Marriage of Inconvenience(Knitting in the City Book #7)(179)

#Reylo4Ever

Closing the distance between us, Kat leaned forward, giving me a kiss while her hand came right to the front of my pants. I straightened, my eyes swinging to her as she stroked me over my zipper.

“Well, hello Mrs. O’Malley.” I let the knot sit unfinished at my neck and put my hands on her body, sliding them down to her waist.

I missed her.

Before the family trip to Chicago, she’d been gone on a two-week business thing to China. And before that, she’d been gone for five days to Dubai. When the kids didn’t have school over the summer, we all went with her. Just like, if I had a trip, everyone went with me.

But Kat and I agreed, we wanted the kids at a good school during the year, where they could make friends and live in a house that felt like a home. That meant one of us was at home every day. We never took trips at the same time. This wasn’t always easy, but when something is important to you, you prioritize it. We could, so we did.

“I want you. Tonight,” she said, her gaze dropping to my lips.

“You shall have me. Tonight. Several times, if you wish.”

Her grin widened and she sighed wistfully, moving like she was going to leave. I held her in place.

We weren’t running late yet, and that was a miracle. I knew I shouldn’t mess up her makeup, or pull her hair, or stick my hand up her dress, especially since we actually had a chance to make it to the venue on time. But I’d never been very good at doing what I should.

So I hitched up her skirt.

Her eyes widened and she caught my hands. “Dan.”

“Why wait ’til tonight?” I bent my lips to her jaw, gave her a little bite.

She sighed again, angling her head back. “We’ll be late.”

“No we won’t.” I kissed her neck. “We’ll be quick.”

“You’re never quick.” She laughed, then another sigh as I palmed her still exquisite tits over the thin, silky fabric of her dress.

“But you can be quick.” Trailing my fingers down her sides, I lifted the hem of her dress.

Her breath caught. “Don’t you dare wrinkle this dress,” she said, her hands gripping my shoulders, making no move to stop me.

“I need to taste you.” I pressed my tongue flat against the sensitive inch beneath her ear, slowly licking, my fingers rubbing her over her little cotton underwear.

Let me stop right here, because I know what you’re thinking, Cotton underwear? But you don’t understand. This underwear was so fucking soft and comfortable, it was like wearing a cloud. I’d had some boxers made of the same material after I’d felt it. Janie had bought Kat a ton of pairs after she’d had the twins. I couldn’t sing its praises highly enough. And so breathable!

That said, I wanted it off of her body right fucking now.

I hooked my thumb in the waistband and tugged. “One taste.”

She breathed out, like she was feverish, but managed to say, “Fine, if I can have one taste of you.”

My hand stalled and I thought about that. She meant what she said, I’d get one taste of her, and then she’d take me into her mouth like a popsicle for one, hot, wet, slow suck.

My wife is a sadist.

And I’m still okay with that.

Before I could answer, a little voice somewhere down the hall asked, “Can I use superglue to put an eyelash back on my eye?” and we both stiffened, our eyes wide and panicked.

“I’ll get it.”

“You get it.”

We said in unison, and we were off.

Sadism and sexy times would have to wait until later.



Jack’s concert was incredible. He was only in town for one performance, on his way to Italy, and we felt lucky we got to see him play.

Greg and Fiona’s oldest kid had more musical talent in his pinky finger than all three hundred members of my entire extended family combined, even though my sister Colleen considered herself a singer.

She was not a singer. Getting drunk at a pub in Ireland and singing “Danny Boy” a cappella to a rousing round of applause does not make you a singer. You sing “Danny Boy” anywhere in Ireland, they applaud you. It’s a thing. Look it up.

Anyway, we weren’t late to the concert, despite DJ’s best efforts. But he was impossible to stay mad at; the kid was five and his favorite joke was, beware of atoms, they make up everything, followed by a ten-minute lecture on the nature of matter and a disclaimer about whether atoms made up antimatter. And then he’d fart.

The day after the concert, since it was Sunday, we all made the trek to Greg and Fiona’s home in South Shore. Their place was great. A huge, triple-decker brick house built in 1915 with a workshop out back, and a nice big yard for the kids.