She walks toward me. Stops right in front of where I’m sitting. And without breaking eye contact, she reaches behind her back and lowers the zip of her dress.
The dress loosens slightly at the shoulders.
“You said something about doing what I want to you?” she murmurs.
“I also said walk safely.”
She steps closer. “I’m home now.”
I slide a hand to her waist, slow enough that she can step back if she wants to.
She doesn’t.
“You were watching Rowan’s story, weren’t you,” she says softly.
“Maybe.”
She studies me. “Did it make you jealous?”
I’m honest. “A little.”
She smiles. “Good.”
And then she kisses me. Not frantic. Not rushed. Just sure. Then before I know it, she’s tying her hair above her head, getting down on her knees and taking every inch of my cock into her gorgeous, strawberry coloured lips.
And fuck, I am the luckiest man alive.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
EMMA
I wake to the sound of running feet pounding down the hallway. That frantic, unmistakable rhythm of small humans on a mission. A crash follows. Then a burst of giggles. The kind that’s half-innocent, half-terrified someone might actually be hurt.
For a moment, I keep my eyes closed, hoping maybe it’s a dream. The room is still dim, washed in that soft pre-morning light that seeps through the curtains. Then I feel it. A sudden thump on the mattress beside me and the weight of a small body launching itself into my ribs.
“Mum! Mum! We’re gonna be late for Rugby!”
Oscar’s voice is a jolt of pure energy. He’s practically vibrating, his hair sticking up in a dozen directions, cheeks flushed with excitement. It’s Saturday, which means Rugby practice which is his entire world right now, especially since Rugby superstar, Rory Bennett moved back to town.
Dan groans beside me, dragging an arm over his face like he’s shielding himself from the apocalypse. “What time is it?” he mumbles, voice muffled by the pillow.
“Time to get up, Dad!” Oscar announces, already bouncing like a pogo stick.
“Go back to bed, mate,” Dan tries weakly.
But Oscar is gone in a flash, sprinting out of the room and leaving the door wide open. I can hear Sophie in the hallway, singing to herself. Her little voice drifts through the house, full of made-up lyrics about rainbows and pyjamas. Somewhere down the hall, a cupboard door slams, followed by Ruby’s tiny cry. She’s awake too.
I sigh, rolling toward Dan and brushing my fingers against his arm. “Your turn to get them dressed.”
He peeks at me from under his arm, lips twitching. “I did it last Saturday.”
I arch a brow. “And I got up with Ruby every night this week when she had nightmares.”
He exhales dramatically, the kind of sigh that says you win, then presses a quick kiss to my temple before dragging himself upright. “Fine. But I’m making you coffee first.”
Bless him. He knows that’s the key to keeping me semi-functional.
As he disappears toward the kitchen, I lie back for a moment, letting the morning sounds flood in. The cartoon theme music from the living room, Sophie chattering to herself about which leotard to wear and the soft hum of the kettle starting up. It’s chaos, yes, but it’s our chaos. A kind of symphony that only makes sense when you’ve lived in it long enough.
