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“Heaven forbid you’re uncomfortable for once in your life.”
He rolls his eyes at that and then hops out of the car as soon as I park it in the garage.
“You need to wait for me to check the house,” I say but Diablo ignores me and makes his way to the garage door, tapping his foot impatiently. Why he’s so eager to get inside is beyond my comprehension.
“Why do you move so slowly? Do you do it to annoy me?”
I move slower to get a rise out of him. By the time we are inside and I’m walking through the musty rooms, he’s huffing and puffing.
“There’s no one out here. Honestly, no one on Earth lives here. It’s like the moon.”
“Plenty of people live out here.”
“Where?” He sweeps his hand out and knocks it into the wall. “I saw no one as we drove down here.”
“They’re here,” I say and then move our stuff into one of the bedrooms.
“Thank fuck I have a bed this time,” Diablo says, strolling around the room and touching everything he can find. He knocks over an empty picture frame and doesn’t pick it back up before crouching down and looking under the bed.
My traitorous eyes swivel to his ass again. Fucking eyeballs. They need a hobby.
“We’ll see about that,” I mutter.
His brow furrows as he stands back up. “What do you mean?”
“It means we’ll see about you having your own bed. Now get your clothes, we’re going to do some laundry. And I’m going to show you how it’s done so you don’t end up flooding the house.”
“I can do my own laundry.”
“No. You can’t. I’ve seen what you do with the laundry soap. It’s a wonder your clothes don’t fall apart.”
“Ugh. Fine, but only because I’m tired of wearing your big-ass shorts.”
I eye him in my clothes and feel my dick twitch between my legs. Yeah, I didn’t hate it when I saw him pull them on today. They might be far too big for him, hanging down past his knees, but it does something to my insides seeing him like that.
It makes him feel like mine.
It’s a thought that needs to be disposed of quickly. I cannot be thinking things like this. Ever.
We walk to the laundry room where an old washer and dryer sit. Diablo reaches up to the cabinet to try and search for the detergent, but can’t reach. So I do the only reasonable thing. I pick him up and set him on the washing machine.
“Why did you do that?” he asks breathlessly, and I shrug, not wanting to explain myself. I can’t really do it. I have no idea why my hands lifted him up like that when I could have easily searched for the soap myself.
Diablo stares at me for a long moment before clearing his throat and turning around. He pulls open the cabinet and pulls out an old Tide container.
“Jackpot!”
I bite back a smile and hold out my arms, ready to put him back on solid ground, but he shakes his head.
“I don’t need your help to get down.”
I think he does and am proven right when he tumbles into me a second later, powdered detergent spilling everywhere, down my shirt and onto my shoes.
“Oh shit,” he huffs, his cheeks red. “Is there any left?”
I glance at the half-empty container. “Yeah, there’s enough.”
“Thank fuck,” he says, moving away from me, his feet just crunching on the ground like it’s no big deal. Just like he walked over that granola. If he ever has kids, walking on Legos won’t even phase him.
