already had the ease and swagger of a full-grown wolf shifter. An old soul, Valentina often called him.
“Dad, I don’t want a sister anymore,” Dillon griped. “Can we swap her for a boy? Or even just a pet?”
“No, we can’t. And you love her really.”
Dillon curled his upper lip.
“I’ve been looking for you,” Dominic said to his mate.
Mila flicked a look at the twins. “I was looking for them.”
“Dillon chased a rabbit into the underbrush and was trying to lure it out,” said Greta, flicking a red ladybug from her top. “Emilia offered to help him. Somewhere along the line, they got into a fight and rolled into a ditch.”
Dominic groaned. Although Dillon was a pretty easygoing pup and didn’t lose his temper often, Emilia knew just how to get under his skin—and the little cat did it a lot, so the kids frequently fought over everything and nothing. They were extremely protective of each other, though.
“Emilia’s a loser. I’m going to play with Bastien,” declared Dillon. Then he took off.
Emilia’s little nose wrinkled. “He’s the loser.”
Dominic tugged on one of her curls. “Neither of you are losers.” He set her on her feet. “Now go play.” She headed straight to Jaime and Dante’s daughter.
Greta put a hand to her chest. “Those kids of yours melt my heart.”
“Some would say you don’t have one,” quipped Riley, passing by.
Greta sucked in a breath, glaring at the raven. “Some would say you’re nothing but a hussy.”
Riley lifted a taunting brow. “That the best you got, Gretchen?”
“It’s Greta.”
“I don’t care.”
Predictably, Greta marched after the raven, delivering insult after insult.
Dominic curled an arm around his mate and drew her close. “Finally, we’re alone.” The sunlight bounced off her dangly diamond earrings. He’d bought the set for her to wear at their mating ceremony, which had taken place a month after the imprinting bond had formed. The bond had only strengthened over time, and it always seemed to surprise people that he and Mila weren’t true mates—they were just that solid.
Even all these years later, he could remember their mating ceremony well. Could remember how gorgeous she’d looked, how happy she’d been, and how they’d gotten very little sleep that night. And how most of the males from both his pack and the Mercury Pack had persistently hit on her with cheesy lines.
Dominic pressed a soft kiss to her mouth, dipping his tongue inside just enough to give hers a quick, teasing flick. “You taste good.”
“You taste like beer.”
“You get drunk on my taste anyway.”
She laughed. “I thought it was the other way around.”
“It can be both.” A shadow drifted over them, and he looked up to see a feathery cloud. “Want more food?”
“Nah, I’m good.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “We need to head back inside soon. It’s getting late. Frick and Frack need a bath.”
His mouth quirked. “You can’t call our children Frick and Frack.”
“I went halves with you on them; I can call them what I want.”
He chuckled. “Anyway, yeah, we’ll all be heading back soon. Which is good, because I can’t take much more of seeing you in that tank top.” The last time she’d worn it, he’d sliced through the thin straps with his claws, tugged down the tank to free her breasts, and then fucked the petal-soft globes until he blew his load all over them.
He hadn’t realized she’d sewn the straps until she pulled on the top this morning, giving him a wicked grin that said she knew exactly what it did to him to see her wearing it again. Flashes of memories kept flicking through his brain—his cock cushioned between her tits, her nipples hard and dark, her tongue sweeping up the drop of come that landed on her lip.
“Think you can manage not to cut the straps this time?” she asked.
“I can’t make any promises.” Moving his mouth to her ear, he lowered his voice. “Ever played leapfrog naked?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, you’ve never lived.”
“So you want to play a game later, huh?”
“Nah. Really, I just want to have a good, long taste of your plush lips.” He sipped at his beer and then tapped her mouth. “And these ones as well, obviously.”
Mila rolled her eyes. “That mind of yours is always in the gutter.” Probably always would be. If anyone thought that fatherhood would cure him of his cheesy-line-spouting disorder, they were wrong. He was just careful that the kids didn’t overhear. “So do these plans of yours consist of anything other than you going down on me?”