck, Baylor and Zach must be giving her hell today,” I grumble.
“When aren’t they? I mean, they’re cute and all, but they sure as hell give you a run for your money,” Marty inserts.
“It’s part of the reason I’m not even asking for more at this stage in our life. I love them to no end, but with the way they move and the mayhem they create, we’re going to enjoy them while we can,” I reply. Shit, it wasn’t long ago that I asked Rowen if she wanted me to get a vasectomy. It was one of those days I got off work early. The kids were running around the house, and there was Rowen, sitting on the kitchen floor, a bottle of beer in her hand and staring into nothing. It was when I looked around and saw that she wasn’t even fighting with them on putting their toys away before they started on another task, something we’ve both tried to instill in them even at this young age. Our house isn’t something huge and grand. We work with what we have, and neither one of us is willing to move into something bigger for the hell of it.
She looked up at me, a small smile on her face, and said, “You can’t beat ‘em, may as well join them. I’ll clean later. They aren’t fussing or arguing over who has what toy right now. So, I’m just relaxing.”
Rowen pulls so much fucking weight in our family, sometimes I feel like a slacker. She still works here three to four days a week, takes care of the kids while they’re here and not at their grandparents on the rare occasions. Still somehow manages to cook and clean. Though we alternate as much as we can around the house, I still feel like she does ten times more than I do. Even when she says it’s a team effort.
“Braxton.” My name comes out breathlessly. She parked her truck right outside the garage bay I’m working in. If it were later, and the guys were gone, I know exactly how I’d take her.
“We’re out of here,” Craig states.
“Yep, I think we’ll take an early day,” Marty agrees, like they’re both mind readers all of a sudden. I wave them off, my eyes set on the siren. Those blue eyes our children got from her still rock my world and have the ability to bring me to my knees. Rowen’s hair is down, flowing in the wind. She’s wearing a tight tank top and a skirt that ends well above her knees and flutters with every step she takes.
“This is a nice treat,” I tell her, already taking off the top half of my coveralls, wanting to get my hands on her and dirty her the fuck up.
“It’s a good thing I’m looking to get serviced then,” she sasses.
“Oh yeah, I suppose that’s why my men just scurried off, closed their bays, and hightailed it out of here?” I ask.
“Well, I may or may not have had something to do with that. It’s not every day that Bridger and Kellie offer to take the twins for not only the afternoon but overnight. I’m not one to pass up an opportunity like that.” It’s then I notice what she’s not wearing. Those goddamn nipples are pebbled, telling me she’s not wearing a bra.
“It’s a damn good thing no one’s around, Mrs. Martinez, or I’d be slapping your ass red for what you’re walking around wearing,” I grunt. Rowen does the complete opposite of what I expect, she steps inside, turns around, bending at the waist and giving me the sweetest fucking glimpse of the lower globes of her ass cheeks. I watch the entire time as she makes a full-on display of hitting the button I moved lower for our kids to close the garage door. When the lips of her cunt show, all bets are fucking off, and I’m stalking my prey.
“Like what you see?” She’s still bent over. Her head peeks around, watching while I wash my hands at the sink. When I’m finished, I pull my own white tank top up and over my head. Rowen stands back up, her chest heaving, fire inside her eyes.