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“Oooor, you can leave me the hell alone and pretend you have a life.”
She flicks me off, then returns to yoga.
Ooh, a marital spat.
She’s in a wide-legged forward bend by the time I reach her mat. Her pussy is in the perfect place for me to rub it. Grabbing her hips, I grind my hard dick exactly where I’d like it to enter. We both moan expect hers carries a hint of surprise.
She should have learned by now.
“I’ve been good, haven’t I?” I ask with another roll of my hips. Grabbing the back of her bra, I pull her straight until her back meets my chest. My thumb traces the right leg opening of her shorts. “I’ve refused to put my dick inside of you until you read the prenup, right?” She nods tightly as my thumb teases her hard nub over her underwear. “And didn’t I allow you to choose the option that worked best for you?”
“Yes,” her response is wispy with arousal.
“Now, unless you want me to go back on every good deed I’ve done, I suggest you find something else to do or somewhere else to do it.” I press my thumb harder until she’s rubbing against it, trying to get more. “Short shorts and yoga are banned until further notice.” I spin her so she’s looking me in the eyes. Her breath hitches when I yank her ponytail. “Heed my warning before we start doing what Oran wants, and Oran wants pussy.”
Unable to resist, I peck her lips. It’s not enough. My tongue traces her lips before I dive deeper into her mouth. I want to taste her again, to make her cum with my name on her lips, but I doubt I’d stop. Her whimpers egg me on and the way her fingers clench my biceps almost make me break the rules. My palms find her ass like heat-seeking missiles. I love squeezing it like I own it because I do.
Regaining control, I push her away. “No more yoga or tiny shorts unless you are campaigning to take my dick.” My phone vibrates in my pocket. “Now get out of my face, Trophy.”
Her hiss is a mixture of arousal and irritation. I don’t care. She almost got fucked. She needs to be thankful.
I answer the phone as she disappears into her room to see what Jagger wants.
“What?” I bite into the phone.
“What are you doing?” He asks while ignoring my tone.
“Trying to impress upon my wife why it’s dangerous to do yoga in tiny shorts.”
“Or you could just fuck her and move on. I wish Ainslee would fucking run around in next to nothing and expect to not get fucked. Fuck, I’d end her life with my dick.”
I can’t help but laugh because he’s ridiculous. “Yeah, you know the stakes.”
“Fuck that prenup. We have to stay together forever, at least divorce is an option in yours. That wasn’t on the table for us. Fuck it. Be married forever, like us. Go get your dick wet and you’ll be less grouchy.”
“Why did you call?” I switch the subject. My dick is already under too much stress for me to discuss it, not getting relief soon.
“Keep on, asshole, and I’ll uninvite you from the honeymoon.”
“Honeymoon?”
“Fuck yeah, two weeks on the Amalfi Coast. I booked the villa and am calling
your big grumpy ass to give you the details.”
Laughter rips out of my throat before I can stop it. “Wait, you want me to pack up the woman I can’t fuck who has a booty shorts addiction to take her to a place that’ll encourage her to wear even fewer clothes and call it a honeymoon? Sounds like a special brand of hell.”
“It’s a fucking vacation and you need one. Just bring extra lube so your dick won’t get chaffed. I just emailed you the details. See you in a few days.”
That well-fucked asshole hangs up on me, and I get an email notification. The photos of the villa are nice, and I like to travel. I consider it for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. Maybe a change of scenery would be nice. Ambling down the hall, I knock on her door.
“What!” She yells from the other side of the wood.
“Pack your bags, Mrs. Hale, we’re going on a honeymoon.”
Chapter 23
Karessa
