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I chuckle softly. “Only when no one’s looking,” I say, pressing a finger to my lips with a playfulshhh.
Another kid pipes up, eyes wide with curiosity. “Can you run faster than a car?”
I laugh, rubbing my chin. “Depends on the car. A Matchbox car? Hands down.”
The kids giggle, their eyes wide with wonder.
I lose the blazer, roll up my sleeves, and switch prosthetics as I lose myself in their world.
I might have gone with the sneakers that are always in mygym bag, but let’s be real—the blade always keeps the kids interested.
One kid, Logan, challenges me to a race around the diamond, and for once, it’s nice not to be the only one showing off.
Meanwhile, Jules has slipped into the game like a comfy pair of Uggs. She’s posted up on third base, chatting with Max, probably negotiating another deal, when she suddenly breaks for home.
The kids scramble, hollering and screaming, trying to catch her, but she’s fast—just as fast as I remember, if not faster.
I move before thinking, catching her just before she reaches the plate, lifting her clean off the ground and over my shoulder, giving the kids their much-needed victory. Cheers erupt all around us.
She squeals, half laughing, half complaining. “Hey! Put me down!”
I don’t. Not until I feel her laughter vibrating against my shoulder, warm and infectious, spilling over into my chest.
And then, because I can’t help myself, I set her down and kiss her right there, in front of all the kids.
My girl.
“Eww!” they groan in unison, hands flying up to cover their eyes.
Whatever. I’m standing here with a watch strapped to my wrist that spent some quality time in Max’s sweaty ballcap. I have earned this.
Let this be a lesson to their kind: When a man spanks his wife at sports, kissingwillhappen.
CHAPTER 38
Jules
By the time we get home, we’re dirty, sweaty, hot, and so worked up we can’t keep our hands off each other.
Every touch, every breath between us is fire. We get to the bedroom, and he kicks the door closed. I’m already on him, tearing at the fabric of his shirt like the answer to where the Holy Grail is hidden is scrawled across his chest.
“We need a shower,” I breathe between kisses and gasps for air.
“Yes,” he growls, pressing me up against the wall. “We definitely do.”
We stumble into the bathroom, high on laughter and drunk with lust. He turns on the water, and the steam rises around us, thick and hot, filling the small space.
In one swift motion, he tears off my shirt and jeans, leaving me exposed to two darkening eyes and the heat of the moment.
When he peels away my bra, revealing my full breasts and tight nipples, the world seems to stop, suspended in the tension between us.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Jules,” he murmurs, his voice rough with need.
Then he drops to a knee, his breath hot against the fabric of my pink cotton panties. Slowly, achingly slow, he lowers them, his tongue following with a deliberate, tantalizing lick.
All it takes is one thick, deep lick, and my world spins out of control. “Oh, God,” I gasp, my hand gripping his hair as I try to hold on to a shred of control, but it’s impossible.
I’m unraveling like a ball of twine down a winding staircase, and my only option is to let go and ride this glorious fall.
