Page 21 of Ho Ho Oh No

“My wife,” she drawls playfully, deepening her tone and fanning her face. “So hot. Now, growl it. Pretend another man was just rude to me, and you must defend my honor. Something like, ‘Don’t you dare disrespect my wife.’ I’ll come on the spot. Hands-free instant orgasm.”

I switch to her other ankle, starting with small circles again. “As much as I’d love to make you come, we can’t do that here. Role-play in the Redleg HQ break room on Christmas Eve is a bit much. Even for us, gorgeous.”

“Denying me like this? Grounds for divorce,” she tosses, clicking her tongue. “Thin ice, buckaroo. The thinnest.”

“Buckaroo, huh? That’s a new one. Can’t say I’m a fan.”

“It isn’t fair only I have a nickname. I’m testing out some for you.”

“Fine, but I get veto power.” I finish my coffee, then reach across the table to get a sip of Sammy’s water to rinse my mouth before I start chomping on a stick of gum. “Wait. Don’t I already have a nickname?”

She yawns and starts rubbing circles on one side of her belly. “Shithead smartass fuckface isn’t acceptable for use in public, darling.”

“I was referring to the other one. But that’s fair.”

Lowering her volume, she purrs, “Oh, you mean how I call you mygood boy?” That fucking velvety dominant voice of hers goes straight to my balls.

Dammit.

Don’t get hard, dick. Don’t get hard. Man down.

We haven’t had sex in well over a week because of how shitty she’s been feeling, which is totally understandable. But I’m bricked up like a nineties fireplace. I should hang some stockings from myself for when Santa comes.

At least someone is coming. Lucky bastard.

And now, she’s calling me good boy with her sex voice. Unfair.

“Yes.” My brows dance. “That’s the nickname I was referring to.”

“Again, not appropriate for public. So I’m deciding between chief, buckaroo, sport, and sarge.”

“Sarge? Yikes.” I shake my head vehemently. “We used to call Big Al that sometimes back in the service. That’s a hard limit.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s a no, then. Veto approved.”

“How about you call me daddy?”

She’s mid-sip, and her unexpected laugh sends water dribbling down her chin. “Kinky fucker.”

“I didn’t mean itthatway. I meant ‘cause of the twins.”

She dabs her chin with a napkin. “Come on, Sawyer. You knew what you were doing by suggesting that.”

“Not true,Mrs.Sawyer,” I offer, testing the waters. “I’m innocent of all charges.”

I’m still trying to figure out why the name thing is so important to me. It’s not like it holds a great significance in my life. I don’t know my family, nor do I have an emotional connection to it. I doubt I come from a long, illustrious line of great Sawyer men. And my last name is unofficially my first name, so I can admit calling her Mrs. Sawyer seems weird. We’d be Sawyer and Sammy Sawyer since I refuse to go by Perry.

Yet I still want her to take my name.

Baffling, but there it is, nonetheless.

“Babe, it’s not that I’m outright opposed. But if I took your name, I’ll be screaming out my own last name when we have sex.Won’t that be strange?” She grins lasciviously, likely thinking about sex. I do the same, so my face probably wears a similar expression.

“Ready to go downstairs for a back rub?”

“Where’s my litter thing? I can’t be expected to walk. The babies are going to shatter my entire pelvis any moment now. And my back hurts like hell again today.” She furrows her brows and makes duck lips like she was hit with a sudden realization. “And hey, you never finished the fucking story about the damn thing.”

Her pissy attitude, accompanied by the reminder of my practical joke, sets off a short burst of laughter that shakes my stomach. “Sorry.” I retrace my thoughts back to the story. “Right, so we were joking about carrying her around, really hamming it up to pass the time. The next shift, I showed up with ahandcraftedsedan chair. Hid it in the back of the SUV with the last row of seats pushed down until the time was right.”

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