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I carried Mason into the kitchen. The wallpaper was yellow and peeling, but it looked relatively clean. The back door was covered in locks, each one firmly shut, which made me feel a little bit better.
I sat down at the kitchen table. “Hungry?” I asked Mason, and I lifted up my shirt.
He wasn’t eating long before I heard a creak in the other room. Emory appeared in the doorway, staring down at me, his eyes slightly wide.
“Never seen a woman breastfeed before?” I asked him.
“I didn’t realize you did that,” he said.
“How did you think Mason ate?”
“Formula, I guess. It was always in a bottle.”
“Breast milk,” I said, smiling at him. “Don’t tell me you’re squeamish about this?”
“Not squeamish,” he said, coming into the kitchen. “Just surprised me. Isn’t he too old for that?”
“How old do you think he is?”
Emory made a face. “Not sure. Five months?”
“Close enough. You’re supposed to breastfeed babies for the first six months, or until they want to start eating real food. I think he’s probably almost ready.”
“He’s in luck then,” Emory said, opening the refrigerator, “because I’m making breakfast.”
“With what?”
He pulled out eggs, bacon, pancake batter, orange juice, and coffee. “Well look at this,” he said. “Someone went shopping late last night.”
I laughed. “Where’d you get all that?”
“After you fell asleep I found an all-night grocery store.”
“Thanks. I’m starving.”
He started cooking then and put on a pot of coffee. Mason finished eating, so I held him in my lap, bouncing him slightly.
The smell of delicious breakfast food filled the kitchen. I took a deep breath and smiled to myself. Nothing made me feel better than a big mug of coffee and a bunch of delicious breakfast foods. Nothing in the world was better than some nice, thick bacon fried crispy.
Except for maybe the way Emory could make me feel with just his fingers.
I sighed, shaking my head. I couldn’t let myself think about that. Sure, we were alone in this house, but the house was pretty bleak. It looked like nobody had been in it in a long time, and the dust was pretty thick. I planned on cleaning it up soon, if at least to make it livable for us.
Because who knew how long we were going to be staying there.
“Where’s Travis?” I asked after a bit.
“Around,” Emory said. “Bacon?”
“Please. But where’s he staying?”
Emory put a big plate of bacon, eggs, and pancakes in front of me. I could feel my stomach rumble, and I started eating while trying to keep Mason from stealing all my eggs.
“In his car,” Emory said. “He’s going to stay out in the field, act as our screen.”
“Screen?”
“Sure. Outward defenses. Make sure nothing slips through.”
“I feel bad. Can’t he come in and eat?”
“Maybe,” Emory said, “but why risk it? He’s fine out there.”
“He’s sleeping in a car.”
Emory sat down with a big plate heaping with food and smirked at me. “We’re SEALs, Tara. We’re trained for this shit.”
“Training or not, we could make his life easier.”
“Trust me, he’s fine. Sleeping in his car is easy compared to living out in Pakistan for months at a time.”
“Do you do that often?” I asked him.
“Sure. It’s the job. I’ve spent more time abroad than I have in America since becoming a SEAL captain.”
I cocked my head. “Where have you been?”
“Afghanistan, Pakistan, a few other places I can’t tell you about. Most of my shit is top secret.”
“Of course,” I said. “You’re so mysterious.”
“Not me, princess,” he said. “The government. I just follow orders.”
“You don’t seem like the type that’s good at following orders.”
He grinned. “Maybe when they’re coming from lesser men, but I trust my superiors.”
“Like I’m supposed to trust you?”
“Exactly,” he said. “Except I don’t want to suck my superior’s cock.”
“Who said I did?”
“The way you look at me is more than enough. You don’t need to say it. We both know you keep thinking about my cock deep between your legs.”
“Can you at least try to pretend like you’re not a crude jerk for one morning?” I asked him, annoyed.
“I could, but what’s the fun in that?” He dug into his food, eating with a voracious appetite.
