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A Perfect Wreck Mila Crawford, Aria Cole 2022/8/3 13:46:55

“Take another if you want, or go take a nap. Remember, I’m on dinner duty tonight. I’ve got these two monsters,” he says, pretending to drop them. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.” He transfers Avery into the same arm that holds Dean and throws me a military salute.

I salute him back and shrug. “You’ve made me an offer I can’t refuse. Guess I’ll go take a nap. What’s on the menu?”

“Pizza, salad, red wine for me, but I’ll let you smell it and take a lick.”

“That’s what she said.” I kiss the babies on their heads and do the best I can to ignore their demands. They need Daddy time. I need alone time and sleep, and I need to elevate these elephant feet.

I wake up to Asa rubbing my feet. I wipe sleep from my eyes, disoriented about the time.

“The babies?” I ask him.

“One’s in there, I believe.” He gestures to my belly. “The other two, I lost.” I jerk my foot out of his warm, soothing hands. “Joking. Asleep. Daddy magic.”

“Both of them?” I ask him incredulously.

“Les deux,” he says. Asa squirts lotion into his palm and begins to massage the hot, tight ache that used to be my two feet.

I nearly drift off again, until I feel him crawling up my body. He tugs down my stretchy yoga pants and, with them, takes my underwear.

“You can say no if you want, but I love how you come so hard when you’re pregnant.”

“I do too.” I scoot my butt back and sit up slightly more against the pillows. I like to get a good look at the devastatingly handsome gentleman between my legs.

One swipe of his sinful tongue and I’m already vibrating. His touch is my heaven, his dedication to me and the kids, my whole life.

Weston and I were able to pull off a deal we’d been working on for a whole year. A repurposed factory downtown, five floors of gorgeous loft space with eleven-foot windows turned into luxury apartments—right on the waterfront. Financially, Callie and I are doing fine. She went back to school to become a nurse practitioner and is one of three LNPs who run a small practice consisting of mostly obstetrics and pediatric medicine. But this deal has been Weston’s and my biggest accomplishment to date. West and I promised the girls a tropical vacation without the kids—that aspect the most miraculous part we were able to pull off. With Diana Dashen in charge and the help of Callie’s parents as well as Weston’s, we’ve assembled a grandparent brigade to watch all five of our children.

The flight to Cabo is a blur of cocktails and laughter. The four of us haven’t been on an unencumbered adventure since Crosby left for Italy. We’re overdue for some frolicking and senseless fun without the kids. We’ve got a week of zip-lining, horseback riding on the beach, and dining under the stars planned.

I’m just happy to have my wife all to myself. I love our kids more than anything else in the world, but I’m excited to watch the love of my life walk around naked and rekindle morning sex instead of running to feed and change crying babes.

Callie has had two gin and tonics, and she can’t keep her hands off me. I lean down to love-bite her neck, and my skin prickles at the sound of her breath catching. Cal is still the most breathtaking woman I’ve ever seen. Those lips, those eyes—what that playful and eager body does to me…

“Do people still join the mile-high club, or is that a thing of the past?” she whispers into my ear. When Callie is turned on, I can sense it with every ounce of my being. My cock responds, becoming impossibly hard in my jeans. I sigh at the small seats, the thought of the even smaller bathroom, and the two hours left in the flight.

Placing the heel of my palm over her pussy, I apply gentle pressure to her clit. Callie squirms in her seat and pulls the airplane blanket over my hand in her lap.

“I want to swim naked with you in the ocean,” I whisper into her neck. She gasps as I grind my hand softly into her needy flesh. I can’t tell her to be quiet; I love it too much. I’m just thankful Crosby and Weston’s seats are toward the back.

We make it to Mexico in one piece, minus the bite mark on my shoulder under my T-shirt where Callie bit down when she came apart on my hand in her seat. She’s been pink-cheeked and smiley ever since. I don’t know if it’s the gin, the orgasm, the vacation, or me.

“Hello, Mrs. Dashen,” Crosby greets Callie at the luggage carousel.

“Hello, Mrs. Dashen yourself.” Crosby kept her last name for professional reasons. I’ve never seen anyone as ecstatic as these two to introduce themselves as sisters—they do so every chance they get.