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I surrender to the mindless word because that’s what I’ve finally become, swamped with stupidity hand-fed by my own frustration. How can so many words exist in this world, yet none to fully fit what I’m trying to tell her? To make sure she knows, beyond any doubt, that she’s never dropped a bigger bomb of beguilement on my spirit. That she’s never trapped my soul in a stronger cage of wonder. That she’s never converted me faster to the church of Emmalina or had me dropping faster to my knees at her golden altar.

“Fuck!” I repeat it because it’s still the only filler that fits—only it doesn’t. Even my go-to word isn’t sticking the damn landing here—which has me holding up the apple cart once again. Why am I fighting to make anything stick with words?

“Right hand greeeeennn!”

“Oh yeah, buddy,” I mumble to my son, happy when there’s no silent psychic volley in return. The action of the game is consuming him too fully. Thank fuck for that, because I assure fate that I’ve now gotten its subliminal message loud and clear.

Sometimes, words aren’t enough.

Especially when a guy is sitting with a soft, sweet, squirming little bunny on his lap, feeling her getting more wet and pliant by the second—and doing nothing about it but feebly dry humping her.

You say she’s your miracle?

Then show her.

Your life, your breath?

Show her.

Your ultimate goddess?

Show. Her!

Fortunately, I’m pretty good about hints once I’m clobbered over the head with them—especially when they command me to do more than grunt and rub on my wife like an eighth-grade dork during a school dance slow song.

There’s no time to lose.

Other than the minutes I’ve wasted already.

I start at once—but as soon as I do, sending a calculated pulse over the mound of decorative pillows on our bed, Emma interprets my action differently. “You particularly fond of left hand green?” She thinks I’m commenting on Lux’s shriek, but that’s fine by me. That’ll make my sexy surprise that much sweeter—for both of us.

“Hmmm. Not really.” I keep up the flow from my outstretched hands, imagining I look like a kinky Dr. Strange utilizing my mystic arts to form the wildest sex bed. I smirk. Not arguing with that one at all. As a matter of fact, the concept lends me a new stroke of genius. With a swirl of fingers and a whoosh of energy, I stretch out a flash pulse beneath her perfect body, using it to lift her through the air and across the room. Within a few seconds, she’s the centerpiece of my new bedding sculpture, with her head and knees propped up…and her legs beautifully spread.

Gorgeous.

Delectable.

Perfect.

Almost.

“Oh!” she yelps in tandem to my admiring growl. “My…my goodness.” The stammers are infused with a little laughter, turning them into music I could listen to all day, but ’Dia and Angie will only be able to amuse the kids for so long with the spinner and the plastic mat in the next room. Before long, demands for the trip to Two-Bit Circus will once more threaten to punch out the wall between us. The sorcerer needs to get busy here.

“Ohhhh, Bunny…I promise you, goodness is definitely the goal here.”

Emma peels back the restraint on more of her sweet laugh. Lifts a stare at me full of the same warmth, though now it’s dipped in sultry sensuality as well. “Well, you know how I like goals, Mr. Richards.”

“One of the things I worship the most about you, Mrs. Richards.” With steps of defined intent, I move to stand between her parted legs. My nostrils flare. My mouth waters. Even now, with her leggings still on, I catch the sexy honey of her aroused pussy on the air. “Among hundreds,” I qualify as I rake my heated gaze across that erotic juncture of her body.

I don’t stop there.

And she knows it.

With every new inch I cover with my stare, the woman’s breaths pump in and out of her faster. And then faster. By the time I reach the stunning swells beneath her tee, that air has turned into hot-as-hell husks up her throat.

Still, she manages to rasp out, “I…I worship you too.”

More magnificent music to my ears.