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Harper’s jaw drops to the floor as Latham bursts into laughter.
“Freedom!” I chastise.
“What?” she asks, glancing my way. “We were talking the other day about the magic button behind the balls, and I’m happy to report, it works just as well as you said it would.” Freedom looks at Harper and nods happily.
“Oh, yeah, the magic button,” Latham coos, smiling from ear to ear.
“Totally works!” Freedom replies to him, excitedly.
“Don’t I know it.” To my sister, he says, “Maybe we should slip into the dressing room and you can press the magic button.”
I clear my throat and straighten my necktie. “I really don’t need to hear that.”
“And I don’t really need to see you coming out of my dressing room with your fly down and that just got a blowie look on your face,” Harper retorts with a smirk.
Quickly turning to Freedom, I tell her, “I should get back to work. I’ll, uh, see you tonight?”
“Definitely,” she sings, smiling widely as she walks my way. “I’ll make dinner tonight, and then you can have me for dessert.” With a wink, she heads off to get back to work, leaving me standing in the middle of the boutique with a smile and a hard-on.
“Gross,” Harper says before kissing her husband and heading off to work.
Latham smiles, watching her go. Before he makes his way back to his own business, he leans in and whispers, “So, the magic button. No shame in barely lasting when that’s pushed. Happens to the best of us.” He slaps me on the back and heads back to the hardware store.
I can feel the burn of mortification on my cheeks, but after one last glance at Freedom before I slip out the door, I’m surprised that’s not what accompanies me back to work.
It’s the thought of dessert.
***
It’s been a long day. Two families arrived almost simultaneously to plan funerals, and each one took time. Elma was there and helped, but all I kept thinking about was how great Freedom and I work together. Elma’s well past retirement age, and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like if Freedom were there all the time. Well, it’d be chaotic, I’m sure, in true Freedom fashion. But it would also be enjoyable and soothing having her close day in, and day out.
I pull into my driveway and park my car beside her beat-up old POS. She really needs a new car. Something more reliable. However, if I know her as well as I think I do, she won’t accept one as a gift, nor will she openly talk about it, unless it’s her idea first.
When I reach the door, I go to slide my key into the lock when I find it slightly ajar. Worry steals my breath as I gently push the door open. “Freedom?”
“Hey!” she bounces down the hallway, a load of laundry in her arms.
“Why was the door open?” I ask, stepping inside and closing it securely behind me. Then, I throw the lock.
“It was?”
“Yes,” I tell her, a hint of annoyance in my tone. “You can’t leave the front door standing wide open, Freedom. Did you know more than 325,000 houses are still broken into a year? Even with security systems and those fancy doorbells that take video. That’s every thirteen seconds, Free.”
She’s staring at me across the room, her eyes wide. She doesn’t say anything for several seconds, not an argument or even a roll of her beautiful eyes. She just stands there, and I’m starting to wonder if she’s okay. “Free?”
Suddenly, she drops the dirty clothes she was carrying on the floor and practically launches herself into my arms. I stumble back a few steps, but am able to quickly right myself, considering she’s so small and weighs practically nothing. Then, her mouth slams into mine so hard, I wonder if we didn’t just crack a few teeth. But I don’t pay the jarring any further attention when her tongue presses into my mouth and dances with my own.
She groans as she tightens her arms around my neck, pressing her chest into mine. My hands grip her ass as she rocks into my erection. I move, walking her to the wall, and pressing her back against it. Freedom wiggles and I can feel her nipples pressed through each of our shirts. It makes my hands itch to touch them.
When I’m mere seconds away from taking her to the bedroom, she rips her lips from my own, her eyes hooded with lust. “Shit, Freedom,” I gasp, the ache in my pants prominent. “What was that?”
She smiles widely. “You called me Free. You’ve never called me that.”
“And you felt the need to attack me?” I ask, trying to wrap my head around it.
“No, that was the hum between my legs talking, Sammy,” she says as she pats my shoulder. Carefully, she slides down my body, her hands smoothing out the wrinkles that now appear on my shirt. “Come on, let’s go cook dinner. I’m starved.”
She turns and heads to the kitchen, leaving me and my erection with the pile of dirty clothes to go into the washer. “Me too,” I mumble as I scoop up the clothes and follow her, the entire time, picturing what she would look like splayed out on top of my bed, naked.
