Sex on a Schedule – By Arianna Quinn #3
He does this for our kids, and it’s a reminder of what an amazing father Derek is.
When we started, he jumped into the role without hesitation.
Although it was an adjustment for the kids, especially James, being the oldest, they love him right back.
Doing things like this with them, and indulging their quirks, is one of the many reasons I want to spend the rest of my life with him.
And the answer is there at the tip of my tongue. But then I remember Charlie’s comment.
“Fertility food? How did Charlie know?”
His face pales.
“Is that where you were this morning? Talking to Charlie about fertility food?”
I bite my lips to keep myself from laughing.
He shakes his head.
“Isn’t that what that strange breakfast was for? To make us fertile? I mean, it was delicious, but not what I think we should eat every day. And I would be a zombie without the coffee.”
His sheepish grin broadens into a wide smile. “Do you think it worked?”
I bark out a laugh. “I love how you keep me on my toes, Anderson.” I grasp his wrist as it nears my side. I stand and wrap my arms around him. “Can I think about it? Let it sink in?”
Hooking a finger under my chin, he lifts my head and tilts his down until our noses almost touch. “You have until bedtime to decide if you want to start your new packet of birth control.”
Our lips meet, and unlike earlier when I was in the shower, he dominates the kiss. With his grip on my chin, he moves me, forcing my mouth to open, and slips his soft, warm, wet tongue inside me. I’m addicted to the rush of him sliding against me, the connection between our bodies, and his taste.
We can do this. So why do I feel scared?
Derek breaks the kiss. “Are you okay?”
Before I can answer, the familiar chime of his alarm sounds in the bedroom, meaning it’s time to get ready for the day.
We’re headed to the Central Library for a special reading of children’s books by the Muddy Boots.
Charlie loves reading to James and Victoria, and Derek suggested they offer it to kids in every city they visited, and now it’s part of their concert days.
They also sing with the kids, and today, I get to join them.
At the library, the excited kids chatter as they ask to touch Derek’s guitar, and Rip lets them tap the cajon, or portable box drum, when they bring them out after story time.
“You turned the brute into a decent man,” Charlie says as we stand in the back of the room, watching the kids crowd Derek and Rip.
I elbow Charlie. “He’s not a brute.”
“Not anymore. He’s more grounded,” Charlie waves at the group of happy little humans running around. “To think he had no plans to be a dad, and boom, you show up, and he takes to it like a fish in water.”
“What? He didn’t want kids?”
Charlie takes a step back. “You two didn’t talk about this?”
My mind is a reel of images, conversations, and signs from the past year where Derek could have potentially admitted he didn’t want kids, and he could have mentioned it, but did I miss it? Did I ignore it?
“Wait, wait, wait. He does now. That’s all that matters.”
I hesitate, but Charlie is like a brother to all of us. A shit-stirring, annoying brother, but he loves big and loves hard. “He wants to start trying. Like, really trying. That’s what all the weird food was about for breakfast.”
Charlie scoffs. “He’s lost it talking about sex on a schedule so he can knock you up.” He shakes his head.
“What do you mean sex on a schedule?”
His brown eyes widen in surprise. “I thought he said something, if you know about the food.”
I glance over at Derek. Is that what his running away from me was? As if I’d asked out loud, Derek’s head pops up over the kids, and the sinful smile on his lips is nothing like the heat in his eyes. It’s like he’s touching me everywhere. My mouth opens, and wetness slicks onto my panties.
“Holy shit. Did he just knock you up?” Charlie whispers, although we’re far back enough to not be heard.
I sigh. “Sex on a schedule? Why?”
“I remember my sister trying to get pregnant with Mason. All I heard were all the holistic approaches about the food, the supplements, and she started on way too many details about the frequency and quality of sex between her and Felix. I told her I was supportive of their struggle but needed boundaries. No oversharing. I think I’m scarred now. ”
I laugh as Charlie shivers. “He’s playing hard to get. I think I’ll teach him a little lesson.”
It’s typical Derek to plan for every detail when he’s going after something.
But this is having a baby, it’s not opening his own honky tonk or restaurant.
It will happen eventually, and if it doesn’t, we’ll have that conversation.
If he wants to change up our mommy and daddy time without telling me, well, it’s going to be much more fun seducing him to break his own rules.
Derek
Sharing my love of music with children is a gift.
It’s special, like when James first started asking me to teach him how to play the guitar.
Or Victoria singing around the house, asking her mother and me how to sound better, when she’s only four.
The kids at the library wore the same awe-struck smiles as they listened to us play a few songs and we encouraged them to sing along.
Of course, they were all age appropriate, not our Muddy Boots hits.
“Did you get the hot MILF’s number?” Rip asks Tyler a few hours later as we ride in traffic to the concert at the Hollywood Bowl in a luxury Mercedes van.
“Shut it,” I say to Rip, seated in front of Emily and me. I don’t have to stick up for my brother because Tyler doesn’t need defending, but once Rip gets an idea in his head, he doesn’t stop.
“I didn’t mean Emily,” he says. “Did you see her? The brunette with the tattoos on her wrists? She was all big, dreamy eyes talking to this guy.” There’s a thump and I’m certain it’s Rip slapping Tyler’s shoulder.
“She wasn’t the only one. You could have any of those ladies panting over you, man.
Any of them lucky enough to get your attention? ”
And here he goes. I don’t have to remind Rip that Tyler is going through a divorce. When Tyler is ready to move on, he will. He doesn’t need any of us goading him.
“I got the hot librarian’s number,” Rip volunteers, since no one asks. “Glasses, brains, and a killer body. I couldn’t stop myself.”
“Which one?” Tyler asks. “Roman or Danika?”
Rip snorts. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Tyler groans. “How much longer until we’re at the Bowl?”
“You asked,” Rip shoots back.
“ETA, twenty minutes,” Charlie says from the front of the van.
Emily loops her fingers with mine and leans her head on my shoulder. “I love how protective you are of those you love.”
“You like my caveman ways?” I kiss the top of her head.
“Always.” She licks a stripe on my neck, and I jump.
My dick does, too.
Fuck, she turns me into a horny teen. “Stop,” I whisper.
There’s a mischievous spark in her blue eyes. “Just because we’re not alone? Has that ever stopped us?” Emily snakes her free hand over my thigh and cups my crotch over my jeans. “This sounds like a challenge.”
She shuffles back to her side of the bench, slips off her boots, and, maneuvering the seat belt to the side, sets her feet on my lap.
The move makes the skirt she’s wearing ride up her thighs and leave miles of succulent glowing skin.
I grasp her small foot, remove the socks, and massage the top, working my way to knead the arches.
“Oh god, that feels so good,” Emily moans loud enough for the people in the cars next to us on the 101 to hear.
Charlie laughs.
Tyler groans.
“Holy shit,” Rip whispers.
I send Emily my sternest glare, and she bites her lower lip. The look she sends me is white hot, and I’m willing to fucking burn.
“Why’d you stop?” Emily says, not caring that everyone can hear. “Keep using your magical fingers to make me feel good.”
“Jesus,” I mutter, though my dick’s loving this game.
The only sound in the van is the country song coming through the speakers from the local station.
She shimmies her skin-tight skirt up her legs higher, giving me a view of the red lace underneath. Fuck. If any of the guys dare to look over the back of their seats, they would see her legs. Nothing else. I breathe out of my mouth as every drop of blood rushes toward my cock.
Keeping her eyes on me, she sticks the tip of her tongue out, rubs her fingertip on it, and guides it toward the scrap of red between her legs. She connects with the thin material, and presses in, making my mouth open.
“Fuck.” I click off my seat belt, grateful we’re in stop and go traffic, and lunge for her wrist, stopping her from touching herself any further in the van full of my friends, my brothers, and my bandmates.
She wraps her legs around me and hauls me down over her.
Unlike when we were teens, my six-foot-two frame and bulk don’t fit on this damn bench seat.
We’re a tangle of legs until I find a way to hold myself over her.
“That’s more like it, cowboy,” she whispers scraping her nails into my scalp.
Sorcerer. Enchantress. My wicked, wicked woman.
I’m harder than a concrete post. I slip her top down, taking the bra cup with it, and lick a tan nipple before sucking it into my mouth.
Emily moans, a filthy unchaste sound making my dick throb, and I swallow a groan.
I slap my hand over her mouth and suck as damn quietly as I can. She undulates under me like she’s seeking friction from my body. I keep my weight off her, not wanting to jam her into the seatbelt buckles.