AN: Thank you to those who read and reviewed California Love. My next request was Gil and Zara walking in on Nick and Amanda having sex. I can't scar the kids too much so I did my own version of it, and hopefully the anon who requested it will be fine with this story. I meant for these to be stand-alone fics, but this one is sort of a sequel off the last one. Yes, the twins will be featured in this fic. Read, enjoy, and review!

And please check out my other two fics: Ruined Beyond Redemption and Save Room.


11. Kitchen Nightmares


You can do a four-in-hand knot in your sleep; and you might as well have considering you're doing it in complete darkness without the requisite cup of coffee. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you tighten the striped tie around your neck and smooth it down to lay flat and center.

The alarm clock flashes the time as 7:27AM in bold red characters. It's the only source of light in the room; even the blinding California sunshine can't penetrate through those blackout curtains. It's one of the few things you discovered about the woman sleeping in your bed. She can't sleep unless a room is pitch black, whereas you're quite the opposite. Not that you sleep with a nightlight or anything like that, but you like to have some visibility of your surroundings in case there's a break-in. Explaining your rationale only gives her more ammunition to call you out on your paranoia. But then you remind her that she should reconsider teasing you because, after all, you caved to her sleeping preferences. Not the other way around.

The wife may win this battle, but she should be at least a little more grateful.

Looking over your shoulder at Amanda's sleeping frame, you smile and feel at peace knowing she's finally home. After 48 hours of working the ground on a case of a missing four-year-old girl, her squad finally found the girl a few miles from the Mexican border. Amanda was still running on adrenaline when she arrived home past midnight. But beneath all her excitement (and caffeine), she was on the brink of exhaustion. What she did to you to use up all that pent up adrenaline and what you did to send her to a peaceful, uninterrupted slumber were probably best not mentioned just before you had to run to work; but you can't help but grin wickedly as you discover her handcuffs attached to the bed post. Rubbing your wrist with your thumb, you note that your skin still feels raw, but it's the kind of pain you don't mind at all.

Lowering your head, you press a soft kiss on top of her head.

Wallet, phone, and keys go in your pockets; and your watch slides over your left wrist. As silently as possible, you try to make your way across the room towards the door. But since you're trying so hard not to wake her up and luck has never been on your side, your hip slams into the sharp corner of your dresser.

"Motherfuuuuuuuu—"

You clamp down on your bottom lip as you wince in pain. Amanda stirs in her sleep and her face contorts in annoyance. "Shhh…" she mumbles half-asleep.

Holding onto your breath, you tiptoe out of the room, slowly turning the knob to let in as little light as possible. She groans, sensing the intrusion, but she falls back into her slumber once you close the door.

You walk down the hall and turn towards the twins' bedroom. Alex is off on his side of the room, playing with blocks. He's already dressed himself in his favorite Captain America t-shirt and sailboat print shorts, which were a birthday present from his uncle Rafael. Meanwhile, Noelle is hidden under a pile of clothes. You chuckle as you lift her out of the contents of her dresser only to find her wearing six different layers of clothing.

"Mija, you're going to feel hot under all these clothes. Why don't you just pick one shirt to wear?"

"But I want to," she whines, sounding just like Zara did when she was her age. Noelle's lip juts out and her big brown eyes blink to await your response.

"Daddy," Alex says from his neater side of the room. "I tell Noey same thing."

You can't help but smile when your son confirms what your wife has been telling you for the longest time – your son is a chip off the old block.

Noelle tries to pull off the shirts and dresses, but struggles when her head and arms get stuck. You help her, but she refuses your assistance, wanting to dress herself on her own. "Just like mommy," you say, smiling as she finally agrees to let you help her. Once she's down to her last layer of clothing, she pulls down at the hem of her light blue shirt with a graphic of a pink bow.

"All right, we good to go, space cadets?"

Both of them stand up straight and salute. The twins have been obsessed with anything space-related in recent weeks thanks to your weekend outing at the California Science Center. You tried to explain what you were seeing in a way that would make sense to three-year-olds, but the twins only really cared about pretending to be Little Einsteins blasting off in their imaginary rocket ship.

Strapping the kids into the backseat of the SUV, you triple-check if they have their extra clothes, sunscreen, and sleep toys in their backpacks. When you see your daughter's golden brown hair all over her face, you reach into your pocket to find one of many hair ties. You always have at least one elastic on hand, even when you don't mean to. You stretch it out between your teeth before you collect her straight fine hair and pull it into a ponytail. Just as you're about to close the door, Alex spills his apple juice all over his shirt so you reach into the bag to pull out his second favorite Batman shirt. You haven't even left the driveway yet and you're already eager to call it a day and crash into bed.

When you drop them off, your daughter wraps her arms around your neck, plants a sloppy kiss on your cheek, and scurries down from your hip to run off to her friends. You chuckle softly as you watch her run with her tongue hanging out. She's been spending way too much time with the dogs that she's imitating their actions; Amanda fears your kid will grow up with species dysphoria (she saw a special on it on TLC), but you assure her that Noelle will grow out of it.

Just like how you hope Alex learns to break out of his shell the more time he spends with other kids in daycare. He stays behind and tugs on your tie until you finally acknowledge him.

"Be a good boy, mijo." You kiss the top of his head. "Remember to share with your friends, okay?"

He nods and smiles. You set him down on the floor and he hesitantly walks towards the cubbies to drop off his bag. He runs towards the blocks and sits down beside one of the other quiet and more laid-back kids. Once you see Alex settle in without any tears or separation anxiety, it's your cue to leave and experience some internalized separation anxiety of your own.


Working as an investigator for the LA District Attorney's office in the white collar and organized crime division is hectic on most days, but at least the schedule is more predictable than your wife's job in the sex crimes unit in the LAPD. The nature of your job is to launch investigations that target individuals and entities, which engage in money laundering and investment and securities fraud schemes. It's a lot of numbers and paperwork, which isn't your favorite, but you do get to put in some legwork from time to time. Truthfully, the work you're doing now isn't as rewarding as bringing justice to survivors of sexual assault and violence; but at least your superiors in the DA's office haven't fucked you over quite like the NYPD.

Your boss, Mark, actually encourages you to work from home as much as possible, allowing you to play stay-at-home dad while your wife kills it in her career. It works out because being an independent investigator allows you to work from anywhere and in your own schedule. Today is no exception; and Mark stresses the importance of maintaining that healthy home and work balance.

Mark reminds you of ADA Barba with the three-piece suits and the coordinated ties and pocket squares. But the comparisons end there. A born and bred Angelino, Mark is actually the chillest dude you've ever met. He will cut the work day short if the waves are really good in Malibu, and he will send you home if he finds out your wife has finally returned home after 48 hours straight of work.

"Heard they finally found that missing girl. Thank god," he says, leaning against the doorway of your office. He brings his mug up to his lips and takes a sip of his tea. That's another thing – Mark doesn't drink coffee; he only drinks decaf herbal teas that have been ethically sourced.

"Yeah, Amanda told me they were lucky to find the girl unharmed."

Mark nods. "How long was that Amber Alert out?"

"48 hours."

"Nick," he says, eyes widening like you've done something offensive. "What the fuck are you doing here? Go home to your wife."

You wave him off dismissively. "Mark, she's probably catching up on sleep."

"Come on, man, at least go pick up some food and surprise the wife when she wakes up. Trust me… and thank me later."


The second you arrive home, the dogs inhale the scent of lunch and bound for the door. You raise the paper bag above your head before Frannie and Prado can reach up to snatch it from your hands. Both dogs nuzzle against your legs, trying to appeal their way into a bite of some of the best authentic burritos in the city. You walk into the kitchen and set the bag down on the island. You then reach into one of the cabinets, pull out two treats from a box, and throw two bone-shaped biscuits in their direction. Prado takes the whole thing in his mouth and appears clueless after the entire thing disappears. Frannie licks it and contemplates eating it. When Prado slowly approaches her treat, she darts her tongue out, carries it in her mouth, and scampers out of the room.

You dash up the stairs and enter the bedroom to see your wife still in bed. She's on her belly and rolled over to your side of the bed, where she has her nose buried in your pillow. The blanket pools at her feet so you have a full view of her long legs and your white undershirt you planned to wear to bed last night, before she stole it from you. Slipping out of your shoes, you crawl to her side and spoon against her.

"Shit!" She immediately jerks up and turns her head towards the clock. "How long was I asleep?"

"Relax, babe," you reassure her, gently pushing her back down on the bed. "It's only eleven in the morning."

Her breaths start to calm down as she places her hand over her chest. You press your lips on her cheek and slide it down to the corner of her mouth. "Shouldn't you be at work?" She asks mid-yawn.

"Mark sent me home early; said I needed to make sure my sleep-deprived wife was taken care of."

"So, your idea of taking care of your sleep-deprived wife was to wake her up?"

"Hey," you argue playfully, biting your bottom lip, "the plan was to cuddle up next to you and catch up on some sleep, too. I didn't mean for you to wake up."

She turns on her side to face you. Her thumb traces along your jaw as her eyes drift down to your mouth. "It's okay. I didn't want to sleep all afternoon anyway."

"Mhmmm… we'll see about that," you whisper into her lips as you lightly graze it. Your mouth travels down to her neck where you softly press kisses along the column of her throat. She molds her body next to yours as her arm wraps around your waist. "I can tire you out…"

"Is that a –" she gasps when you suck at the sensitive spot below her ear, "—challenge?"

"Am I winning?"

"Everything a competition to you, babe?"

You suck the spot, nip it with your teeth, and soothe the light bruise with your tongue. She melts in your embrace and grinds her hips against yours. "Who would we be if we weren't engaging in a friendly rivalry?"

Amanda's hand yanks on your tie, pulling your face closer to hers. Blue eyes rake from your mouth up to meet your eyes. "Game on."

"But first," you say, reeling your head back from the approaching kiss. "I have a surprise for you downstairs."

"A surprise?"

"Come on." You slide out of bed and when she remains in her comfortable and cozy spot, you scoop her up in her arms. She pouts before she buries her face into your neck. "Don't fall asleep on me," you remind her when she settles completely in your arms as you make your way down the stairs. Once you reach the kitchen, you set her down on top of the counter. Her eyes dart to the brown paper bag and they light up when she sees the logo on the side of the bag.

"Burritos?"

You open the bag and the smell wafts into the air. She inhales deeply and claps her hand in delight, swinging her legs like a little kid.

"Did you ask for extra jalapeños and extra guac?"

"Of course I did," you say as you pull out two burritos wrapped in foil and hand one over to her. You stand between her parted legs as she unwraps her lunch with the biggest smile on her face. "You know, you seem happier to see food than to see me."

"I haven't had anything to eat since lunch yesterday, and that was just one slice of leftover pizza." She pouts before she takes a hearty bite of her burrito. "But you… I already had you last night when I got home so…"

"So I'm just useful for sex then, is that what you're saying?"

She ignores your lighthearted plea to be melodramatic, and chooses instead to take a bite of her burrito and to close her eyes to make a spectacle of how much more she's enjoying the food over you. "Mhmmm…"

Your hands run over her thighs, sliding up her hips and pulling her towards you. She arches a brow; you smirk right back at her before you take a bite of your lunch. She wraps her legs around your waist and you both stay in that position until you've finished your burritos. You eat in silence but you're eye-fucking each other the whole time. Jokingly, she takes advantage of the phallic shape of her burrito and you share silly laughs between bites.

You lower your head to run your lips against her exposed collarbone. She rests her arms on your shoulders as she tilts her head back to grant you more access.

"Alex and Noelle?" She inquires breathlessly.

"Daycare." You trace your tongue against the vein on her neck, ending just below her ear. Her skin grows hot with every touch. "Don't need to pick them up 'til five."

"I was thinking of picking them up early," she says, licking her lips and closing her eyes. "Maybe we can go to the park."

"Sounds good," you murmur into her ear.

"Oh," she moans. "Cynthia called this morning… she left a message but I was half-asleep… don't remember what she said," Amanda says between gasps as your hands drift under the shirt to cup her breasts.

"I'll call her back later," you grumble, pulling the shirt over her head. She lifts her arms up, arching her back; it's the most erotic sight seeing her stretched out over the kitchen island. He fair skin stands out against the dark stone. You trail your lips from her hips, fluttering kisses across her abdomen. She lifts herself by her forearms and watches with lidded eyes as your mouth slowly approaches her breasts.

She gasps and closes her eyes when your mouth wraps around her aroused peak. Your hand cups and gently squeezes one breast, as your tongue laps around the other.

"Nick." Her voice is strained as her legs tighten around your torso.

"Tell me what you want."

She reaches for your tie and pulls you flush against her body. Her mouth hovers over yours. "Kiss me."

The kiss is frenzied and hungry and she doesn't stop pulling on the tie, choking you around the neck. When you gasp for air, she releases her hold, and trails her kisses down your throat. Her fingers work on the buttons of your shirt, and in she slides it past your shoulders. The second you lift your undershirt over your head, your mouth connects with hers and you latch on because you've missed her already.

A pair of hands press up against your chest. She leans off the edge of the counter, just far enough that you can slip your fingers into her black lace panties and tease the smooth skin of her hips. Tugging on your bottom lip, Amanda's eyes flash open and you catch wind of her insatiable desire. Swiftly tearing her panties, you watch in awe as she leans back and lifts her legs in the air. You hold her ankles and keep her in that position; she groans at the tension in the back of her knees. You smirk and lick your lips as this view indulges you to the sight of her wetness and arousal.

She writhes on her back and wriggles her legs, but you keep a firm grip on her ankles. Bending against the back of her legs, you lean down and watch her face contort at the painful angle, but her mouth parts in pleasure as your pinch her hardened nipple between your fingers. Unable to take more of the teasing, she grabs your wrist and drapes your palm against her flushed cheek. She tilts her head to the side and wraps her mouth around your middle finger, swirling her hot tongue all the way down to the base of your knuckle. Closing your eyes, you groan and thrust your hips against her awaiting core.

Amanda moans in pleasure, releasing hold of your finger. She observes your movements under lidded eyes. Her legs relax as you loosen your hold and she plants her heels down on either side of her hips. Now that she is fully exposed and vulnerable, you blindly drag the barstool with your foot and perch on top of it. With enough distance between you, you can bend forward slightly and be at the perfect angle to have a sweet taste of her dessert.

Her closed fists pound once, twice against the counter in the split second you lower your head and suck on her core. Your tongue strokes her slit as your forearm plants down across her abdomen to keep her from going buck wild. When she's close, you slip out of her and curl your tongue around her most sensitive pearl of nerves. Her inner walls clamp around your thrusting fingers. And as her breaths hasten, she runs her fingers through your hair and grips them so hard you release an animalistic howl. Rising to her climax, she gasps out one expletive after another and finishes it off by moaning your name.

"C'mere," she whispers huskily, tugging on the short curls on your head.

Your lips slip up from her mound to her belly to the base of her throat. As you hover over her mouth, she tries to reach up to kiss you, but you pull back and smile impishly. She grits her teeth like a jungle cat ready to pounce – and she does. Lifting off the counter, Amanda kisses you so hard that you knock the stool behind you. Sitting up against the edge of the counter, she reaches around you to squeeze your ass.

"Ow," you whine when she squeezes a little too hard.

She lowers her head and smiles sheepishly. Licking your lips, you narrow your eyes and give her a warning look; but she just uses that as an invitation to become even more insubordinate as she removes your belt. Slipping it out of the loops, she pulls the belt taut and teases you with her eyes, before she tosses it across the room. Unbuttoning your slacks, you pull them down to your ankles and kick them off. Again, she reaches behind you and palms your ass before she squeezes it hard enough to make you jump.

Giggling mischievously, Amanda slips her hand underneath the hem of your boxer briefs to take you in her hand. She slides down your length and swirls her thumb along the head. You gasp as her other hand cups you. "Fuck, Amanda."

She halts her motions and pulls back so you can see the dark indigo irises circling around her dilated pupils. "Do you want to?" She curls her fingers around you and massages with every languid stroke. "Fuck me?"

"Yes, baby," you breathe hoarsely into the crook of her neck. "I want to bend you over and make you come again." Wrapping your arm around her waist, you lift her up and set her down on the floor. Her legs are shaky and she leans on you for support. Running your hands down her sides, your fingers splay just below the curve of her ass, cupping the pert cheeks and pressing against it with your body to bend her over the counter. She turns her head to the side and watches as you align yourself at her entrance.

You waste no time thrusting inside her, letting her slick heat encase your length. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you feel her tight walls pulse around you. Her cheek is pressed up against the counter and her lips part to moan your name in between pleas to fuck her harder and faster. With one hand weighing down on her spine to keep her in place, you take your free hand and guide it to her front. Stroking her towards her own edge, you feel yourself coming close to completion. Amanda whimpers and her legs collapse; and it's only the momentum of your rabid thrusts that's keeping her upright. She sharply draws a breath and releases as her walls convulse around you, provoking you to shoot your load deep inside her.

Your heart races as you collapse onto her back, planting a lazy kiss on the top of her spine. You close your eyes and savor the warmth of her body beneath yours; but the second you allow yourself to relax, you hear the sound of a car parking on your driveway. Amanda jerks her head up and cranes her neck to stare into your similarly panicked eyes.

"Shit," she mutters, pushing herself and you off the counter. "Who could that be?"

You peer through the window over the kitchen sink and see Gil's car on your driveway. He's emerging out of the driver's side and Zara out of the passenger's side.

"What are they doing here?" You turn around and start grabbing your clothes. Your wife stares in shock as she sees them heading inside. You have to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. "Get dressed!"

Amanda darts her head around, scrambling in search for her clothes. She finds the white tee but can't seem to find her panties. You pull on your boxers and your pants. The front door clicks open and you mentally curse yourself for giving your 17-year-old son a set of keys to the house. Picking up your button-down shirt from the floor, you slip it over your shoulders just in time for Gil and Zara to appear at the kitchen doorway.

"Dad?" Zara's eyebrows knit in confusion. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

"Shouldn't you be at school?" You instantly question back. Your eyes dart around your surroundings as you realize your wife's missing. Where the fuck did she go?

"Professional development day," Gil explains, narrowing his eyes at the mismatched buttons on your shirt. "We thought we'd come by a day early. I thought mom called this morning."

"Really?" You smooth down the wrinkles of your shirt, leaning down on the counter so your kids can't see that your pants are still unzipped and undone. "Must've gone to voicemail."

Gil shrugs and leans against the wall. Zara heads toward your side of the counter to get to the pantry. "I'm starving," she gripes, "Gil wouldn't stop at In-N-Out."

"It's overrated," he retorts.

"No it's not."

"Yes it is."

"Nuh-uh."

"Uh-huh," he mocks her, mimicking her expression and faint valley girl accent.

Before she can cross towards the pantry, you stop her in her tracks. "Zara, why don't you and your brother get settled into your rooms. I'll make you guys some lunch," you say hastily. She cocks her head to the side and studies your disheveled appearance. You can also feel Gil quietly observing you from the other end of the room.

"Everything okay, dad?" She asks. "You're acting really weird."

"Yeah, everything's fine. Just gimme a sec to get lunch ready… I'm glad you guys are here early," you say reassuringly, forcing a smile.

Zara arches a brow and turns on her heel to walk out of the room. You're tempted to lay down the law on the length of her denim shorts, but reprimanding her for her clothing will only lead to her calling you out for hiding something.

Gil sighs as he keeps his eyes fixed on your appearance. Prado bounds into the kitchen and nudges your son's leg. A smile spreads across his face and you're thankful for the distraction.

He squats down to greet your dog, petting him behind the ears. "What have you got there?" Gil asks, reaching for Prado's mouth.

Your head whips around in a flash as you see Gil tug black lace from between the dog's teeth. He frowns and his brows knit in confusion as he stretches the fabric out. His eyes widen as the realization (and the mortification) hits him and he pitches his stepmom's panties across the room

You exchange a look of horror before he wordlessly sprints out of the room.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Zipping up your pants, you release the breath you've been holding. You head for the pantry and your suspicions are confirmed when you open the door and find Amanda inside, pulling on the hem of your t-shirt. Her cheeks are flushed in utter humiliation and her knotted hair can't hide the fact that you two have just had mind-blowing sex. You wonder if your appearance also made that fact obvious, and your kids were just too polite or too grossed out to mention it.

"Where's my underwear?" She hisses.

"Uh…" You scratch the back of your neck. "I don't think you want them back."

"Nick, the kids are home. You can't expect me to walk out of here without my panties," she says bluntly, getting really close to your face to make her point. "Find them."

"I know where they are," you trail off, smiling sheepishly when you notice the cross look on your wife's face. "I just don't think you'd want them back after knowing where they've been… and who's touched them."

You don't even have time to dodge or brace yourself before your wife jabs you with a box of mac and cheese right in the center of your forehead.