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My hands settled on the sarong that draped around my hips. “It does look good, doesn’t it?”
He eyed me. “I couldn’t be prouder,” he teased.
I slapped his bare chest with the kitchen towel. “Hey, I worked hard for us to have a normal Thanksgiving.”
“I just like that you were willing to cook everything in a bikini.”
I twisted my lips together. It was far from conventional, but at least this year there was a meal that resembled something familiar. Although we were back on another island. This time it was our island. Our home.
I lifted the pineapple from the bowl of fruit.
“When are you going to take a break?” he asked.
“After I cut this pineapple and heat the bread. And oh, I still have potatoes to mash.”
“I think you need to reassess your priorities, Mrs. West.”
I squealed when he scooped me into his arms, tossed me over his shoulder like a sack of sugar, and carried me away from the hours of meal prep.
I kicked. “Put me down. I’m not finished.”
“No, I’m the one who isn’t finished,” he growled. “You were out of bed way too early this morning. I don’t like it when I have to wait.”
I landed on the bed with a bounce. He crawled on top of me, pinning my wrists together with one hand while the other loosened the knot on the sarong. My back arched as he slid the bikini bottoms off my thighs.
“I had work to do,” I explained. “I wanted to do something for you.” My breath hitched in my throat. He had that look in his eyes. The hungry one. The smolder that made my body react on a transcendent level.
“Now it’s my turn.” The darkness in his voice made my belly flip. Oh shit, I loved it when he was like this. I hadn’t expected it in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner.
His kiss was possessive as his mouth covered mine. My lips parted and our tongues twined. He was on a mission. He wasn’t going to let me out of this bed until he had what he wanted.
“You know how much I love to fuck my wife.”
I nodded. “As much as she loves it.” I bit my bottom lip. I didn’t think I’d ever be tired of hearing that word: wife.
It had been almost ten months since we left Paris. And nine since we had been married. Really married. A ceremony. An elegant white dress and a bouquet of white orchids. There were vows. There was music. There was an incredible honeymoon—one that landed us here on this island.
“Don’t move,” he ordered while he stepped off the bed and kicked his board shorts to the other side of the room. He had surfed earlier this morning. All the days in the sun made his skin a beautiful bronze. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on him.
I was as still as a deer trying to blend into the woods. I held my breath, but I couldn’t control the way my heart raced when I saw my husband’s gorgeous body. Or the way my core ached for him to soothe it. Or the way my lips felt heavy without his kisses. All the impulses were beyond reason when I knew Vaughn was about to fuck me.
He moved over me steadily. His strong hands clenched my waist.
“Oomph.”
He flipped me on my stomach. I suddenly felt the ties loosen on my top and the rest of the bathing suit was gone. Vaughn cupped my breasts, massaging them as I wiggled my hips back and forth. I baited him. Lured him. Ever pluck of my nipples made me wetter. Needier.
“Fuck,” he groaned, yanking my hair in his hand.
I smiled at him over my shoulder. He winked. God, we were good together.
We had always been good together. From the first kiss outside the D.C. restaurant. From sex on the landing in my apartment building. From the vineyard to the abandoned office in Paris. We had always been a sexual explosion waiting to ignite. The matches were us. I could light him on fire as easily as he could torch me to the ground with one orgasm.
The sunlight filtered in through the wooden blinds. Fan blades spun overhead.
My knees spread wide as Vaughn touched his cock to my heat. I moaned.
He thrust inside me and I kicked back to meet the force of his body. I stretched around the thickness of his shaft.
