Quinn made a show of looking around at the otherwise deserted beach. “I think that’s a little overkill, don’t you? There’s no one here we have to perform for.”
“And that’s exactly the reason youshouldbe performing. Get in some practice. Honestly, you guys need to get your heads in the game. We’ve got a lot on the line here—”
“We?” I asked, brow raised.
“Yes,we. I already told you I’m bringing every one of you idiots with me to my next doctor’s appointment if I have to book it with Dicknose. If I have to suffer through, so do you. Now, focus! You’ve got Chelsea’s wedding coming up, and you’ve got to be on point for that, so snuggle up. Pretend like you like each other enough that you just committed your lives to each other.”
Well, I sure as hell wasn’t going to say no to that.
Bracing myself back on one of my hands, I widened my legs and patted the space between. “She’s got a point, wife. Time to snuggle up.”
Quinn shot me an impassive look, but I simply grinned back at her. It was time for her to get over this little grudge. It wasn’t my fault Aiden called the tie game for Beck and me rather than her and Everly.
With a long-suffering sigh, she stood and walked over, settling into the space between my legs. She relaxed back into me by degrees until she was soft and pliant against me, her hands resting on my thighs.
“See,” Addison said. “Is that so hard?”
“Yeah, is that so hard, kitten?” I murmured against Quinn’s ear before pressing a kiss there, knowing damn well she could feel exactly how much I loved having her this close.
It’d been two weeks since the Blueberry Fest and thus since beginning to fuck my wife on a consistent basis, but my dick still reacted to the scent of her shampoo like he was a starving man at his first feast. Like he hadn’t just been inside her two hours ago, our impromptu not-so-quickie making us late to this little family night.
Quinn slid a glance at me out of the corner of her eye, her lips pursed to the side, proving just how unimpressed she was. But even through the flickering light of the bonfire, I could see the flush of her cheeks and the tight peaks of her nipples against the front of her T-shirt.
Yeah, my wife could pretend to be irritated all she wanted, but she loved knowing just how much she turned me on, and I was all too willing to remind her.
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
QUINN
My period wasunpredictable and didn’t like to be confined to any kind of schedule, but when it hit, it hit with a vengeance. That wasn’t true for everyone who suffered from PCOS—that was part of what made it so hard to diagnose…no two women’s experiences were the same—but it was my reality and had been since I was eleven years old. In the past twenty years, I’d learned how to manage it. Butmanagingit was about as good as it got.
Thankfully, Day One hit on a Saturday, so I wasn’t needed at the clinic, and by some kind of miracle, Ford was working a twenty-four at the fire station, so I could turtle away without worrying about anyone else.
We’d been married for a little over a month, but since this was the first period I’d had since living with him, I didn’t know what to expect. In my experience, men were either clueless, dismissive, or—worst of all—disgusted by women’s bodies and the shit we dealt with. I wasn’t sure I could handle if Ford was any of those, but especially the latter two.
Though maybe that would be better. Maybe if he was a jackass about something like this, that would help siphon off some of this…affection…I’d been feeling toward him.
Maybe that would help me stop falling for my husband.
But I was beginning to wonder if it was a losing endeavor. Between the sex and the laughs, the ease we felt when we were around each other, I was in over my head. More so than I’d intended. More so than I ever expected. And I had no idea where to go from here.
I’d spent yesterday curled in bed, bingeingEmily in Paris, and drugging myself with enough ibuprofen to kill a horse. Day Two generally wasn’t much better, but I needed to put on a brave face and downplay how I was feeling because Ford would be home any time. I doubted he’d even considered this aspect of marriage when he agreed to be my fake husband, and who knew how he’d react to it.
Ford was a sexual guy, and since that night of the Blueberry Fest, we hadn’t gone more than thirty-six hours without some form of sex. And only that long on the days he was scheduled at the station. When he was working, he’d fill his downtime by sexting me in preparation for pouncing as soon as he walked through the door.
Usually, I loved it. I’d never been wanted like this in my life, so I loved knowing that he was thinking about me while he was gone. Loved knowing that he couldn’t wait to be with me again.
He’d tried the same yesterday, but I’d shut him down and warned him my pussy was a no-go zone right now. He might have been able to talk me into sex on day five or six, but on day one or two? Not even his magic peen could get me to succumb.
I was in the middle of season three of Emily’s exploits when the front door opened, and in walked Ford, carrying half a dozen bags. He sought me out immediately, his gaze running over me from head to toe, as if he could see beyond the piles of blankets I was burrowed under in our bed to verify I was okay.
“How’re you feeling, wife?” he asked, dropping off the bags in the kitchen before walking into the bedroom. He braced his hands on either side of me and pressed a soft kiss to my temple.
“I’m okay,” I said, lying through my teeth.
He made a disbelieving sound in the back of his throat. “Well, my beautiful little liar, your husband is finally home, and he brought reinforcements.”
“You didn’t need to get anything. I’m good.”
