I was panting twenty minutes later, stretched out on the counter with my pants unbuckled and three of Channing’s fingers inside of me. I was riding his hand when I faintly remembered the time.
A car door banged shut.
A second one.
I froze. “Oh shit!”
Channing grunted, his eyes glazed over with lust. “Huh?”
“OH SHIT!”
And then we heard a piercing scream from my little girl, “MOMMA!”
That’d be our little four-year-old. Natessia was my exact replica. The door opened, and we heard Bren call, “Take your goddamn fingers out of your wife. You have three dogs running around tearing up your pillows. You have another kid covered in duct tape, which Maddy is trying to tear off, and your stupid goat just head-butted my ass.”
Channing gazed down at me, his eyes so loving, and we took another second—just one second. The world stripped away for us, and he mouthed “I love you” before twitching his fingers in a sudden movement, which pushed me over the edge.
I was still trembling as he washed his hands and went to handle everything outside.
Yes. We had done quite well.
And we had a third on the way.