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She gritted her teeth and shook her head, and then suddenly, launched herself into my lap. “I hate your big ogre heart and your sexy protective side, and dammit, now I need you to bone me immediately.”
Now that’s what I’m fucking talking about.
Flexing my fingers, I gripped her hips tightly and settled her legs onto either side of my own, reaching around her back to signal to the driver to step on it. Come hell or high water, I was going to do everything I had to do to keep my wife feeling frisky instead of frenzied.
“To the nicest hotel in town,” I said bluntly. “Now.”
Ready to be rid of us or not, my new buddy complied so hard, my back slammed into the seat and Cassie’s tits right into my face—a fortuitous coincidence.
“Hold tight, my beautiful babies. Daddy’s gonna motorboat you so hard, you’ll be at the Yucatan Peninsula by morning.”
When I woke up from a dead sleep in the middle of a plush hotel bed, it was to the smell of a traitor.
The Marriott in Panama City Beach wasn’t exactly the Four Seasons, but I had to admit, the mattress was probably a little higher quality than the one I’d planned for at the Hammerhead Inn, and the catnap of sleep it had provided after getting dropped off by our airport Uber driver had me feeling rejuvenated and ready to brawl. It didn’t matter that it was still day one of the honeymoon with several more to come; there was no time to waste.
And right now, I had a giant defector to bust.
I jumped up quickly, shuffling to the side of the bed and climbing onto my feet like a cat. I was quiet, instinctual, and this fluffing giant didn’t know who he was messing with. I would have thought, after all the pranks we’d experienced together while falling in love, it would’ve taught him not to underestimate me as an opponent, but I supposed I was wrong.
Butonlybecause men were inherently dumb. And I couldn’t really be blamed for the inferiority of an entire contingent of our species.
I stalked slowly toward the bathroom door, my stomach growling silently in anger. Even she understood the importance of carrying out this mission silently, and for that, I would be forever grateful.
Once there, I leaned my head into the surface and inhaled deeply, allowing the aromas to decode themselves among my heightened senses.
Sweet-and-sour chicken, lo mein, and spring rolls.
Fluffing contraband, secret, unshared food, right there behind the door with my turncoat husband. I knew it was him by the sound of his snuffling as he chewed.
What a dicklicker.
I was fully prepared to bust the door down if I had to, but to my shock, the knob turned easily and the door swung open to reveal my husband, curled up on the tile bathroom floor in front of the shower with food containers strewn out all around him.
His eyes were wide and his lips moist with sweet-and-sour sauce.
“Caught!” I yelled victoriously, as if I’d solved a great, historic heist. “Red-handed and red-faced, Thatcher. How’s it feel to choke on your own nutsac so spectacularly?”
“Whoa, whoa, let’s pump the brakes on the accusations, honey. You fell asleep on my dick.Again. As in, you’vedone this to mebefore and have now done itanother time. Do you know how many times a man can experience that and still survive? I’m pretty sure I’ve officially met my quota. You were out cold, and I was distraught. Chinese food was the only solution!”
“I didn’t fall asleep during sex,” I contested. “We were finished.”
“No, Crazy, we weren’t. I stuck my dick inside you, and I may as well have been plugging a sleep machine into the outlet. You were out! No sexy time. No tantric titties. You literally made me a no-pump chump.”
When I thought back on it, I couldn’t exactly say he was wrong.
This pregnancy kept me so damn tired. All the time.
Plus, I had a long track record of being able to fall asleep at the drop of a dime. I’m talking borderline narcoleptic at times. It wouldn’t have been out of the realm of possibility for me to fall asleep during sex, even when I wasn’t pregnant. And well, right now, I definitely was. Come to think of it, I couldn’t exactly remember how I’d gotten from check-in sexiness to the end of my nap, so it wasn’t unheard of.
“Yeah, well, I’m sleepy,” I eventually responded, putting a hand to my hip. “I’m building a human, for Pete’s sake. I am literally a walking, talking, miracle of fluffing life right now. How many organs did you fashion out of nothing today, Thatcher? Exactly none, son.”
“I know, I know,” he pleaded, his hands up in a defensive pose. “I understand. Your body is working overtime, and you fell asleep. No harm, no foul. I just needed food as a consolation prize.”
I narrowed my eyes, and he grabbed a half-empty container of lo mein and presented it to me like Rafiki held Simba inThe Lion King.
“Here. Please, honey, have some food. I don’t even want any more.”
“So, you just want me to have your scraps?”
