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How do I know this? He’s fidgeting. And the man does not fidget. Ever. He’s so calm and collected all the time, but it’s been going on for a couple of hours now, and he’s putting me on edge.
Take now, for example. He’s tapping his thigh in a rhythm that sounds a lot like a Katy Perry song. I’m sure he’s never listened to her in his life, but all I can hear is “California Girls”. But my point is that he’s never done that before. It could be because I’ve got a tub of ice cream in bed, and he has an adamant no food in the bed rule. However, he didn’t challenge me earlier when I waltzed in here with two spoons.
Sure, it could be because I sent all my babies off to another shelter today. Sure, it could be because when he picked me up from work all I did was sob into his shoulder for twenty minutes about how Jelly might get sad, or how I should probably go with them because what if someone feeds Mouse wrong?
I told him I shouldn’t have named that bloody kitten, and now I’m attached.
But I’m a breath away from purposefully dropping ice cream on the sheets and seeing what happens just to make him explode and stop bloody fidgeting. I really am considering it, but I decide to abandon the tub and focus on my husband. “Hey, Harrison?”
“Hmm?” He doesn’t look up, still with the tapping.
“Can you take a look at my nipple?” I say, hoping that will get his attention. When his head snaps up to look at my boobs, laughter escapes my throat in a chortle. “Men are all the same. Boob, ass, pussy, any of those get your attention.”
He finally stops the tapping and smiles. “I’m sorry, I’ve been—”
“—ignoring your wife?” I flutter my eyelashes.
“I was going to say distracted, but since you think I’m not giving you enough attention, I think I should rectify that.”
He settles his head on his arm, which is propped up, and his free hand (the tapping hand) is now coasting gently up my leg, leaving a trail of heat behind. “Hmm,” I groan, feeling like I might sink into the mattress. “As nice as this is, and I have no doubt it would be. I want to know what had your hand tapping that Katy Perry song a second ago.”
His brow scrunches together, looking at me blankly. “I couldn’t name one of her songs.”
“Ugh, why did I marry you?”
“For my charm and quick wit?”
I pat his cheek. “Oh, I was going to say for your monster cock, but sure, we’ll go with your answer.”
He shakes his head with a smile. “You’re a cheeky shit sometimes. You know?”
“Oh, I’ve always known that. It’s taken you a while to catch on, though,” I say with a wink.
He rolls on top of me, completely covering my body under his six foot four frame. “I kissed a girl, and I liked it,” he whispers into my ear.
“Huh?” I ask, distracted.
“Katy Perry.”
“Oh yeah, sorry you climbed on top of me, and I forget almost everything when that happens.” I’m not joking. I feel every hard inch of him against me and I love it. As I roll my hips up to feel his other hardness push against my sex.
“Nrgh,” he groans.
I giggle like I’ve just been passed a love note in school. “You incoherent? That’s a first.”
He rolls his own hips down this time, eliciting a moan from my mouth, too. “What was that you were saying, sweetheart?”
“I have no idea, but do that again, please.”
He does making the friction between us delicious and heady. My body responds by shivering and heating up at the same time. The perfect mix of hot and cold running in my veins. I’m surrounded by the fog of lust that always overtakes me when he touches me. It’s like my body is an instrument, and he’s the only one who knows how to play it.
My nipples are wildly sensitive, straining against the cotton of my—actually his t-shirt. “If I dip my finger inside you right now, I bet you’d be soaked for me.”
He’d absolutely be right, and he knows it, judging by the cocky smirk on his face as he rolls into me again, earning another breathy noise from me. But somewhere in my mind. Way, way back in the depths where I don’t focus on Harrison’s hot breath against my skin or his huge dick trying to fight past our clothes right now. I know I have a more pressing matter to deal with. A previously fidgeting husband who had something on his mind that I want to help with, and he absolutely cannot distract me with sex.And breathe.
“Wait,” I say weakly. Although he’s not fidgeting anymore, so should I stop?
“What is it?” He doesn’t stop.
