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Those were… great times, but nothing compared to last night and this morning. Back in our own place, we christened all four of the bedrooms before falling asleep in our own.
Breaking-in the living spaces will have to wait until her parents leave. Nick and Rachel plan to stay with us until a day after the wedding.
Wedding…
Sin taps my chest. I open my eyes to find her staring up at me. “What are you thinking?”
“A lot of things.”
“Like what?”
“Mainly…how life progresses.”
I’m not thinking about the sex we had last night. No. Not me.
“Whose life? Yours?”
“Maybe,” I say, not willing to elaborate and start something I want to finish.
“Be that way then,” she says, giving me an angry tsk then going radio silent.
I feel a twinge of guilt at exercising my control. Even after a year, it’s hard for me to let go of it… to remember we are partners in life. Way back when, before I had the sense to know we were destined to be together, I had the stupid idea Sin wouldn’t fit in my world. She was this Texas gal who fixed her hair in weird styles, believed that if an item of clothing wasn’t denim, she wasn’t in ’em, and whose room resembled that of a ten-year-old girl.
In short, a woman who was far removed from New York high society.
I let all of those assumptions go after I almost lost her. Nothing was worth that pain. Not even my pride.
But hey, I haven’t been the only one to change when I was Sin’s boss three times removed. She wears dresses more often–at least a few times a month. Sometimes when we go out, she’ll do a full makeup routine. And when it came time for picking the colors of our bedroom, Sin suggested neutral tones of cream, brown, and a burnt gold-green.
At the time, I thought I had lost Miss Quirky. I hadn’t. Almost in the same breath from picking out our age-appropriate color scheme, she requested plastic glow-in the dark stars on the ceiling.
The decorator, a pencil thin man in a pin-striped suit, turned an alarming shade of green and collapsed into the nearest chair, his eyes round with horror.
Sin offered to get him a glass of water as he took deep breaths between his knees. He didn’t really, but he sure looked like he could have.
Anyway, I followed after her, and once we were out of earshot, I explained that New York decorators didn’t do shit like that.
That smile–that secret smile she reserves just for me–tilted her lips up.
Distinguishing the meaning behind her smiles took some months to master. The one she gave me that time was as wicked as her moniker and filled with promises of pleasure.
If she got her way.
It was all I needed. I marched back to the decorator and informed him we wanted the stars.
He reluctantly suggested paint would be better than plastic…
Ten minutes later, he and his team left.
The door had barely closed before Sin pulled me into our bedroom full of storage boxes. She was out of her denim jumper and pale pink blouse in less than a minute. All those clothes flying had her scent of hotel soap and Sin-ful-musk filling my nose.
I was lost.
For the next couple of hours, our mattress bore the weight of a Texas cowgirl and her raging bull…
Damn it.
As if sensing my frustration and planning on raising the bar, Sin rolls from me and stretches. Her luscious tits peek over the sheet in a tantalizing hello!-come-grab-me kind of way.
