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Sitting at my desk on Monday morning, I can’t help thinking about the weekend, my kids, my wife, my life.

It’s fucking beautiful.

Twelve years ago, when I found out I would be a father, I was terrified, but I didn’t run away. I ran toward the cause of my fear. Eighteen years old, and I was going to be a dad. Eighteen years old, and I was going to make sure I took care of my girl, my baby, and I knew damn well I would. I wanted to.

I had a supportive family, and not shit in the bank, but it didn’t matter. I would figure it out, make it work, and be the man Charlie deserved. My child would be proud to call me Dad.

Then she died giving birth, and her family tore mine apart, took Bell, took everything, and crushed us all.

I sure as fuck didn’t do a damn thing right back then.

Then, the minute I saw Carly, I felt … something I had never felt before.

She was a forbidden fruit. My best friend Abe’s virgin cousin. A fucking smart, educated chick. A … liberal.

None of it meant shit to me. I had to have her. I planned out how to make it happen and then … Then I fell into hell, which I later found out was love, and had to step back. I was more afraid of her than of Charlie’s family, of a baby.

I fucking hurt her and myself, because of fear, because of … love.

When I couldn’t do a damn thing to forget, to move on and walk the fuck away, out of fear of ruining her like I did Charlie, I went hard after her, and then something mind blowing happened. She came just as hard after me and my little Bell.

Done, totally fucking done.

Love.

A love like that can’t be forgotten, shaken, drank, or fucked away. It’s like a tattoo—permanent and forever a part of you. It’s part of your soul. A part so tightly twisted there is no way to loosen or untangle it. It just … is. And you can’t live without it. It’s more important than food, water, fucking oxygen, and for damn sure more important than an election.

I look up when my door opens and in walks my baby.

“Good morning,” I say, leaning back in my chair, looking her up and down from her navy blue peep-toe shoes, to the sexy, tailored navy suit that her tits are dying to pop out of, to her black-framed nerd girl glasses that make me hot. Then my gaze stops at her head where her blonde hair is perfectly pinned in a French twist that I want to pull on so her hair falls loosely around her face.

“Good—”

“You look fucking hot, baby,” I interrupt.

She looks behind her like someone may have heard me. Then she closes the door and gives me a sexy smile as she walks over to me slowly.

I want to laugh. She’s a fucking trip. She thinks she has to try to be sexy for me? She doesn’t. She just is.

She’s at the end of my desk, hands on the edge as she leans in slowly. “You look amazing. Finally, that shirt is gone.” She sighs then runs her tongue across her lower lip.

Half-chub …

I push myself back in my chair, stand, and walk over beside her, sitting on the edge of my desk. Then I take her hand and pull her over between my legs. “Didn’t get a kiss this morning.”

“Well,” she says, loosening my tie, “that shirt is a total turn off. Maybe now I can give you … more than a kiss.”

I bite my lower lip to stop the damn grin from spreading across my face. “What did you have in mind, Mrs. Steel?”

“Maybe I should just show you,” she says in a husky, I-need-you voice.

As she leans in closer, I smell a hint of the perfume she couldn’t wear because it was making her “morning sickness” worse.

She kisses my neck as she unbuttons my shirt, lower and lower. Then she kisses up to my lips.

I open up, and her tongue slips inside … gently. I rub my piercing up and down her tongue as she moans into my mouth. Her body is tightly up against me, all belly and tits.

“Fuck,” I groan as I try to get closer. Then … “Fuck it.”

I hike up her skirt, grab her ass, and lift her up so she is straddling me. Don’t get me wrong; I am a man on top, but because of the … situation, Carly gets this or bent over. And right now, I want to tongue-fuck my wife’s mouth. Therefore, she is straddling me, looking like she feels all powerful. And yeah, she’s not one hundred percent comfortable in this position, but I sure am.

She tugs at my tie then lifts it up, pulling it over my head.

I go in for her tits. “Fucking missed these things, baby.”

I start to lean in to suck on her when she gasps.

I look up to find her scowling.

“What?”

“What …?” she groans, tapping my chest hard. “What is this?”

Shit.

“A Trump shirt, of course,” I say, reaching for her tits. She slaps my hand away. “Oh, come on.” I laugh.

“If I wasn’t so …” She pauses.

“Wet and wanting my cock?”

She has no time to reply. There is a knock on the door, and then the locked handle jiggles.

“Open the damn door,” Cyrus growls.

“Go away,” I growl back.

Carly huffs, raising her eyebrows as she slides off my lap.

Fixing her skirt and shirt, she then walks to the door as I am buttoning my shirt and trying to fix my fucking tie.

She starts to open the door.

“Carly, hold up. My dick’s hard and—”

“Oh well,” she says in a snippy tone as she flings the door open, giving me a pisspot smirk.

“Baby, I should spank that ass,” I whisper harshly as I grab my leather-bound appointment book and place it over my hard-on before scooting around the desk.