Eli (Mallick Brothers 4)

But even a lot of little nothings could add up to something, right?

A whole lot of tiny grains of sand made up the entire shoreline.

Oh, good God.

What was wrong with me?

"What?" Peyton asked, over her shoulder from where she was bent looking in the fridge, brow raised, making me realize that the growling noise I thought I had made internally, actually came out of my mouth.

"Nothing."

"Don't you be going 'nothing-ing' me, young lady!" she snapped in the absolute perfect imitation of our father.

We hadn't exactly cut ties with our parents, but one could say things were rather, ah, strained. They couldn't have us at their Thanksgiving table. I mean, what would they tell their other ultra conservative friends?

My eldest daughter slings smut for a living and, as you can see, our youngest is intent on becoming a human canvas.

Since we both moved out, there had always been this unspoken rule that we didn't show our faces at their events, but we must call on Christmas, Mother's Day, Father's Day, and their anniversary.

It was a system that worked out well for all involved since we were all such different people. That being said, Peyton liked to imitate the way they continued to speak to us on occasion. You know, to remind us what we weren't missing by not being too in touch.

"Were you having impure thoughts about a boy?" she went on, this time making her voice high and just slightly nasal - a spot-on mother impersonation. "Because you know what you're supposed to do when you have impure thoughts, dear," she went on, but then came back with a big cucumber and wiggled her eyebrows at me.

I laughed, snatching it away from her, deciding a salad was in order for dinner. Mainly because I planned to hit the local bakery and bring home half a dozen donuts just for myself.

"It's not that," I said, then rolled my eyes at her raised brow. "Okay, there is a little bit of that. But it's more that... I shouldn't care. Right? I mean, it's crazy. I don't even know the man. I haven't even officially met him."

"And yet you share a dog with him."

"I don't share Coop with anyone. Except you. I mean, I've had him for almost six years now. He's mine."

"You send him pictures. And updates. Let's face it, your doggy-daddy is serving time in the penn, and you are making sure he gets to watch him grow up."

"Be serious."

"I mean, this will be new for me, but I can sure try," she agreed, pressing her lips into firm lines, but her eyes were dancing. "This is my serious face." It took two seconds for her face to break out into a grin. "Come on, Autumn!" she said, shoving her shoulder into mine. "What does it matter if you maybe get the downstairs tinglies about some guy you saw once?"

"It's not the 'downstairs tinglies' as you so maturely put it," I countered. "It's more that, I dunno."

"You give a shit about him?" she suggested, her shoulder moving up to her ear as her nose scrunched up, like the idea was completely foreign to her. "And you think you shouldn't because he's a prisoner."

"It's less the prison thing--" though maybe that should have been more of a factor, "and more that I don't even know him! But I think about him way too much."

"You know what it is?"

"No, what?" I asked, turning toward her.

"You desperately need to play sink the sausage." At my snort/laugh hybrid, her smile curled further upward. "When was the last time you rocked the Casbah? Or kneeled at the altar? Given someone your lunchbox? Oh, wait, I know. It's been almost two years. Years, Autumn. Years."

"I can't do..."

"Sex without a commitment. I know, I know," Peyton finished for me, shaking her head. "I'm just saying. If you're wondering why you can't get Hottie Mc Death Row--"

"He's not on death row!"

"Off your mind," she went on. "It's because you haven't done the four-legged foxtrot in far too long."

"Nice alliteration."

"Just saying," she said, raising the cucumber again, giving me a serious nod.

"I own a sex store! I can more than keep my sexual appetites appeased."

"Oh, please. You and I both know that that is not the same. You need to feel a man's weight on you, have his hands sink into your ass, have his mouth over your tits, hear his grunts and growls while he fucks you... it's different. You know it is."

I did.

That was maybe the worst part.

I loved sex.

I mean I loved it.

I almost felt bad for the men I did end up dating because they needed to mainline Gatorade and protein shakes to be able to keep up with me.

And I loved all the amazing, brilliant nuances of the act. The feels, the tastes, the smells, the sounds. It was the best creation in the universe - the way two bodies entwined.