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“That still doesn’t explain why it’s blue.”
“Does it matter?” I launch a water bottle at my cousin, knowing he’ll need it. “You’ll still eat it.”
I pluck a deep-red cherry from a platter on the coffee table and toss it in the air before catching it, winking at Ari. It’s a running joke to reference my threat from the night I proposed to her.
I have yet to slide a cherry into her ass and pop it with my dick piercing, but the idea has merit every time I consider it. Which, in case you’re wondering, is often.
Damian and Ren snuck off somewhere two hours ago and have yet to return. None of us have bothered searching for them. Asher’s massive Catskills cabin is unnavigable without GPS, a compass, and prayers.
Plus, I am uninterested in walking in on Damian and Ren screwing on top of every surface in Asher’s home.
“Whipped,” Marco declares when, sure enough, Asher bites into the mystery lasagna.
Asher (barely) refrains from gagging, downs the water bottle, and tosses the crushed plastic at Marco’s head. “Some of us are above killing our wives.”
“I didn’t kill my wife.”
“Some would argue making your wife’s heart stop beating is the actual definition of killing your wife.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“Isn’t it?”
“She’s here, isn’t she?”
“In spirit, sure.”
Olivia—the wife here in spirit—emerges from the kitchen and sits on the handle of Marco’s chair. “Asshole.”
Marco grips her waist, depositing her onto his lap, nodding. “Every one of them.”
“I was referring to you.”
Lucy snorts, hiding her laughter in Asher’s shoulder. Marco picks Olivia up, swings her over his shoulder, and leads them out of the room.
And then there were four.
“Well, then.” I offer Ari my hand and help her to her feet, turning to Asher. “As entertaining as this is, I didn’t come here for you.”
“The purpose of coming to my home is, quite literally, for me.”
“No, the purpose of coming here is to get laid without three kids running into my bedroom while I am balls-deep inside my wife.”
Lucy gasps. “No. Tell me that didn’t happen.”
Ari winces. “Almost.”
Since discussing my sex life rather than, you know, actually having sex seems counterproductive, I take a page from Marco and carry Ari out the door.
Our clothes are somewhere on the pavement, long forgotten. The hot tub bubbles tickle my skin as she slips her naked little body onto my lap, straddling me.
I wrap my fingers around the delicate column of her neck, gripping tighter until she gasps, eyes flaring with a week’s worth of pent-up lust. Her hips jerk forward, bare pussy parting around my cock.
She tries to speak around my grip, struggling. I release her throat and lace my fingers through her hair instead, tugging until her neck is bared to me.
The smooth skin begs me to leave a mark. I would, but our kids have less tact than TMZ. The last thing I need is another lecture from an oblivious pre-K teacher unaware I’ve killed for less.
Ari’s palm wraps around my length, guiding me toward heaven. I grab her wrist and bind both of them together behind her back with one hand.
