Page 2 of Deprived No More

“You’ll have to catch me first.”

As I turn the corner, I notice my oldest, Grace, is sitting on the floor with little Olivia cradled in her lap. Grace has become the doting caretaker and protector of her little sister, who often falls prey to the bad behaviors of her older brothers.

I’ll never forget the day Grace unexpectedly came into our lives. Her birth mother found she could no longer provide for her little girl. Katarina had befriended Katrina after arriving at the ER in labor, unaware she was eight months pregnant. A preterm delivery without prenatal care caused a lengthy stay for Grace in neonatal intensive care, but that little dynamo has been a fighter from the day she popped into the world.

After Katarina’s infertility, the ability to adopt this amazing girl was nothing short of a miracle. Grace thrived, and we felt ready to adopt again when we were quickly matched with a young mother who developed an open adoption plan for her baby, much like we have with Katrina. We met the birth mom and were excited to add another child to our family, but she changed her mind shortly after delivery.

We were devastated. It felt like losing a child to miscarriage. All of the hopes and dreams we’d created for our second daughter were dashed in the blink of an eye. Katarina took it hard at first but channeled all of her emotion into Grace. We know this is a difficult decision for any mother, handing their child over to someone else to raise. It was years before we felt we could handle trying adoption again. Eventually, the right opportunity presented itself, and we were matched with another courageous birth mother. It was then Olivia came into our lives.

Grace is seven, and Olivia is three. These two beauties have me completely under their spell, and they know it. I have to watch that Katarina won’t scold me for giving in to just about anything these little angels ask for. Their brothers, on the other hand…

“I’m getting closer, Logan. You’re going down.”

Maniacal laughing ensues from Mason as the two hellions fly through the great room once more.Is that the vacuum cleaner attachment he’s wielding?Shaking my head at their constant antics, I place my briefcase on the hallway bench and laugh.

These two little terrors joined our family through the foster system. We’d taken classes to care for children in need of emergency placement after Kat shared an experience in the ER that had touched her years ago. She’d cared for a scared young boy in the custody of a foster parent and the memory had clung to her. Since that day, Kat had felt led to open her heart to an older child who needed a safe home. We’d taken in several infants and toddlers over the years but one day received a call asking for assistance with the emergency placement of siblings from a neglectful home. The children had been removed from their mother’s care after continued malnourishment and eventual abandonment. Their father hadn’t been in the picture for years. There was a brief honeymoon period, as the two boys warmed up to us, where they were timid and calm. But as they’ve settled into life here, it appears these two wild things crashed into our lives much as Katarina had hurtled into mine.

Logan is the older of the two by eleven months. To anyone unfamiliar with our family, they’d assume these two hellions were five-year-old twins. They have dark hair and eyes and are of similar stature. Their most impressive feature is their volume.

“Boys, keep it to a dull roar, okay?” I plead over the commotion. They’re wearing only their sweatpants and silly makeshift hats while running around the open kitchen and living area. This isn’t at all surprising, given the two of them would stay naked if we didn’t continually beg them to put on clothes.

As I make my way around the large marble island separating the kitchen from the great room, I take in the glorious sight of my wife in front of the stove. I assume she’s making spaghetti and meatballs from the rich aroma of tomatoes and spices. It’s the kids’ favorite. Katarina’s wearing a tank dress that skims the top of her thighs as she dances, stirring the succulent sauce in front of her. The music from the cartoon Grace and Olivia are watching in the distance in no way matches the hypnotizing way her hips are moving. She must be wearing earbuds. I can feel my dick twitch as the navy-blue hem of her dress sways back and forth over the soft skin of her toned thighs.

Suddenly, her pace picks up, and I observe as her hips start to shimmy provocatively, making me grow harder still. Looking over my shoulder to confirm Grace and Olivia are otherwise occupied with the television show they’re watching, I readjust my now obvious erection.Hell, this woman.I’m surprised my pheromones haven’t caused her to sense my presence.

Abruptly, I have to take a step back, startled as Kat puts the spatula down and lifts her arms over her head to bring her entire body undulating to whatever she is listening to. A ridiculously toothy grin inhabits my face as it suddenly dawns on me that I’ve won the lottery.I married the Dirty Librarian.

Reaching forward, I pluck an earbud from her right ear and chuckle as Kat gasps at the intrusion into her private dance party. Placing the bud into my ear, I don’t recognize the title, but there’s no mistaking it’s Shakira. And clearly, Kat loves the tune.Those hips don’t lie.

“Dr. Barnes, did anyone ever tell you it’s dangerous to sneak up on someone when they’re in front of a hot stove?”

“Mrs. Barnes, did anyone ever tell you it’s dangerous to wiggle your hot ass in front of your husband?” I place her hand over the firm rod nestled in my pants, grateful to be shielded from small humans by the kitchen island.

“It appears you have a bit of a problem.” She giggles.

“A bit? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Her hand quickly withdraws from my needy cock just as two screaming maniacs come bounding toward us. It’s about this time I notice Kat grab the little white hats from their heads in a stealthy move before barking their names.

“Oh no, you don’t. Logan, Mason, get back here.”

Realizing who’s in charge in this family, the boys hurriedly stop and face Kat as if being challenged by a drill Sergeant. They don’t bother glancing in my direction. They’re compliant but can’t stop the goofy smiles they’re wearing.

“Where are we supposed to wear these?” she asks, presenting the small caps she’s plucked from their heads. I continue to observe as she pulls the waistbands of their sweatpants forward and shakes her head. Instantly, I realize these self-constructed hats are their underwear.

“Please put those where they belong and wash your hands for dinner. It’s almost ready, but I need you to sit with your sisters until the rolls are done.”

“Awe, man,” they groan in unison.

As they sprint off, I bend down to peek into the oven door I’ve pulled ajar and inhale the mouthwatering aroma of fresh bread. Noticing the timer shows eleven minutes remaining, I quickly exit the kitchen to greet my girls in the great room. Hugs and kisses are distributed to my quiet little lasses before I bend down to whisper into Grace’s ear. “Daddy needs Mommy’s help with something before dinner. Can you try to keep an eye on the boys? It’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Sure, Daddy. But they don’t like to sit.” I watch as Grace’s face erupts in a giant smile. “Can I put them in time out if they’re running?” she asks gleefully.

“No. I have a better idea.” Returning to my full height, I dart over to my study, practically running to my roll-top desk, and reach into the top drawer where I hide my secret weapons. It’s essential I save these for extraordinary occasions and keep the location of the silencers under lock and key. Returning to Grace’s side, I watch her shocked expression as I hand her four child-sized lollipops.

“Before dinner? Mommy is going to kill-”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry, Grace.” I watch as the look of utter dejection dots her face as I place them in my pocket. The guilt over my corruption is making my stomach lurch. I’m a terrible father for doing this, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

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