Family dinner is locked, loaded.
The boys are vibrating like virgins on prom night because fresh-meat hazing is a sacred tradition in this house.
They even tidied the playroom.
Lube alphabetized, floggers dusted, swing oiled.
Orion’s been roasting Callum that he’s finally getting promoted from ‘baby of the family’ to ‘middle child who needs therapy.’ Elliot went full Freud and asked how Callum feels about losing his crown. Noah keeps saying that Vitaly’s nervous.
God, I love that for me.
He’s so fucking precious.
But today? Today is Reid-shaped.
Tall, broody, badge-carrying, morally bankrupt Reid.
My dirty little detective left a single pink rose on my desk this morning. And a glossy 8x10 of me riding Vitaly’s cock in the bakery back room. Note scrawled on the back in that sharp handwriting:
I’m watching your ass. You’re welcome. —R.
Like it’s a favor.
Like I don’t already know where every inch of him is, always.
How cute.
I took the rest of the day off. Obviously.
Right now he thinks I’m in my office being a good girl, filing TPS reports.
Oh baby, you wish.
The only thing I’m filing is a restraining order against my own self-control.
Tracker says he’s four minutes from the burger joint.
Just like he always is this time of day when he works.
He’ll be sitting in the back, at one of the umbrella tables.
Eating a disgusting greasy triple decker bacon wrapped cheeseburger monstrosity. Paperwork spread on the table. A basket of onion rings. And coffee.
He needs some homecooked love.
God. I can’t wait until Vitaly and Elliot get in the kitchen together.
To be fair, he’s a civilized savage. Like my other darlings.
Never talks with his mouth full. No drippy meat beard.
Just clean hands, sharp eyes, and a jaw that could grind me to dust.
Florist first.
One pink rose. One teddy bear. The heart stitched between its paws says mine.
Gas station next.
