“Reagan’s not people,” he argued. “She’s just a sister.”
“Rogan James Beckington.”
“Now you’re in trouble,” Reagan taunted.
“Fine. Sorry.”
“Good boy. You two go put your jammies on while I dish up dessert. Then it’s bedtime.”
The twins grumbled under their breath, but didn’t argue. They raced up the stairs, disappearing from view once they reached the top. Waverly excused herself to change out of her new dress and returned a few minutes later with it slung over her arm. She and Sloane worked in tandem, hanging the remaining dresses on the rack the store had sent.
“I hope you don’t mind. We took the two bedrooms at the end of the hallway.”
“You can have whatever you want, Sloane. Especially since you baked.”
“Oh my God.” She smacked her palm to her forehead. “I didn’t even think to ask. Do you have any food allergies, Way?”
“None whatsoever.”
The two of them walked off together, leaving me in the dust. I trailed after, content to listen to them chatter about their favorite sweets. An outsider would assume they’d known each other for years, rather than minutes, with how easily their conversation flowed. I couldn’t have been happier. My sister needed more people in her corner.
Rogan and Reagan returned, dressed in matching red-and-black striped outfits with the bunny slippers I’d bought them for Christmas on their feet. Their eighth birthday was just around the corner. Because of the move, I knew Sloanehad thrown them an early birthday party so they could celebrate with their small group of friends from school. She hadn’t said anything about doing something on their actual birthday, but knowing my sister, she’d plan something special for them.
“Who wants apple pie with vanilla ice cream?” Sloane asked.
A resounding “Me,” was followed by a fit of little kid giggles as the twins purposefully slipped and slid across the wooden floor. They didn’t wait for anyone else to grab their dessert, they just tore in like a couple of starved animals.
“Did you even taste that?” I pointed to Rogan’s empty bowl.
“Yup, and it was the bestest.”
“You’re a mess.” Sloane leaned over the counter, wiping crumbs from around his lips. “Both of you, go wash your faces and brush your teeth. I’ll be up in a second for book time.”
“It’s my turn to pick the story.” Rogan sprinted for the steps.
“No fair,” Reagan huffed, taking off after him.
What wasn’t fair was how long it took for our three guests to actually fall asleep. Forty-seven, agonizing minutes to be exact. Trust me, I counted. I had a promise to fulfill which involved my mouth on Waverly’s pussy; however, when I crawled into bed a little after ten, she had a different idea. One I was very much in favor of.
“I want to taste you,” she whispered.
Instead of lying next to me, she knelt between my spread thighs and wrapped her hand around my stiff cock, stroking it from root to tip.
“The feeling is mutual, baby.”
“Later. It’s my turn now.”
Whatever argument I was about to make disappeared with a groan when she leaned forward, swiping her tongue across the tip.
“Feck.”
“Feck, huh? Let’s see what I can do to change that.”
My arse lifted off the mattress as her wet, hot mouth slid midway down my shaft before retreating. Over and over, she worked my body with exquisite precision. It was the best kind of torture. My fingers slid through her silky locks, tightening around the ends to control her pace.
“Fuck, your mouth feels good, baby.”
I felt her smile around my cock, then she hollowed her cheeks, doubling her effort to suck the cum out of my balls. I’d say fuck all day, every day if that’s what she wanted, but I had something even better in mind.
