Page 154 of Caveman (Wild Men 1)

“I know.” I stroke his face, endlessly fascinated by his smooth cheeks. “It’s all right. I’ll get over this. Maybe this is good,” I go on, thinking. “Getting back in the saddle and all that.”

“You should take your time.” He frowns. “No reason to rush anything.”

“But I want to try this with you. Whatever it is you have in mind. I…” I stop him with a finger on his lips when he starts to protest again. “I trust you.”

He hugs me close, groaning against my neck. “You won’t regret it, babe. And you can tell me to stop any time.”

Letting go, he helps the kids spread the picnic as I do my best to gather myself once more. It’s hard. The spread is beautiful, not a simple last minute picnic but a planned and well-thought out affair with spreads and bread rolls and salads and cakes.

I’m touched and happy and aroused and… I don’t know what I want most—to hug all three of them, to fall on the food and stuff myself silly, to cry happy tears, or… yeah, drag Matt off to his bedroom and have him put back the blindfold, make love to me that way.

The thought sends a powerful thrill through me.

Only that will have to wait.

But hey, it’s noon. Surely the kids will need a nap after eating their weight in food, right?

One can only hope.

It’s all delicious. Matt admitted he didn’t prepare any of it, because he sucks at cooking, but that he asked the help of my mom and sister, and even his own mom sent him a cake for this.

Important picnic, much?

The kids roll on the grass, and maybe they shouldn’t, but I can’t find it in me to care whether their clothes get stains.

They’re laughing and rolling like little puppies, carefree and unafraid, and that’s all that matters. Matt tickles their bared bellies, and they shriek with laughter, then tackle him, too, and they fall over the picnic basket, half-smashing it.

He roars and grabs at them, then kisses their curly hair and snickers.

The sky has cleared. The clouds are gone. I love these kids, and I love their daddy. Love him so frigging much it makes me all teary-eyed even as I smile.

“Hey,” he calls out, turning to me, as if sensing something. “Come here.”

I draw back, but he grabs me and hauls me down on the blanket and tickles me until I beg for mercy.

His eyes darken. “You can beg me again later,” he whispers, and leaves me gasping for breath, sniggering and aroused—more than before, the pressure mounting deep inside me—to turn back to the kids, not to have them feel left out.

God, these kids are adorable, but I want their dad between my legs, torturing me with his mouth and his cock. I want his mouth and his hands everywhere, his weight pressing me down into the mattress and—

“Okay, buddies, back into the house now! You’ll get sunburned. Ice cream, and then quiet time. Let’s gather up everything.”

I send a silent prayer of thanks to any deity listening, and to Matt Hansen. He grins at me and winks, and my face heats up.

Yeah, looks like I’m not the only one impatiently needing some alone time. We’ve barely had any in these past two weeks, with me recovering from the attack, both physically and psychologically, and a therapist seeing the kids to make sure they were dealing okay with what happened to them, too.

They were clingy, not leaving us alone for a moment. And I get that. It’s normal.

But today they help pack everything back into the basket, fold the blanket all docile and unresisting, and return with us to the house. They yawn as we enter, then run into the kitchen and try to reach the ice cream, which has me and Matt running after them before they climb on chairs and hurt themselves.

Ice cream achieved, we sit at the table and eat. Even the sugar rush isn’t enough to wake up the kids enough. It is a warm summer Sunday and they’ve been up since the crack of dawn, so the moment we lead them up to their rooms and nudge them into bed, they roll over and go to sleep.

Quiet settles over the house like a fluffy cloud. I turn toward Matt who’s leaning on the doorjamb, muscular arms folded over his chest, smiling faintly, a dimple showing in his cheek.

I look into those dark eyes that ensnared me from the first moment with their shadow of pain, and they’re only filled with heat and desire.

“So…” I whisper. “You still got that blindfold?”

He ties up my eyes carefully, his big hands resting on my shoulders after he’s tied off the knot in the cloth behind my head.

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