Page 75 of Situationship
“Chirp, trill, chirp,”the smaller one said.
“Purr, purr, yowl, trill,”the other let out.
Colin rested his head against hers. “I either press the Hold button here and feed them now, leaving us sixtyish minutes of uninterrupted time, or I don’t and they scream at the door until I do.”
“According to the clock above your television, fifty-eight minutes,” she teased.
“Fuck it, they can eat kibble.”
“Or you feed them, and I make sure we’re still shaken.” She linked her hands behind his back. “Catch me.”
His palms were cupping her ass in record time and lifting her. Her skirt was too short to cover much, so his hands gripped bare skin.
“Jesus, Bianchi,” he groaned. “We talking a thong or commando?”
“I guess that depends on how well you multitask.”
“I’m a grand master of multitasking.” As soon as her ankles locked around his back, turning her skirt into a Hula-Hoop around her waist, he was on the move, carrying her through the kitchen and into the laundry room. She kept her end of the bargain, nipping his earlobe, nuzzling the curve of his neck, and whispering exactly what she wanted him to do once this time-out was over. Only she got impatient.
She unbuttoned his shirt, running her fingers over his abs, fully appreciating the effects of habitual windsurfing. Next up, his jeans. First the button—pop—then his zipper—oh so slowly.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “That’s not playing fair.”
“I didn’t realize there were rules.” It was a little tricky, but she managed to slip a hand between them. “Maybe you can tell me about them later.”
“Later,” he agreed. “Much later.”
He set her ass on the tile. “It’s cold.”
“I didn’t realize there were rules,” he parroted, then gave her thighs a little squeeze. “Don’t move.”
He pulled two bowls from the pantry, poured enough kibble for three days, slid them across the hardwood and outside the door, then slammed it. He turned back around and froze.
“I might have moved a little.” Oh, she’d moved a lot. She dumped everything but her bra and thong, which he couldn’t stop staring at.
He ran a hand over his jaw, erasing every ounce of surprise and replacing it with swagger—panty-melting swagger. “I think I can overlook the transgression.”
Leaning back on her palms, she primly crossed one leg over the other. “It isn’t peach. Today felt more like a daffodil yellow day. I hope you don’t mind.”
He stalked toward her, resting his palms on the edge of the counter. “Did you know daffodil yellow is my favorite color? I’m thinking of painting it all over the counters and maybe up against the door.”
Suddenly, her confidence dwindled as she realized that her body wasn’t what it used to be. She was a mom, had more curves, and no longer possessed that seventeen-year-old figure. On the other hand, Colin looked even better than ever.
Self-conscious, she wrapped her arms around her tummy. His expression softened.
“Don’t,” he said, taking her hands in his. “You’re beautiful.”
“I’ve carried twins.”
“Did I mention I’m into hot moms?” he teased, then went serious. “Don’t ever feel the need to hide from me, Teagan.” The use of her full name sent butterflies spinning in her chest. “You are sexy and smart and you have this shy way about you that turns me on.”
He held her hands out to her sides, his gaze taking a slow journey down her body. When he met her eyes and she saw the hunger there, that uncertainty vanished and was replaced with the same raw need.
“You know, I hear that washing machines, when properly loaded, make some nice vibrations. Maybe even take it from stirred to shaken.” She uncrossed her legs. “So I guess the only question is: Do you prefer thong or commando?”
“I prefer you.” He stepped between her legs, taking her mouth in another searing kiss. “You know what I like about choices? You can try out one, then switch to another.”
She loosely wrapped her legs around him again. “You want to try with my thong on first?”
