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“Yes!” she cried as she took all of me in one go.
“Fuck, kitten,” I growled as she rippled and clenched around me.
I had questions. A shit ton of them. But now wasn’t the time.
I was fucking my wife. Nothing else mattered.
45
EVE
I woketo the scent of coffee. More luxurious sheets. And Silas naked.
I smiled as he handed me a mug, steam wafting from the top.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Good morning, wife.” He gave me that lazy smile of a well satisfied male. I’d made him that way and I felt immensely proud of myself.
His hair was damp and he smelled clean. Soapy.
I liked the sound of being called wife. Was it crazy? Yes. I was here in San Francisco to help him finalize his deal with Hyport. As his wife.
I blew on the top of my coffee, then took a sip.
“It’s good, but not your coffee.”
I agreed with him. It was good, but generic. I wasn’t a coffee snob, but it was my thing. My job. It was important to me that my product was the best, even if it was for customers in a small town.
“I mix my own beans to get the blend just the way I like it,” I admitted. “With a hotel this size, I’m sure they have a contract with a base distributor that collects beans from everywhere they can get a deal and make a generic mix from that.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, studied me.
“That’s not the way to do it?”
I took another sip. “It’s one way. I source from a farm in Costa Rica I went to visit in college. If I were to work on a large scale like this…” I paused, glanced around the room as I thought. “I’d keep the distribution there, to support the local infrastructure and economy, but get a custom blend specifically for me.”
“You know your stuff,” he commented, then had a sip from his own mug. Frowned. “Yeah, not yours.”
He moved about the room, pulled on a pair of boxers and I saw the little mole. I watched as I worked through my coffee. Was being his wife the right thing to do? Was marrying him so he could save his deal and so I could get my trust the right thing to do? Maybe not, but after last night? After what we did on the plane, then here in the bed, I felt like we had a solid basis for a marriage: amazing sex.
“We’re expected for dinner with the Hyports at six. Since I’m behind from being snowed in with you, I’m in meetings all day.”
I pushed myself up in bed and leaned against the headboard. “I don’t have anything to wear.” I held up my hand. “I don’t mean that in a vacuous way, but Silas, I literally have no clothes.”
His gaze roved down my body even though everything below my shoulders was beneath the plush comforter.
“I think I like you this way best.”
“I can’t meet the owners of the Hyport Hotel chain naked. That’s kinda what got you into this mess in the first place.”
He tugged on his pants. “This is San Francisco. Go out and buy some things.” He went to his wallet that was on the bedside table, pulled out a credit card. A black one. “Here.”
“What’s this?” I asked, taking the very exclusive card. I recognized it because my father had one and gave it to my mother just like this often enough.
Slipping his arms into a crisp white dress shirt–how had it stayed so wrinkle-free in his bag?–and began to button it.
“My card. Buy what you want. Check out the spa downstairs.”
