Matthew shook his head at the exchange and took the opportunity (since everyone else was otherwise engaged) to pin me behind the refrigerator door. My shirt was askew and my hair tumbling around my ears when our son came into the room with an armload of wood. “Did you lose something behind the refrigerator, Matthew?” Marcus’s face was the picture of innocence. “No,” Matthew purred. He buried his face in my hair so he could drink in the scent of my arousal. I swatted ineffectually at his shoulders, but he just held me tighter. “Thanks for replenishing the firewood, Marcus,” I said breathlessly.
