Page 115 of Wildest Dreams

“You’re a big softie.” She curled her lower lip adorably.

I grabbed her hand and put it on my dick through my slacks. “Take that back or feel his wrath.”

“Now you’re just encouraging me to misbehave.”

We both laughed drunkenly, and I leaned down to kiss her, biting her lower lip teasingly. I made a mental note to download Uber’s competing app, since I was definitely going to get kicked out of this one after the inappropriate sexual display.

“I’ll take them out for potty and then come back down to see you. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Did you manage to hold it all in like I asked?” I fussed, running my nose along the tip of hers.

“Yes,” she said proudly. “Every single drop.”

My cock was about to burst out of my pants. I pressed her head to my chest.

I’m falling. I mouthed the words silently across her temple, feeling the unspoken confession soaking into my skin. It’s wrecking my life.

DYLAN

Iwoke up with my limbs tangled in Rhyland’s and a hangover from hell.

Also, my anus felt like a herd of elephants had blasted through it on the way to freedom.

Last night’s events trickled into my conscience like a leaking faucet. I groaned, flinging an arm over my eyes.

Oh God. It was getting serious with Coltridge.

There was no other way to explain what was happening. It was more than a fling, and he must have felt the same way, because he’d come up with that weird idea of paying me for six more months to be his hookup and date. While I loved being both, I wanted more than to feel like we were exchanging currencies.

I wanted to date him and fuck him because we liked each other.

It was time for the talk, wasn’t it? The one I never thought I’d have to have with my big brother’s best friend.

My bedroom door was flung open, and in ran my daughter, clutching Mr. Mushroom, sporting an unusual shade of green. “Mommy! Mommy!” she cried out.

Shit, I thought. Shit, shit, shit.

She was not supposed to find Uncle Rhyland in her mother’s bed, let alone mostly naked. Rhy had briefs and the duvet covering most of him, but still.

“Oh, hey, sweetie!” I greeted extra-loud, kicking his feet in the process to jar him awake so he could make a hasty exit—or, at the very least, help me with the damage control. I opened my arms wide for her. “What’s going o—”

But I didn’t have the chance to finish my question. As soon as my daughter reached the foot of the bed, she keeled over and vomited all over my duvet, Rhy’s foot, and the bed frame.

Warm, sticky, partially digested noodles and chicken nuggets swam in an ocean of yellow and orange over the bed. I sprang into action, scooping her up and bringing her into my en suite, where I peeled the vomit-soaked pajamas from her little body.

“Mommy.” She flung her arms around my shoulders, weeping. She hadn’t even noticed Rhy. “I feel so bad. My tummy…it is hurting.”

“I can tell, sweetie.” I stroked the back of her head, filling her a bath. I checked her temperature with my hand. She definitely had a fever. Crap. She seemed to have caught what I had a few days ago. Poor thing.

“Baby, I’m going to run you a bath and give you some Tylenol and some water, okay?”

She nodded sulkily.

The claw bathtub was filling. I squirted some liquid soap into it so she’d have some bubbles. She was now naked, sitting on theedge of the vanity, dangling her feet. She still looked green. I felt so horrible for her.

“Little stinker?” Rhy pushed his head between the door and the frame, glancing inside. He looked sleepy.

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