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I stiffened in my jeans, unwillingly and most painfully, like it had when I noticed her sitting in that swing.
I willed it to calm the fuck down. But when she turned her back to me and reached out to one of the highest shelves in the cabinet, showing off most of her caramel skin between a crop top and unbelievably tight leggings, my knees went weak. She looked like she’d been poured into the outfit.
I almost went inside to rub my dick against the crack of her ass. I wanted to plant her on my cock and drive my nails into her flesh. Wrap my hand around her neck so she’d stop breathing, wheezing through every thrust I made her take.
I slid to the right when she started folding again. Were those my boxers?
Her delicate fingers looked so small as she smoothed out the front. Oh, baby, there wouldn’t be anything smoothing out if I was wearing those with your face right in front of them.
My semi-stiffy quickly deflated as I heard who she was talking to.
The voice at the other end of the line sounded too familiar.
He called her baby girl.
I couldn’t believe this. Neither could I believe I’d been seconds away from nailing her on the dryer.
Fuck that.
And fuck these tingles.
8
DITA
Laundry time was the best. This house had the most awesome Bluetooth surround system in every room. I could connect my phone to it, huddle away behind the door to this small, cozy laundry room and dance in whatever I was wearing without running into someone with a “life sucked” attitude.
Luckily, I’d only seen Rio in the mornings. He and I had made a habit of drinking our coffees together and then not seeing each other for the rest of the day. According to him, Ares had been working the graveyard shift this week. He’d been sleeping through the days, and so there hadn’t been any encounters between the two of us.
Something buzzed, hauling me out of my dancing trance. The caller ID on my cell screen said MOM. Finally!
I muted Marc Anthony’s “Nada de Nada” and picked up, putting her on speaker.
Mom!” I propped a shirt into a tiny makeshift beanbag and balanced my phone until it stayed upright, so I could talk and do some laundry at the same time.
“Hey, baby girl,” a deep timbre cooed from the other side.
Cary?
“Oh, hey!” I quickly checked the caller ID. It said MOM, but Cary must’ve teased it out of her hold. “Sorry, I thought it was your wife.” Grinning, I went back to work. My smile faltered. Why was he calling from her phone? “There isn’t anything wrong with her, right?”
He paused, checking on Mom. “Nah,” he confirmed, and I heard the smile in his voice. “She’s cool. Sipping on a piña colada as we speak.”
“And checking out the pool boy?”
“Hell naw,” he denied with a thick accent. “She may like the Barbados locals, but she loves me. Yeah, she definitely loves me.”
I snorted, finding it funny how he needed to convince himself. “I’ll let you two off the hook then since it’s your honeymoon and you are keeping private things private for once.”
“Well, there was this one time—”
“You kept private things private,” I repeated myself, punctuating every word. I got it. The Volt men were wickedly outspoken. “Watch your mouth, Cary. You might not be my favorite Volt anymore if you start with those innuendos again.”
He laughed, and it sounded free and happy—unlike his twin boys. I wondered why they were so glum most of the time. At least I’d cautiously buried the hatched with one of them.
“Fine, I’ll bite my tongue. Anyway, I just wanted to check up on you. How’s it going?”
I looked down, watching my busy hands. “Uh, currently folding Calvin Klein boxer shorts.”
