Seriously. Did you forget who you’re talking to? I’m the queen of avoidance. I have a crown and everything.
Willa:
I really am busy at the farm!
Sutton:
Uh huh.
Chloe:
Guess we’ll have to pounce when you least expect it.
Willa:
Can’t wait.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
LINCOLN
Takingmy wife to the grocery store while I was starved for her pussy and recalling, in great detail, exactly how she’d tasted probably wasn’t the best idea. Not when everything I looked at suddenly became a pairing to the most intoxicating flavor I’d ever had the pleasure of experiencing.
Willa wore old jeans that were nearly as soft as her tits and my flannel, the sleeves rolled to the elbows. As if that pairing weren’t making me hard enough, her hair was pulled up in this lazy, messy knot that made me want to drag it all down. Or grip it while she sucked me off. Or while I fucked her from behind. Or, hell, just while I kissed the ever-loving shit out of her.
The problem I was facing wasn’t just that I wanted her with a single-minded intensity. It was that I craved her like a goddamn addiction. And every look, every reluctant laugh, every brush of her fingers against me only made it worse.
And to top it all off? She didn’t even realize what she was doing to me.
I was strolling behind her in aisle three, mentally mapping all the places I wanted to put my mouth on her, when the universe smacked me in the face with an offensive-as-fuck display.
“Are youkiddingme?”
“What?” Willa stopped, glancing back at me before taking in our surroundings. No doubt wondering why I was losing my shit in the PB&J aisle.
“This is goddamn criminal,” I said, nodding toward a shelf of overpriced hipster jams that looked like someone had overstock from Etsy they needed to get rid of. “Fifteen bucks for that pathetic little jar.”
She huffed out a laugh. “You sold mine fortwenty-five.”
“Yeah, but yours taste delicious. These probably taste like disappointment and regret.”
Willa snorted, grabbing a jar of peanut butter and tossing it into the cart. “You have to say that. Pretty sure it’s in the unofficial rule book of being married.”
“I say it because it’s true, wife.” I grabbed one of the offensive jars of jam and scanned the back, gasping at what I found. “This isn’t evenrealsmall batch! This is made by another fucking multibillion-dollar company! Forget disappointment and regret—this probably tastes like greed and lies.”
“Okay, calm down.” Willa grabbed the jar from me, replaced it on the shelf, and dragged me along next to her. “Don’t start a fight with that company. We can’t afford that kind of lawsuit.”
“We could if you’d listen to me,” I said, wrapping an arm around her and letting my fingertips brush the generous curve of her ass. “We could have you stocked in stores like this. Shit, I bet I could have it done in a month.”
Huffing out a breath, she rolled her eyes and strode out of the aisle. “You’re being ridiculous.”
She tried to sound dismissive, but I didn’t miss the way her lips twitched or her eyes went soft as she looked at me. She liked that I believed in her, even if she couldn’t say it out loud. And I was all too happy to be cocky as fuck for her.
Hell, for her? I’d be anything she needed me to be.
“I’m just saying,” I said, strolling up behind her, lowering my voice as I leaned in close. “If you let me handle this, you’d be outselling every jar in that aisle by fall.”
She gave me a look over her shoulder. “In what world do I let you handle anything?”
