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“Lynn does,” Six declared. “Lynn, honey, if we ever murder anyone, can we borrow your helicopter?”
“Anytime, sweetheart.” Lynn rolled his eyes. “Maybe you should learn how to fly one, though. I’m not sure Trouper will be willing to fly you out there on murder missions.”
Six scoffed. “I’ll learn. Just you watch.”
“God help us.” Lynn shook his head. “There are other ways to do this. If you don’t have the skills, the easiest way is…”
For the next thirty minutes I sat on the couch with my wife in my lap, and the entire time she surreptitiously rubbed her backside against my dick.
I was only half listening to their explanations, but by the time ten o’clock rolled around, I was more than ready to get my woman to bed.
I’d have preferred my own place, but I would take what I could get at this point.
“Time for bed, darlin’,” I said, standing up mid-murder investigation conversation.
“But Laric was telling me the best way to kill someone from his perspective!” Wyett denied.
I picked her up and tossed her bodily over my shoulder.
She squeaked and froze, her face going so close to my ass that I couldn’t help but smile.
“If you so much as think of farting, I will shove my fist up your ass,” she warned loudly.
Six giggled as we passed her.
“Last room on the right,” she said. “That’s the only one that I think might have sheets on it. I’m not very good at being a host.”
“That’s okay,” my wife whisper-yelled. “He’s a hot sleeper. All I’ll need is his body to keep me warm.”
Six snorted. “Whatever. Lynn keeps it on subzero in here. I’ll bet you need something besides him tonight. I’ll let the dogs out one more time, don’t worry about them, Hunt.”
Wyett grabbed both globes of my ass. “Nope. Don’t think I will need anything but him.”
Chuckling, I led her into our temporary room and shut the door.
Six was wrong.
This room didn’t have sheets.
But I wouldn’t need them.
At least not right now.
Not when there was a perfectly good wall…
CHAPTER 18
I don’t know shit about fuck.
-Text from Wyett to Hunt
WYETT
“Are you drunk?” my husband asked curiously.
“Yep. Thumbs up,” I confirmed, holding my finger up in a thumbs up. Only, it wasn’t a thumb. It was my pointer finger.
I couldn’t get my fingers to work correctly.
“We’ve never had drunk sex before,” he rumbled, placing me on my feet.
There was an instant head rush, and that had to be why I didn’t see him coming until his big body was already pushing mine up against the hard wall at my back.
I blinked at his sudden closeness.
“Hello.” I smiled. “Geez, I’m really liking this new look on you.”
I touched the tip of his nose where his glasses were slipping down the bridge of his nose.
He looked disheveled, pissed, and hot as hell.
I wanted to climb him like a tree.
And… why couldn’t I?
It wasn’t like he wasn’t my husband.
The man was mine.
I should be able to jump his bones if I wanted to.
I took off my shirt and threw it over his shoulder.
At least, I tried to, anyway. What I more ended up doing was taking it off over my head, tossing it, and hitting Hunt in the face with it.
“Oops.” I plucked it from his head. “Sorry. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
He looked at me with amusement as he took the shirt from my hand, tossed it behind him to the floor, and looked at my boobs.
“They’re great boobs, aren’t they?” I declared.
His eyes flicked up to meet mine. “I want to press my face between them and live there forever. The greatest set of tits of all time.”
“You can do that.” I paused. “But sometimes they’ll need to be washed. They get a little sweaty.”
He chuckled and reached to trace the lace of my bra.
“This one is new,” he murmured, his eyes flicking up to meet mine before going back down.
“It was the only clean one I had left,” I explained. “It’s lace, and it’s itchy. It’s not my favorite, but it fits well, so I keep it because I need something fancier if the need arises. You know, like a work function. Or if I get married. That’s the last time I wore it. When we got married. We should do that again. Get married. I liked doing that. Though, this time I wouldn’t mind having my Six there, too. We can’t invite your family, though. They were a bunch of assholes.”
His eyes were sparkling when I finished my drunken diatribe.
“I think I can get married to you again,” he said, trailing his lips down the length of my stomach. “I think I can do a lot of things with you again.”
“Like what?” I asked breathlessly, feeling my heart start to pound for an altogether different reason.
He bit down on the flesh just below my belly button, causing certain things inside of me to clench with excitement.
