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"Prosecution and life in prison, you mean."
"Yeah, little things," he agreed, sounding like he was smiling.
"You're ridiculous."
"Then you must have a thing for ridiculous men."
"No, I have a thing for men who smell like fresh-cut grass and concrete grit. The ridiculous thing really blindsided me." To that, I got fingers teasing over my ribs for one playful second, making me slam my head back onto his shoulder. "But you make up for it in the cooking and bedroom department," I conceded.
"So, you gonna talk to your brothers about staying?"
I turned my face into his neck, breathing him in, letting the scent calm me. "Yes."
"Once more, with feeling," he demanded, voice low.
"I don't want you to get your hopes up," I admitted, adding silently: or my own.
"Think you'll be surprised and find that they overwhelmingly want to stay too. Nothing against China or Russia, but they aren't home, y'know? This is all they know. The customs and lifestyle here are what they are familiar with. Maybe most importantly," he added, voice sounding lighter, "they know how to get American women into bed. Who knows what the women of China or Russia expect from us."
"Heaven forbid you have to take them on a date or bring them flowers, right?"
"You want flowers, baby? I'll get you flowers."
"I was being sarcastic," I rushed to say, not wanting him to think he needed to do things to 'win' me. He had me already, if that wasn't already as painfully clear to him as it was to me. Painfully because there was still a chance I would have to give him up if my brothers thought it was too risky to stay. Sometimes, when I was sure they would go one way on an issue, they would throw me off by going the complete other.
"Still getting you flowers," Mark declared casually. "You can practice your green thumb on them and shit." There was a long silence as I felt Mark's body swell and release beneath me, yawning. "You're not expecting them 'till morning, right?"
"Or later," I agreed, inwardly thrilling at the idea of getting one night, just one single, solitary night alone with Mark. No worries about someone barging in, or making things uncomfortable, or overhearing us. Just us. Alone in the woods.
"Alright. So sleep. Bathtub fucking with jet action. Then we drag ourselves out there and make some food to help them soak up the booze when they come stumbling in. Then you can talk to them while I take a walk. Plan?"
I smiled wide because I was pretty sure he couldn't see, and nodded. "Plan," I agreed.
"Good. Now rest up. I'm thinking that tub can get you to four orgasms before my cock even comes near you. You need your strength."
And that was my goodnight from Mark Mallick.
Ridiculous? Yes.
Sexy? Yeah, definitely that too.
Perfect? I was pretty much convinced it was.
I should have stayed awake, staring at the walls, reminding myself how dangerous that line of thought was. That was the smart, prudent, very Scotti-like thing to do.
But I didn't do that. I rolled when he pulled me down onto his chest, sank into his warmth, his strength, his comforting scent. I let my belly go liquid when he kissed my temple. I traced his tattoos as he slowly drifted off to sleep. Then, deciding I was going to let myself have this, to not stress about it, to not ruin it, I too drifted off, feeling safer than I ever had in my life.
And maybe, if I had stayed awake to think on that, I might have realized what that meant.ELEVENMark"Just let go, baby," I demanded as she slammed back into me, legs shaking, voice a pained animal sound that shot right to my dick which had been waiting its turn, not so patiently, for three orgasms now.
I wasn't wrong about the jets.
I was pretty much convinced every house needed a tub like this. It might actually save some goddamn marriages. That was how intense the fucking orgasms Scotti was having were- strong enough to forget that for eight weeks straight your lazy ass forgot to take out the trash, and that the dishwasher was still broken, and you had yet to change a dirty diaper after three kids and seven years. It might even let her forgive the fact that you only got half-hard, fucked like a jackrabbit, and never learned where her clit or G-spot were. You know, so long as you dirty-talked and held her through the watergasm. Yep. Made that one up. It was appropriate.
But seriously.
Get a jetted tub.
"There you go, squeeze my fingers," I growled, part of me really wishing it was my cock getting that fucking treatment right then, but loving the goddamn sound of her scream reverberating off the tiled walls of the bathroom.
I moved my cock between us to stroke up her cleft after she pulled her legs beneath her, kneeling, her hands on the edge of the tub as she struggled to get her breathing back to normal.
