I clap. “He’s overcome his fear. I’m so proud.”
“I guess this means a fondle in the lake is out of the question,” Malachi mutters.
“Not in front of the kids,” I agree as I push away from them and swim back to shore. “The first one back to camp decides who gets to take first watch with me.”
“Not happening,” Nash grumbles.
“A reminder that person also gets to sleep with me,” I shout.
Their movements make the water shift, and I smile up at the stars.
One more night, Theo, then I’m putting our little family back together. Hold on.
Chapter Fourteen
Daphne
“Ican’t feel my legs,” I whisper.
“That’s because I’m lying on them,” Hart says from the opposite end of the tent.
We determined within a few tempos that the only way to sleep in here was either me on top of a knight—which, for reasons that are frankly ridiculous, got shot down—or we top and tail like a pair of mismatched socks, which color me surprised, Hart is wearing one stripy and one spotty sock.
I wiggle his toe. “This little piggy went to market and ate sausage made of capon, because the piggy isn’t a cannibal.”
He groans. “Daphne, sleep.”
I move to the next one. “This little piggy stayed at home with her four knights who gave her lots of said sausage and orgasms. Preferably one leads to the other, because the piggy is sad about the lack of sausage.”
“Because she ate it,” he points out. I grin as I draw him inside my crazy brain. It’s addictive living inside it, but also exhausting.
“This little piggy had roast bunkum delivered already smoking by her dragon, because we couldn’t eat it otherwise.”
“I’m aware of your ridiculous issues with cooking animals you’ve petted. We know to slaughter them before they’re adopted.”
I pinch his next toe and squeeze hard in warning. “This little piggy, named Hartless, had no floof or sweet treats, because he’s a rude mellow.”
Laughter circles around us from outside. “You like me too much to go on a protest,” Hart growls.
“Lucky for me, I have three others to fill my... Ow!” I lift my head and scowl, finding a little light bleeding through the thin fabric of my sock. “Are you seriously biting my toes? Because if you have a foot fetish, perhaps you and Charming can join a support group.”
He releases me just as I wiggle his pinky toe. “And this little piggy went?—”
“If you two are going to talk insistently, we may as well swap out now,” Nash interrupts.
I grin. Finally. I’m going mad in here.
I crawl out of the tent and stretch my arms in the air. Hart follows, his hands landing on my hips as he kisses my cheek.
“Ew, toe lips.”
“They’re your toes.”
True.
Malachi grumbles something about us not being cute before climbing inside the vacated tent. Nash’s lip curls as he studies the opening, and I glance inside with him as a thought occurs.
“Malachi,” I whisper conspiratorially, as if his brothers can’t hear us.
