At Whit's End (Wells Ranch, #4)(86)

Overhead, a pair of feet hit the floor with a muffled thump thump.

“You’re tired,” Colt says, shaking his head with an expression that says he’s not taking any of my last few sentences seriously. And something about that helps me breathe easier. “You’re tired and you don’t know what’s good for you. We can talk about this after you’ve had your coffee.”

Colt’s lips catch mine and I run my hands through his soft hair to deepen the moment. Indulging in one last long, slow, coffee-flavored kiss before his hands retreat from my thighs and he helps me off the counter.

We’re an appropriate three feet apart when Jonas bounds down the stairs, stopping in his tracks at the sight of Colt.

“Hey, dude.” Colt tips his iced coffee in greeting.

The confusion doesn’t last long. Jonas is already tucking into the box of cinnamon rolls, pulling one nearly the size of his face from the box and chomping down. “What are you doing here?” he asks with a full mouth.

I give Jonas an unimpressed look.

“Truck had to go to the shop, so I figured I’d see what you guys were up to.”

I don’t know why I was worried; Jonas accepts Colt’s explanation with only one follow-up question. “Where’s Betty?”

Colt’s fingers drum on the plastic cup in his hand. “She heard the girls at the ranch were making homemade ice cream for the Labor Day party and said, ‘Hell to that Jonas kid, there’s sugar here.’?”

Smirking, Jonas licks a dollop of cream cheese icing from his finger. “Wanna play video games?”

“Hell yeah. No racing games though—don’t need your mom kicking our asses again.”

I roll my eyes, reaching for my coffee. “Fine by me. I don’t want to deal with your fragile egos today anyway.”

Jonas ditches his cinnamon roll on the counter to attempt a running jump at the back of the couch. He fails miserably and awkwardly rolls his skinny body over the back with a groan instead. Before Colt’s even moved a muscle, Jonas is settled in and booting up the PlayStation, waving the second controller through the air to motion Colt over.

Giving my ass a couple discreet pats, Colt passes by on his way to the couch. Jonas flops his body against the armrest, making room for Colt to sit.

“Look out. I think I finally figured out how to do this pretend fishing thing.” Colt jabs Jonas with his elbow.

The two bicker and figuratively parade around like a pair of roosters, each one throwing out goofy insults. Playing whatever this ridiculous game is. As it turns out, Colt has not figured out how to do the pretend fishing thing.

I curl into the empty corner of the couch, slinging my throw blanket over me, and it’s only a matter of seconds before the familiar warmth of Colt’s hand is stroking my bare calf. I glance over at Jonas, and once I’ve accepted that he’s entirely oblivious, I lose myself in my book.

“Whatcha reading?” Colt asks quietly when Jonas disappears for a bathroom break. “Straight-up porn, isn’t it?”

It’s not. It’s not even a spicy scene, if I’m being honest. The heroine is having brunch with her friends, so there’s lots of talk about sex, but nothing that’s getting my motor running. But the opportunity to tease him is too good to pass up.

“Just getting some ideas.” My bottom lip pulls between my teeth. “How do you feel about being tied up? Or spanked?”

He reaches down to adjust himself. “It’s a damn good thing you’re so hot, because you’re straight-up cruel.”

I wink and silently return to my Kindle. And within fifty more pages, I’m well past the brunch and well into the hero eating the heroine out. A different type of brunch, if you will. Between the explicit descriptions of a fictional man’s tongue swirling around a pussy and the man secretly touching my bare legs anytime he doesn’t need both hands on the controller, I catch myself clenching my thighs more than once.

We could be fast. Sneaky.

I mean…how do parents in loving marriages with children—multiple young children even—find time for sex? I suppose maybe the jokes about marriage being sexless aren’t actually jokes….

While my heroine is reeling on the bed after a mind-blowing orgasm, I excuse myself. It’s not my favorite way to get off, but my clit-suction toy can get the job done in under a minute. It’ll file down the sharp edges in my mind before I throw myself at Colt in the middle of the living room.

I shake my head at the top of the stairs, picking up a pair of dirty socks strewn across the carpet. Good lord, Jonas. Some days I swear he enters his room naked, based on the breadcrumb trail of clothes I find leading from the front door up the stairs.

While I’m here, I might as well swap things over to the dryer.

The moment the knob clicks into place, so does something inside me.

The dryer.

I exhale hard, amping myself up to be utterly reckless. From the top of the stairs, I see the boys having a cinnamon roll break between games. Cinnamon rolls are a sign from the sex god, I decide.

“Hey, Colt,” I call out, my hand wringing around the railing.

“What’s up?”

“I, uh…” My eyes cut to Jonas, half-expecting him to call me out before I’ve even had the opportunity to lie. “Can you come take a look at my dryer for me? I think it’s finally kicked the bucket.”