Page 91 of Dr. Attending

Once we finish up our conversation filled with babbles and a detailed recount of my workday, I decide to get him ready for bed. It’s slightly earlier than normal since I took him home after his daycare costume parade, but I figure that I can add an extra book to the rotation to make up for it.

As we’re making our way down the hall to the stairs, my phone starts to ring. I stop and pull it out of my pocket, surprised to see Caroline calling.

“Hey, princess. Miss me already?”

“Wes,” she answers, her tone whispered and urgent. “If you don’t want your neighbors to think you ordered a dominatrix for the evening, I suggest that you answer the goddamn door.”

It takes me a minute to process what she just said because I didn’t hear anything, and my phone didn’t notify me that someone had arrived like it normally does . . . but then I remember that I disabled the settings for the evening so the trick-or-treaters didn’t set it off every five minutes.

I walk toward the door, pausing momentarily to look through the peephole. The blurry glass distorts the details, but I can see enough to know I’m in trouble—big fucking trouble.

Caroline is standing on my porch wearing a sleeveless black vinyl bodysuit that pushes her tits up to her chin and matching thigh-high boots that make her legs appear ridiculously long.

Fuck me.

I don’t have the ability to process how much it means that she’s here because my cock takes over my brain, and I have to take a deep breath to calm myself down. Carter is currently in my arms, and I can’t exactly pounce on her with him watching.

Not yet, anyway.

“Exhibitionism sounds kind of kinky,” I drawl, unable to help myself from messing with her. “Never thought I’d be into showing off what’s mine until I saw you wearingthat.”

I’m talking out of my ass—I don’t want anyone to see her like this other than me. Fortunately, our street is normally pretty quiet, and trick-or-treaters shouldn’t be coming around for another half hour or so.

But Caroline doesn’t know that.

“Wes,” she snarls, stomping her heel against the doormat.

Her cheeks are flushed from the chilly air, and she glances over her shoulder like she’s worried someone might see her. “Let me in, or I swear I’m going to make you pay for this.”

“Yes, Madame,” I tease, ending the call before she can respond.

I step back and unlock the door, taking a second to make her wait before I open it with an amused smirk.

Her glimmering-blue eyes narrow as they meet mine.

“Don’t start,” she warns, all of the irritation from her tone dropping the second she focuses on my son. “Hey, buddy! I’m so glad you’re still up.”

Carter squeals and reaches for her, his chubby hands opening and closing like he needs her now. The smile that breaks across her face is instant, softening her glaring eyes as she takes him from me and plants a kiss on his head.

I close the door, unable to drag my eyes away from Caroline’s body as she turns away. The shiny stiletto boots are sky high, making her ass and thighs look better than ever, and her long hair is loosely curled, swishing back and forth as she sways her hips.

All I can think about is pulling her into my arms, running my fingers over her outrageous curves, and then spending the evening worshiping her.

But then she spins back around with Carter, and my arousal is replaced with a feeling that burns a hole in my chest. It’s almost like a twisted mixture of sadness and nostalgia—like I’m longing for this moment to never end, but I’m acutely aware that it will.

“Such a handsome astronaut,” she coos, pressing her cheek to his as she bounces him. “I’m sorry I missed you last night, C.”

Carter giggles and I can’t help but gape in awe because they’re so natural together.

I worried he might forget her or that he would shy away because she hasn’t gotten to spend a ton of time with him. But he doesn’t. He hasn’t. Each time he sees her, it’s like she’s the most important person in the room. And I’m right there with him.

“You caught him just in time . . . we were about to head up to bed.”

Caroline stills, her grin faltering slightly. “Oh, okay.”

“Do you . . . want to help?” I offer, the question feeling almost ridiculous as it leaves my mouth.

Why would anyone willingly choose to help put a toddler to bed—especially a toddler who isn’t theirs?

---