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“Liar.” I felt his lips turn up at the corners against my skin.
“I am not lying,” I retorted.
“Yes, you are,” he said, punctuating the statement with a few small thrusts of his hips. His cock was still inside of me, and somehow, still gloriously hard. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
His lips brushed the shell of my ear. “I think you’re just acting like you’re mad at me. I think you’re trying to get me to have crazed-wild-angry sex with you because you’re insatiable. You want to have my cock inside of you this entire honeymoon.”
Bingo.
“That doesn’t sound like something I’d do.”
“Of course not.” He laughed. “Stay there, baby,” he instructed as he slipped out of me.
A few minutes later, after he cleaned up his mess, my husband placed me on top of the island. His hair was still wet from his swim, but he had thrown on a pair of khakis, top button undone and revealing my favorite happy trail. His hands caressed my thighs as he leaned forward and placed a soft, sweet kiss against my lips. “Are you sure you still want to fight?”
I shrugged.
His teeth latched on to my bottom lip, tugging gently. “Your body might be trying to say yes, but your eyes say otherwise.”
“What do my eyes say?”
“‘My husband fucks like a god.’”
Giggles spilled from my lips. “Be careful, Mr. Brooks, your ego is showing.”
He grinned. “Did I meet the requirements of the contract?”
I nodded. “There’s a chicken Caesar salad in the fridge.”
“I. Love. You,” he said, each word punctuated by playful kisses before he headed for the food.
Pulling my laptop on top of my thighs, I tapped my finger against the mouse, and the screen came to life. A new email from Wes was sitting in my inbox.
From: [email protected]
Georgia,
This email started out strong but ended…oddly. I have a feeling I don’t want to know the details, but I agree with your initial comment about disliking the exclusivity. We’ll keep this contract in negotiations until we get our guys the offer they deserve. Tell Kline I said hello.
Wes Lancaster
President and Chief Executive Officer
New York Mavericks
National Football League
I blushed from head to toe. It was one thing for Wes, my boss, to be one of my husband’s best friends, but it was another thing for him to know I was writing emails while being sexed by my husband.
“Thanks a lot,” I muttered as Kline sat down at the breakfast bar, placing his plate beside my thighs.
“Thanks for what?” he asked around a mouthful of salad.
“Your sneak-attack made me send a half-written email to Wes.” I held my laptop in front of his eyes, pointing to the message I’d inadvertently sent. “And now he probably thinks I’m just typing up emails while you’re fucking me.”
“Serves him right,” Kline responded with annoyance. “If he doesn’t want sexually flawed responses from you, he shouldn’t be sending my wife contracts while she’s on her honeymoon.”
My earlier concerns about my husband not taking my busy work schedule very well had just been confirmed. Sure, his reaction was mild compared to most, but Kline wasn’t a lose his temper kind of guy. That reaction, albeit, not all that impressive, was him showing his dislike for the situation.
“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you,” he said after taking a big gulp of water. “Your mom sent a package. It was sitting on our deck when I got back from my swim.”
“Shit,” I muttered. “I’m not sure I want to open it.”
Kline grinned, knowing full well my mother wasn’t known for sending care packages filled with food or gifts from Target.
I hopped off the island and moved toward the deck, where a large cardboard box sat beside the opened doors. The box was made out to Mr. and Mrs. Brooks with the resort’s address below it. The sender? Dr. Crazypants.
“How in the hell did she manage to get a package to us in Bora Bora? I avoided giving her our hotel information for this very reason.”
“She’s tenacious.”
I huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, she could give you a run for your money in that department.”
My fingers removed the tape, and hesitantly, I pried open the cardboard flaps.
“For fuck’s sake,” I groaned.
“Toys?” Kline asked enthusiastically, standing behind me and peering over my shoulder. He may not have needed the assistance, but my mother’s generosity never failed him in entertainment value.
Inside? Three bottles of Anal-Eze—otherwise known as desensitizing lube—four butt plugs in various sizes, and a bunch of other freaky shit I didn’t even want to know how to use.
