Page 20 of Dying to Meet You

They all talk at once because of my accusations, but do we know how it started? Now she’s talking about smoke and fire? Jesus Christ. “What in the book of Sega Genesis do we do about an eight-year-old psychopath…if that’s what we’re dealing with.”

“Shhhh,” Matt loudly whispers. “Enough.”

He can certainly command attention. My inner whore sits up, taking notice immediately. Yes siree.

“Eden’s already taking her to see another psychologist Wallen recommended. In the meantime, let’s do our best to keep the girls separated. Can we agree on that at least?”

“Mmm…’spose,” I say noncommittally.

“Yes.” Keir nods

Caleb clears his throat. “I think so…”

Spur of the moment, Keir and Caleb gather the boys together for a trip to the children’s museum. Zinnea is having a visit with Dr. Almari, and Waverly is shopping with her great grandmother. That just leaves Eden, Matt, and me. It’s a rare occurrence. Maybe that’s why I’m feeling pent-up sexual energy like mad.

But Matt is pacing his fine ass around the yard on his phone.

Eden is washing clothes.

I can fix that. With a smirk forming I grab the clothes hamper from the room I use so sparingly there is only a pair of sweatpants, a couple pairs of underwear, and a towel in it.

Whistling the theme ofMission Impossible,I join Ed in the laundry room located off a short hallway from the kitchen. She’s sitting cross-legged on a stool, looking out the window with an open book in her lap. “Hey, beautiful. I came to help.” …you out of your clothes.

My mission, should I accept it-which I fucking do-is to get both her and Matt horny. What does it say about me that the prospect is overriding any sense of responsibility right now?

I like last-minute plans.

Like the time I raw dogged a trip to NYC as a teenager. No Broadway plays, didn’t try street meat, never found love in Central Park. Just hopped in a cab, popping Xanax while seeing the sites out a dirty taxi window and the fog of my high.

Jesus…Unbidden romanticized thoughts about using keep popping up. I don’t fucking like it.

Arching up in a stretch, Eden looks over her shoulder at me. “Help? Nah, I’m spacing out in here more than anything else. Just finishing up a load of towels.”

My body never fails to react to her, that slow reach up and the sleepy recline causing a rush of blood straight to my cock. “Oh, chores?” My eyes travel over her as I bite my lower lip. “There are better ways to spend the next hour or two.”

I have my work cut out for me, since the smile I get back is weak and distracted. She’s used to me teasing her. I don’t think she knows I mean it. She’s dressed in a flannel covering a plain white T-shirt, a pair of black joggers, and fluffy socks. Every damn piece of clothing is coming off.

Singing nonsense lyrics to familiar tunes to myself, I hear her laugh. “I’m just going to throw these in.” Dumping the articles of clothing from my hamper, I then take off my gray sweatpants I had put on when we returned from the recital and toss them in the washer. “These, too.” Already shirtless, I have my back to Eden while I stand in front of the washer naked.

Which is my favorite when I’m in her presence.

“Hmm, this feels like an invitation,” she says through a laugh. “Plus, you just put a pair of black boxer briefs in with a light pair of sweatpants. Okay, move please.” She lightly pushes me aside. “And a pair of red underwear. B…” She sighs.

This just won’t do. “Baby...Ed…” I brush the hair falling from her messy bun away from her neck, giving her a light kiss on a pulse point. “Leave the fucking laundry alone. Pay attention to me.”

She rests a hand on one of my ass cheeks. “I see you.” The sultry twist to her voice tickles my brain. “I always do, and as for attention?” I suck in a breath as her hand slides over my hip bone inching closer to my cock. “You don’t need to ask for it. You never do.”

But I’m not looking for a quick release.

No. This is about winding her up.

Drawing Matt to us.

Stepping out of reach, I walk closer to the window facing the backyard, where Matt is still engrossed in his phone. “Ed, I want you to get rid of those clothes.”

My sexy wife has no inhibitions when it comes to showing her body. She doesn’t shy away from our eyes on her…or exploring every naked inch. Clothes fall away, and I catalog the marks. They stir a primal itch inside me: a hickey on her upper thigh (me), a thumbprint bruise on the side of her breast (Keir), a bruise with a couple teeth imprints (Keir), a red mark on her left hip (me). I reach out to run a hand under her breast. “There’ll never be enough words to tell you how much I want you…need you…crave you…”

Those stormy blue eyes move over me, her mouth falling open as my chest rises with short pants. I could take her right now…wrap her around my body, fill her, breathe her in completely. But that’s not happening…not yet.

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