Loving the Homewrecker (BOOK 3)

18

Adora

Santiago walked downstairs, his hair damp as he scratched his abdomen.

"Morning, baby," he greeted, wrapping his arms around me from behind, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

"Morning, babe," I said, smiling as he pecked my cheek.

He looked down at the large breakfast I was preparing, pointing to it. "Damn, who are you cooking for?"

I shot him a dumbfounded look.

"Your parents?"

"Holy shit, that's today?" He asked, "I thought that was tomorrow, or the next day, or any other day but today."

I giggled. "Nope, it's today."

He puckered his lips out with a sigh.

"It all already looks delicious. What all are you cooking?"

"Eggs, bacon, sausage, homemade biscuits," I said, "you know, American breakfast food. Since it's been a while since they've had a true American breakfast."

"You know a lot about being American, huh," he muttered, an eyebrow cocked up at me. He leaned against the counter and folded his arms over his chest.

"I do," I said, "forty-three percent, if we're getting logistical."

"Ah," he said, "ancestry?"

I giggled and nodded. "Something like that."

I continued to stir the eggs around in the pan but I felt his eyes boring into me, my chest specifically.

I looked down at my chest and back up at him, furrowed brows.

He just smiled and puckered his lips out.

"I swear, you are a literal teenager," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Well according to science, I'm supposed to fully mature in two years," he said, folding his arms over his chest, "maybe you can stick around for that long."

"Oh, you're very mature when it comes to everything but the female body."

He chuckled, shrugging. "I like your body, what can I say?"

I smiled and looked down at the skillet in front of me. I reached inside the fridge and grabbed the pack of bacon, placing it on the counter beside the sausage.

"You're going to be a hot mom."

I just furrowed my brows together and looked up at Santiago, shaking my head with a laugh. "Whatever you say."

"I'm being serious," he said, "what are those called? Milfs?"

"Santiago!" I whisper-yelled, slapping his abdomen with a towel, "stop."

"I've been told I'm a dilf, what's the difference?"

"It's less offensive."

"You don't want to be a mom that would everyone would like to f-"

"Would you like me to be that?" I asked, an eyebrow cocked up at him.

"I honestly wouldn't care," he said, "I've seen guys break their necks trying to look at you, I don't worry much when it comes to guys staring at you. I just grab your ass and get on with it."

I just narrowed my eyes and nodded slowly.

"But I'm the only one that gets to fuck you, or think about it."

I giggled. "I knew that was coming."

I laid a few strips of bacon out on the skillet in front of me, sausage on the pan diagonal from the other.