Oooooh, fudge.
But Ididn’tsay “fudge.”
I don’t get to safeword for this, either, not that I really have a safeword with the sadist. I’m basically allowed to tell him if there’s harm, or it’s a work interference, and that’s it.
Well, and now we have to be careful because of the kids.
I don’t know how many he wrings out of me before he finally climbs up the bed, kisses Kev, then me, and then stretches outon my other side. He reaches up, unties my hands, and then pulls me into his arms with Kev tightly pressed against my back.
“Best lunchever,” I mumble as the men laugh.
“Yeah,” Kev said, “but youaregoing to eat some food for me before we head back downstairs.”
“Yes, Sir.” I find his hand and lace fingers with him. “You are spending all weekend, right?”
I can’t help that I’m needy like this.I gave up a lot to do this job. That means I treasure the little things, like time spent with my men.
Not like I’m out golfing every damn weekend.
Chris answers. “Yes, he is.”
I smile, because if Chris orders it so, it’s a done deal, for sure.
Kev squeezes my hand. “That’s a yes, I suppose.”
“Good.” I know that, as we grind through the next several months—Iowa, primaries, debates, and theconvention—I’m going toneedas much stolen time as I can get with my two men.
Lucky for me, they know that, too.
