“You did so good, princess. You did so good for me. But now that you’ve told me that, I’m gonna have to make you squirt more often.”

“Dempsey!” She hits me playfully, and I catch her mouth in another kiss. She knows I’m teasing. Although I would love nothing more than to spend each day trying to break my orgasm record with this woman.

“I think I need a nap,” she yawns. “And I definitely need a shower.”

“Sleep now,” I encourage. “I have to leave for work in a few hours. I’ll wake you up so you have enough time to shower and change before we head back to The Oak.”

She nods sleepily, and I stroke her hair as she drifts off. Once I know she’s out for sure, I get up and take my own shower, then dress so I can take care of the one thing I’ve been dreading all day.

Fielding’s been on mom duty all weekend, like we’d originally planned. He texted me this morning before he realized I was here to say she was okay but hadn’t eaten much.

I make my way into the kitchen, intent on whipping up some eggs and toast. If she’s in the middle of a spell, it’s not likely she’ll eat. But sometimes just leaving food on her nightstand does the trick, so it’s worth a try.

“Sup, bro?” he calls out, walking barefoot and bare chested from the patio, through the living room, and into the kitchen. He’s wearing board shorts and dripping wet, which he knows pisses me off.

I grab a tea towel from the drawer by the sink and chuck it in his direction.

“Two extra minutes, and you’d dry off enough not to trek water all over the house,” I scold.

He smirks and sips from his bendy straw. He won a Coke Freestyle machine at a charity auction a few years ago, then customized the thing so it dispenses more than 120 soda options, plus rum instead of water.

Clever. But dangerous.

I side-eye him as he takes another sip, the unasked question lingering between us.

“It’s Dr. Pepper,” he finally relents with an eye roll. “And it’s not my fault I had to run in here without drying off to your specifications. I wanted to catch you while you’re on break from making that girl scream your name.”

“That girl has a name,” I retort. “I figured I had to make it up to her since she got manhandled by your sorry ass this morning.”

“Oh, believe me, brother. I know that girl’s name. I’m less concerned with her name and more concerned with what you called her this morning. What was that word you used? Girlfriend?”