“A get-on-your-knees job. A suck-my-cock job. A—”
“They do say every girl turns into their mother,” Primrose announces.
We turn our heads in unison. Primrose stands in the doorway, arms folded across her chest, wearing a thoroughly bored-looking expression.
“Don’t even joke about that.” Lavender’s lip curls, though she doesn’t move. She can’t—I still have my thigh under hers, and my fingers are still gripping her ass. “I’m scarred from just hearing the tales.” Her head turns, her tone as perfunctory as the tap she delivers to my shoulder. “A little space here?”
“Not yet, princess. I have a… situation,” I mutter only for her ears.
“Oh. So you do. Feels more like apressingproblem to me,” she says with a snicker.
“Yuk it up. Meanwhile, you’re going nowhere.”
“Primrose, piss off,” my wife announces. “Unless you want to be ruined for all other men.”
I almost hear the roll of her sister’s eyes.
“Please, as if you’re going to go at it while I’m standing in the doorway,” she retorts, misunderstanding Lavender’s implication.
“How’d you know we’re not into an audience?”
“Keep going,” I mutter. “You’re helping the problem.”
Lavender gives another soft laugh. “You’re into that?”
“Stop it.”
“But not Primrose,” she whispers in my ear. “How about Leo?”
“How about I lock you in our bedroom for a year or two?”
“Do I get conjugal visits?”
“Try to keep me away.”
“Once again,” Prim utters loudly, “don’t mind me or my presence.”
“Oh, we don’t.”
“What can we help you with, Primrose?” A fuck-ton of exasperation fills my tone.
“You can put my sister down for a start,” she says, folding her arms. “I have a message for her.”
“My ears work just fine. They’re the only place not tingling,” she adds in a loud whisper.
“Urgh! I am still standing here!”
“Yes, I can smell you from over here.”
Man, these two have antagonization down to aT. And they’re both smiling.
“Fine. Whit just called to speak toyouonmymobile because you aren’t answering yours. And now I see why. I can call him back if you like.” She shakes her cell phone to solidify her point. “Tell him you’re misappropriating company time?”
“It’s my company,” she retorts. “If I want to shag in the front window, it’s up to me.”
“Me,” I growl, lowering her leg.
“And him, apparently,” she adds as she shakes out her skirt.
