Page 68 of Sinful Bride

She may not be noticing it, but the rest of us sure have. All the meticulous dusting of nooks and crannies that were just wiped down ten minutes ago. One daily pot of coffee that’s turned into two, then three. Her leg never stops bouncing.

“You should take this opportunity to breathe fresh air.” Mak gives her a stern look and nods toward our bedroom. “Listen to your husband. Or he’s going to carry you out the front door just like I’m carrying the little one.”

He switches Taty from one arm to the other, then turns and follows Sofi into the kitchen.

When they’re gone, Daphne gives me a pleading look. I don’t even give her the dignity of pretending it’ll sway me. “Go back into the bedroom and put on what I left out for you,” I order. “Or I’ll do exactly what he said and carry you out regardless of what you are or are not wearing.”

The temptation to hoist her over my shoulder in nothing but a bra and panties is tempting. But I leave her with the threat and step into the bathroom to change my own outfit.

The door remains open, but I will myself not to peek as Daphne strips. If I look, we’re never going to get out of this damn bedroom.

“Are you sure about this?” she calls.

“We need to be normal, Daph. It’s important. We have a life outside of being parents, outside of work.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

She doesn’t sound happy about it. But when I step back into the bedroom, we’re both presented with a very interesting problem.

“You look incredible,” she purrs.

“Likewise.”

Buttery soft denim hugs every inch of her legs, from her ankles to the dip in her waist. It accentuates her perfect ass, and my gaze slides effortlessly down to the sexy heels she slipped on.

Goddamn, I’d forgotten how good she looks in heels.

It’s the sweater that’s gonna do me in, though. Off-the-shoulder, with just a tiny, tantalizing glimpse at her lacy bralette.

And since she’s still riding on the hormones of motherhood, that bralette has got to be just barely covering her breasts.

It’d shred so easily, I think to myself. If I could just get my hands on her for one second…

When she passes by me to grab something from one of the bathroom cabinets, I can smell that she sprayed her hair with perfume.

I make a quick mental calculation as to how much bail might be needed for our public indecency charges. Because I’m going to fuck this woman somewhere, at some point, before we make it back home.

“Pasha?”

“Hm?” I pretend to not notice the way she’s gazing at me in the mirror. With fire in her eyes and plump lips slightly parted.

“Please feel free to wear that shirt more often.”

I chuckle. “Corporate dress code policy would frown on that.”

“I don’t care. You want more babies? I wanna see you wearing that more often.”

That has me grabbing her wrist to pull her to me. This woman, my woman, is playing with fire. “Ask and you shall receive.” I dip my head to nibble on her ear right where I know she’s the most sensitive. “Now, we need to go. Unless you want my siblings to hear the way you scream when you come.”

She presses her hand to my stomach. “I think you’re right. We need to behave.” Her lashes flutter low. “For now.”

Fuck.

These jeans suddenly feel too tight.

I’m suddenly having second thoughts about grabbing these ice cream cones on the boardwalk after dinner.

Not because they’re bad. It’s just a certain kind of torture watching my wife lick the cream.

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