“False pretenses?” Jericho scoffed. “Itoldyou what I planned to do to you earlier when you sent me that very dirty video while I was at work. It’s not my fault you got distracted by our children’s extracurricular demon hunting.”
Oh, right. Jericho had promised he would make good on fucking him later after Atticus had gotten the idea to send him a video of himself while home on his lunch break. He’d worked hard on that masterpiece, had even set up the ring light just to get the right angle before he crawled up onto their bed.
He’d laid there, ass up, dick in one hand and vibrator in the other, loudly moaning his husband’s name as he fucked himself while pretending it was him. It felt like hours had passed since then. A very long, very inconveniently chaste number of hours, one of which had involved being chewed out by a nun. Talk about a mood killer.
“We also had a call from the builder, a call from Dad about our costumes for tomorrow, an apology from Lucas about the girls, getting the monsters to bed, a frantic call from Arsen about the lift at the garage not working. It’s been a long day. I’m sorry I forgot about letting youbreedme.”
Jericho huffed out a shocked breath. “Wow,” he said, dragging out the word, “there’s never been a day so long that you forgot you promised to let me inside you before. I guess the romance is dead, huh?”
He rolled off him dramatically, mirroring Atticus’s position beside him suddenly pretending to be engrossed in the movie. Atticus tried not to laugh. He knew his husband’s antics well enough by now.
“Oh, don’t pout,” Atticus said, crawling over Jericho to blanket him like he’d done moments ago.
The mattress dipped beneath his weight, their bodies aligning naturally, Atticus draping himself over Jericho’s back, chest to shoulder blades, warmth to warmth. He let him feel how hard he was, rutting against his husband’s perfectly muscular yet very clothed ass. Jericho went limp beneath him, letting Atticus kiss the back of his neck, fingertips sliding down his sides.
“It hardly seems fair that you’re still wearing clothes while I’m completely naked,” Atticus said. “I think we should fix that.”
“Oh, yeah? You in charge tonight, Freckles?” Jericho murmured, bucking up beneath him just enough to lift him up.
His voice dropped low, syrupy and amused, the kind of tone that always made Atticus’s stomach swoop. Jericho loved to pretend he wasn’t affected when Atticus took the lead, but his body always betrayed him first, hips rising, breath hitching, muscles flexing under Atticus’s hands like he was starving for it.
“Well I’m not gonna fuck you if that’s what you mean,” Atticus said, dryly. “We tried that once. You’re too bossy.”
Jericho snorted. “I think what you meant to say is you came too fast?”
Atticus huffed. “I said what I said.”
Jericho bucked his hips until Atticus lifted up on his knees, letting him roll over. “Okay, Freckles. You’re in charge then. That’s fine with me.”
Atticus bit his lip when he noticed Jericho staring at his—impossible to miss—erection. He slid his palms up under Jericho’s shirt, biting his lip at the smooth warmth of his skin. He tugged the material over his head and tossed it into the abyss, practically drooling over all that honey skin just waiting for his attention. He hooked his thumbs in Jericho’s sweats. The fabric peeled away slowly, catching on Jericho’s flushed cock and thick thighs, hissing like the cold air offended him.
Atticus fell forward, bracing himself on one hand as he licked into his husband’s mouth, his hand finding one hardened nipple and pinching. Jericho moaned into his mouth. For all his talk, he was so sensitive to touch. When Atticus scraped one blunt nail over the rigid flesh, Jericho’s whole body arched up like someone had hooked a wire to his spine, the sound he made low and involuntary, half growl, half plea, all Jericho.
“What did the builder want?” Jericho asked against his lips, hips restless beneath his, his cock pressing into the crease of Atticus’s thigh.
Atticus smiled. So that was how they would play it tonight—Jericho trying to pretend he was unaffected by Atticus’s attention? He could try, but his voice was already warm and unsteady, breath ghosting over Atticus’s mouth. He never lasted long.
Atticus pulled away, dipping his head to lick the flat of his tongue over the nipple he’d just been toying with. Jericho’s hand immediately found his hair, fingers threading through the curls at the nape of his neck, not pushing, just holding, anchoring, like if he let go his whole body might float away.
He scraped the tightened nub with his teeth. “They tried to paint our walls that hideous eggshell color.”
“Oh, the horror,” Jericho said, breath hitching when Atticus sucked his already reddened nipple.
His laugh vibrated under Atticus’s lips, a deep rumble in his chest that Atticus swore he felt all the way down to his toes.
He pulled his head free, giving his other nipple the same attention only long enough to make Jericho grunt, before moving lower to dip his tongue into his belly button. “Listen, we move in less than six weeks. I don’t want to have to worry about repainting the house with two kids and a cat underfoot. Oh, and the puppysomebodypromised them if they got straight A’s.”
Jericho’s breath broke sharply as Atticus dragged his tongue down his happy trail, stopping just above where his cock lay heavy and trapped, precum pooling beneath. His abs jumped under Atticus’s mouth, every muscle tightening like Atticus was drawing invisible shapes on him with electricity.
“In my defense,” Jericho said through a strangled exhale, “I didn’t think they’d pull it off.”
Atticus hummed against his skin, wicked and pleased. His hands slid up Jericho’s ribs, feeling every breath, every tremor. Jericho pretended to be the big scary one, but underneath the bravado he melted like butter under Atticus’s hands. It was one of Atticus’s favorite things about their marriage, that this man, all rough edges and blunt force, went soft only for him.
Atticus licked the sticky wetness from his stomach, letting his tongue graze the flushed head of his erection. “They’re in kindergarten. It’s pass/fail.”
He took him into his mouth, tongueing at his slit. Jericho made a high sound that only Atticus’s mouth could pull from him. “S-See, loophole,” he managed.
Atticus snorted, sucking just the tip, the sound obscene over the muted screams coming from their television, now all but forgotten. He pulled off to say, “Yeah, right. They’ll have the girls acting as their attorneys within an hour of that argument starting. And we’ll lose.”
