A need to touch her, tease her like no man has, challenge her the way she challenges me. All logic goes out the window when it comes to her. It’s the attraction that’s messing with me because nobody wants to sign up for her daily rants and raves.
And I normally do better by Hadley. I don’t invite women into our lives, yet that’s all I seem to do with April.
Her eyes penetrate my own with want.
A sound escapes from the back of my throat because there will be no more suspense in this moment.
I slam my mouth onto hers, and her sound of surprise vanishes when I draw in her breath. She gives in by kissing me back. I haven’t kissed her since those months ago, yet still she tastes like cake, a distinct taste that I remember because I had spread it on her cheek.
Her murmur rumbles into my mouth as we struggle to pull our lips apart for a breath. But this isn’t going to stop. We manage to take a quick inhale before our mouths seal together again. A rush takes over, and no thoughts come into my mind. I just give in to this moment.
April’s arms loop around my neck, and I lift her up onto the washing machine that is conveniently on.
A laugh escapes, and she untangles our mouths, but her lips brush along mine. “Everything is vibrating,” she whispers.
I grin to myself because she means the sensations from the machine, and hopefully what my lips do to her.
We go at it again, making out like two teenagers. Hands roaming, tongues dueling, and our mouths and necks getting thoroughly explored.
“Does this make up for yesterday?” I pant.
“Shh. I enjoy this more when you don’t remind me of the reasons I don’t like you.” She doesn’t elaborate because she kisses me again.
The height of the machine makes it perfect for her center to meet mine, and tilting my bulge into her, my hard cock must take her by surprise as she yelps and smiles against my jaw.
“I am trying to contain myself from ripping this sweater off of you,” I warn. It’s knitted, off-the-shoulder, and distracting.
She hums in approval.
This is a version of myself I don’t quite recognize. Everything I do lately is the opposite of my structured rules and routine.
“April,” my daughter calls out and seems to be walking down the hall.
Shit, Hadley.
April and I instantly freeze mid-kiss before I back away, swiping a hand through my hair.
“Yeah, kiddo?” April calls out and hops off the washing machine, quickly adjusting her shirt and glancing over her shoulder at me with a semi-panicked look, then her eyes dart down to my impressive member, and I turn away, my fist clenched in the air.
Hadley opens the door. “What are you doing in here?”
“Oh.” April gulps. “Your dad was showing me how to turn on the washing machine.”
With her hand clasping the handle, Hadley looks between us, skeptical.
“What did you need, sweet pea?” I ask, avoiding turning my full body to her.
“Can I walk Pickles?” she inquires with excitement.
Relief seems to flood April’s face. “Sure. How about I come with you. Your dad mentioned he needs a cold shower or swim now anyhow.” April begins ushering Hadley out, not even looking back.
When they're both out of sight, my hands land on the washing machine in frustration. I curse and growl because I let that moment happen.
I’m not even sure what has me in a mood more. The fact I kissed April while my daughter was in the other room so close, or the fact that Hadley interrupted us.
And both options are a problem.
* * *
