Things We Burn Read Online Anne Malcom

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports, Virgin Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
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His hands rushed to Mabel’s head, which had begun moving around, her soft grumbles of disquiet calmed as her half-asleep father took her into his arms.

“Good morning, my pretty princess,” he murmured against her head, inhaling deeply. His eyes met mine, cataloging me.

“You didn’t sleep,” he deduced. “And I did. What an asshole. Fuck, I’m sorry, Chef.”

“You’re sorry for sleeping?” I asked, a hint of teasing in my tone. It felt forced, that lightness, battling against the weight that settled against my chest at some point in the night.

“I’m sorry for sleeping while my woman stayed up with the baby, yeah.” He brushed his hand through his hair, holding Mabel one-handed.

“I’ll get up, you don’t move a fucking muscle,” he demanded. “You sleep. Now.”

Without waiting for me to respond, he got up from bed with Mabel in his arms, walking in the direction of our bedroom.

“Kane,” I called.

He turned, baby against his chest. Our baby against his chest. “Yes, Chef?”

“You’re basically naked,” I pointed out. My skin prickled at the visual.

He was only in his underwear, Mabel nuzzled against his bare torso.

“So?” he shrugged. “She doesn’t care, and we know skin to skin is great for bonding these next few days. Plus, I like the feeling of her close.” He pressed his lips to her head. “And I know you don’t hate the view.” He winked.

“All of those things are true.” I was struggling to have what felt to be a normal conversation when my emotions were pinballing around my brain.

“And as long as you don’t mind my mother and Maisie enjoying that view too—which they will, I’m sure. They have no shame—then you go right ahead.” I shifted in bed, wincing at the small movement and the pain it sent radiating to my crotch area.

Though they were staying at the inn in town, both of them had slept on the pull-out couch last night, in case we needed anything. My mother planned on staying there for the rest of the week. I’d thought it was overly indulgent, but considering the way I was feeling, it wouldn’t be overly indulgent if she stayed there for the next year.

Kane stiffened as he clocked my wince. “What do you need? Painkiller?”

I scoffed as if the measly Motrin would do anything besides dull the edges of the knife carving away at my insides. “No, I need to use the bathroom.” He did not need to know that I also needed to reassemble the pad and hemorrhoid patch concoction that the nurses had showed me.

Kane darted across the room, gingerly setting Mabel down in the bassinet beside our bed.

Her little face instantly screwed up as she made sounds of protest.

“Daddy is going to be right back,” Kane told Mabel. “I’m just helping Mommy.”

I reeled at the labels.

“That’s us,” I muttered. “We’re Daddy and Mommy.”

Kane grinned, his face light despite his exhaustion. “That’s us, Chef. Daddy and Mommy.”

He pulled back the covers, leaning down to put his arms behind my shoulders in order to help me from the bed.

“You don’t need to do that,” I argued, my voice strained with pain. “I’m capable of getting out of bed on my own.”

Mabel’s protests continued in the background, my teeth grinding at the sound of her displeasure.

“I watched you give birth without drugs.” Kane carefully helped maneuver me so my feet touched the floor. “I’m well aware that you can handle the simple act of getting out of bed. But my masculinity cannot handle that my useless nipples can’t do anything other than this.” He pulled me up to standing, again carefully.

When Mabel’s cries intensified, I felt it in my stomach. In my womb, cramping in sync with the wails. In my skin. My jaw clenched and every fiber of my being rebelled at the sound, something inside me screaming to go to my baby.

Despite the blood rushing to my already soaked pad, I made a beeline for Mabel instead of the bathroom.

Kane scooped her up before I could, one hand still on me.

How he could handle our newborn baby so confidently one-handed was anyone’s guess. I still had trouble moving her from one breast to the other—with both of my hands.

Mabel continued to whine, but she seemed to calm somewhat in Kane’s capable grasp. He then began to walk us to the bathroom.

“You need me to help in there?” He, to my mortification, nodded to the toilet.

I pursed my lips. “I think I can take it from here.”

He paused for a moment then nodded.

I closed the door firmly behind me, resting my back against it and closing my eyes for a second.

I wanted, very badly, to sink onto the cool bathroom floor and sleep. A subtle cry from beyond the door sounded, then a soothing, low, masculine whisper.

There was no room for luxuries like sleeping on the bathroom floor. I was a mother now.



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