"I love you, Honey."
"Love you too, Sheriff."
Operation Baby Menace
Collins
I blinked then blinked again, staring at my son. Leo, at just five, was our eldest. A tenacious, precious bundle of excess energy and utter happiness—I loved him to distraction.
Well, except for right now. That love was being sorely tested.
"Leo," I sucked in a breath staring from him, to our middle child, Bonny, and our youngest, Jesse. "What on earth happened?"
"We slipped."
The excuse fell from his lips easily, his teeth white against the dark mud coating his face. From head to toe each of them were completely coated in thick, stinking mud.
"Slipped?" I repeated, a weird pounding taking up residence in my temple. "How on earth did you slip into that much mud?"
"There was a dog," Bonny, at four, explained.
"Woof woof!" two-year-old Jesse barked, dancing from foot to foot, mud coating the white tiles of our entry.
"And where is this dog now?" I asked, my eyes catching sight of the muddy paw prints.
"He's taking a bath," Leo explained, his hand lifting to point towards the bathroom.
Oh dear God.
"Nick!" I called, my voice strained. "Nick, I need you."
My husband appeared a few moments later, doing a double take as he took in our kids. "What…? Um." He stopped beside me, folding his arms across his chest, his lips twitching as if he were attempting to hold back his laughter. "I see you've all been busy."
"Nick," I met his gaze, his amusement stoking my own. The shock of the situation wore off, hilarity setting in. "Nick," I warned again, giggles bubbling up my throat. "This isn't funny."
"Oh, I don't know." He gestured at the kids. "Mud monsters are pretty hilarious."
As if on cue, a giant dog rounded the corner of our hall, skidding to a stop in the entry. He looked at us, staring for a moment before moving.
"Wait!"
"Stop!"
"Doggy!"
In horrifyingly slow motion the dog twisted his head, his body following as he began to shake, mud flying from his fur to coat the walls, floor, and ceiling.
"Nick!"
"Shit!"
"Daddy said a bad word!"
With squealing laughter, Nick and I approached the giant animal, attempting to wrangle it.
"Great Dane?" I asked, approaching cautiously with hands out.
"Looks more like a wolfhound."
With a soft woof, the dog pivoted on his feet, taking off down our hall, heading for the living areas.
"Get him!"
We pounded after him, evidence of his exploration of our home everywhere. Behind me, the kids followed, no doubt dropping mud and whatnot throughout the house as well.
When they hand you the kid they don't tell you about the mud days.
With a laugh, I followed my husband, the dog acting as if this were a game. He rounded our dining table, mud slicking along the chairs. He dodged into the kitchen, leaving muddy paw prints and fur slides along our kitchen cabinets.
"Wait!" Nick ripped open the fridge, digging inside. Triumphantly, he lifted a handful of cooked chicken I kept for the children's lunches. "Here puppy, here little doggy. Come here. You want some chicken? Mm, yummy, yummy chicken."
The dog obediently trotted over, sniffing at Nick's hand, gingerly taking a small bite.
"Okay, now what?" I asked, puffing as the kids danced around the dog.
"Bathroom. We get them clean then I pack us all up and take us to a hotel." He nodded at the kitchen. "I'm calling cleaners to deal with this mess."
I laughed, wiping hair from my face. "There are perks to having a billionaire husband."
We cleaned the kids and dog, finding its tag under the layers of muck. A grateful and extremely apologetic neighbor arrived to retrieve Jeremy, explaining the dog was a fostered rescue and had escaped.
"If you know anyone who wants to adopt him…," the guy said, looking pointedly at my kids.
I felt eyes on me, turning to look at Nick.
He grinned, his beautiful smile extra deadly because Jesse was curved into his arms. I could hardly deny a man who held our child.
"No, no way." I shook my head. "Nick, we have three kids. Three. We split our time between here and London. A dog is a terrible idea."
"What if we didn't?"
"Didn't what?"
He shrugged. "Split between London and here. I'm mostly remote anyway. Our operations are expanding in the US. What if we settled in the Cove? Sure, I'll need to travel occasionally, but we have the helicopter now, and I could always buy a private jet if we need."
He reached out, touching a bouncing Leo's head. "Leo starts school soon, and Jeremy seems like a good dog."
"And he'll be adopted! Like us!" Leo said, his little body vibrating with excitement. "Please, Mommy!"
My heart, soft as it was, shattered, any willpower gone in the face of my kid’s excitement. "Oh God, fine." I waggled my finger at Nick. "But you're on pooper-scooper and walk duty. And no outsourcing, Mister. You need to teach our kids responsibility."
In a flurry of hugs, kisses and excited squealing, the foster parent handed over Jeremy. He walked us through what owning a Wolfhound involved, and discussed with us the various aspects of adoption. We'd have a thirty-day trial and if there were any issues, we were to call him and he'd come take Jeremy back.
"No returns!" Leo stated, stamping his foot.
I chuckled, brushing my hand over his wild hair. "Come on, let's get Jeremy something to eat."
My husband, ever efficient, had a dog bed, bowls, collar and lead, and a cacophony of other pet related paraphernalia delivered within an hour.
"I've called a fence guy, and we're booked in for doggy school next week." He said later that night as we climbed into bed.
"Nick, are you excited to own a dog?" I teased, allowing him to pull me into his side.
"Fuck yes. I've never owned one before."
I giggled, falling more in love with this beautiful man. "Love you."
"Love you too, Tesoro."
We kissed, the chaste comfort quickly turning to heat.
"Nick!" I squealed, laughing as he rolled me onto him, settling me on his hips.
"Need you."
He pushed my sleep shirt up, tossing it to the side to bare my body to him. Curves and folds, dimples and marks; I knew he loved every single inch of me.
"Let me taste you."
I rose up, shifting up his body to settle over him, biting my lip as I eased my pussy down, his arms holding me in place as his tongue touched my clit.
"Nick!"
He worshipped me with the diligence of a man searching for salvation—devoted, desperate, and faithfully, murmuring Italian praises against my core, the caresses as familiar to me as my own skin.
"Don't stop."
"Never."
I came in a rush, riding his face, my body still wild with need.
"Nicholas!"
He helped me shift, turning me around until I was positioned just so. With one smooth move I impaled myself on his cock, both of us groaning.