Page 209 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
“We have the superior height advantage,” Ethan says, walking in from the mudroom. He looks rugged, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, his hair windblown from playing outside with the dogs. He wraps his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. “And we control the snack supply. We’re safe.”
“For now,” Owen adds, sliding into the room in his socks, holding a tray of cut-up fruit. “But Atlas just figured out how to unlock the iPad. I give it a week before he hacks the Pentagon.”
“He gets that from Asher,” I laugh, leaning into Ethan’s warmth.
I look around the room.
It’s a disaster area. There are toys everywhere. The expensive rug is stained with juice. There’s a fortress made of couch cushions blocking the hallway. It’s messy, loud, and chaotic.
And it’s perfect.
“Daddy!” Atlas yells, spotting Owen.
“Monster attack!” Owen roars, dropping the fruit tray safely on the counter and diving onto the rug.
The twins swarm him. Ethan laughs, the sound rumbling against my back. Asher watches them with a soft smile, calculating the trajectory of the flying stuffed animals to ensure no one loses an eye.
“They’re happy,” I whisper.
“They’re loved,” Ethan corrects me, kissing my neck. “Go get ready.”
“Ready?” I turn in his arms. “For what?”
“Date night,” Ethan says. “The nanny is coming in twenty minutes. Harper is meeting us for drinks, but then… Harper is leaving.”
He raises an eyebrow. The implication is clear.
“But I’m tired,” I groan, though a heavy spark of interest flares in my chest. “I have pureed carrots in my hair.”
“You have twenty minutes to shower,” Ethan says, swatting my butt. “Go. We’ll handle the bedtime routine. Operation Shutdown commences now.”
I look at the boys. Owen is currently being used as a jungle gym. Asher is negotiating a treaty with Nova regarding the blocks. Ethan is looking at me with a heat that hasn’t faded a single degree in two years.
“Okay,” I smile. “Operation Shutdown.”
I run upstairs.
The shower washes away the day—the sticky fingers, the play-doh, the exhaustion. I stand under the hot water, letting it pound against my muscles.
I step out and towel off. I walk into the massive walk-in closet. It’s filled with sensible clothes—blazers for work, yoga pants for mom-life.
But in the back, in a drawer the twins can’t reach, is the other collection.
I open it. Silk. Lace. Straps. The things reminding me that before I was a mom, I was a woman who brought three powerful men to their knees.
I pull out two sets.
One is crimson red. Sheer lace, crotchless panties, and a bra that barely covers my nipples. The other is black. Leather details, strappy, wicked.
I hold them up. I bite my lip.
I grab my phone and open the group chat.
[SYSTEM OVERRIDE]
Me: Red or Black? Which one guarantees I get laid tonight?
I hit send.
