Page 142 of Hard to Judge

“If you pop wood while I’m working on you, I’ll charge double.” Hard huffs. “Or y’all could just show me, answer my question, and I won’t charge at all.” He turns up a hand.

“What’s the question?” Arlo asks, coming closer.

“Don’t encourage him,” I grumble.

“Who’s bottom?” Hard points between me and Arlo. “He won’t tell me, and I can’t figure it out.”

“You’re not supposed to ask that.” Hailey rumples her upper lip at him.

“Hey, it’s me, not some homophobe,” Hard tries to defend.

“Still.” Hailey rolls her eyes.

Arlo leans over me and presses his lips to mine.

Still, no matter how, when, or where it happens, I’m flabbergasted that this man is mine. When he tongued me in front of Mio at the office, I’m pretty sure she and I both died on the spot.

I hum my approval against his mouth as I taste a hint of pussy on his lips.

A gasp fills the room.

Arlo stands, and I focus on Hailey. Her hand is over her mouth, and her gaze is locked on my new tattoo. “Is that?”

“It is,” I assure her. Arlo smiles between us.

“It’s beautiful.” She blinks.

“It hardly does you justice.” I hold out my hand, and she comes to me.

“Hey, I take offense,” Hard says.

I ignore him and tug Hailey down for a kiss. A kiss that tastes distinctly like her pussy and my husband’s cum.

“Naughty, naughty girl.” I nip her lips.

“Would you have me any other way?” she purrs.

“Not a chance.” But I most assuredly have a semi, and Hard’s elbow is coming damn close to finding out about it.

“Same deal as before.” Arlo gestures toward the door.

Hailey straightens, looking as confused as I feel.

“Give me a minute,” Hard grumbles, wiping down his work harder than necessary.

“Ouch.” I glare.

“Don’t be a pussy.” He turns and grabs the ointment and clear wrap to cover the tattoo. “You’ll get one in a second.”

My glare turns absolutely menacing. We’ll have to find a new artist. I’m about to rip this one’s eyes from his sockets and his tongue from his mouth.

Hailey lays a hand on my bare chest. She’s shucked her coat, revealing the outfit from my closet that’s intrigued me since the day she and Arlo moved in. Three thin black leather straps snatch her waist, while two more create an X in the valley of her breasts. Underneath a sheer black crop top does little to cover her chest. The flare of her hips is covered in one of her signature long flowy skirts.

I’d bet my savings she has nothing on underneath.

She crouches low. Her lips press against my ear. “He’s not wrong.”

What little blood I had in my brain rushes south, heating my dick.

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