Jourdan’s ass settles on my lap, and her mouth crushes against mine. I taste her tongue and whipped cream. This moment feels illicit and perfect.

“See you soon,” she whispers against my lips. No, those three words are promises.

I smile the entire way home.

I make Nadia’s favorite dinner.

“I know I don’t smell smothered turkey legs,” she calls almost as soon as the front door opens.

I hear the boys’ feet rush across the room and their excited voices and Nadia’s laughter. The only sentence I hear is the one that I hope matters most to Nate.

“Look at these glasses on you. Perfection.”

A few minutes pass before she walks into the kitchen. “Turkey legs?”

I look over my shoulder and smile, but I don’t respond. I still haven’t figured out a way to describe this afternoon to myself, let alone to her.

She wraps her arms around my back. “I guess that means you talked to her?”

“Yeah.”

“And it went well?”

“Yeah.” This time I say that word in a wistful breath.

Nadia lets me go, and I turn around to wrap my arms around her this time, needing to keep the pressure of her body against mine for a little while longer.

Jourdan’s whipped cream kiss has been chasing me all evening.

Nadia laughs for a second, but then I lift her onto the counter and push her pencil skirt around her waist.

All the words I’ve been searching for pale in comparison to everything I say when my tongue presses between her lips. If there’s a way to tell Nadia that seeing Jourdan again made me feel light and hard and giddy all at once, I tell her with my hands, my mouth, and my tongue.

I pull her panties aside and tease her opening with my fingers.

She’s panting as she unzips my slacks with clumsy hands. She strokes me once and then aims the wet tip of my dick toward her clenching hole. There aren’t enough words in my vocabulary yet to express how good it feels for her hot sex to suck me deep inside her or the blinding pressure of my eyes rolling back in my head because she feels so good. And I can’t imagine how to tell Nadia that I’ve been hard for her since the moment Jourdan’s lips touched mine. That every time I think about Jourdan, I remember her pussy shuddering and leaking around my digits. That before I fucked it up, I’d been thinking about watching Nadia suck Jourdan’s taste from my fingers, my tongue, my dick.

The only language that makes the breadth of these emotions feel manageable isn’t on my tongue. It’s in the press of my hips forward, the steel of my erection, the heat of Nadia’s pussy, the remembered feeling of Jourdan’s hands on my shaft.