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At first, I thought she was gonna protest, but she didn’t argue with me, just gave me a saucy look. She straddled me then, and leaned down until her tits were brushing against my chest. I grabbed her hips and resisted the urge to pull her down onto my thirsty cock, but just barely. Instead, I guided her upwards, until her sweet pussy was angled over my mouth.
“Give yourself to me, darlin’. Need to taste you,” I repeated.
Seton’s breath caught in her throat as she lowered herself onto my tongue.Oh, fuck yes. My girl tasted like honey and heaven and sex and every damn good thing. I lapped at her greedily, my cock throbbing. Seton rode my tongue, her hips thrusting as she whimpered her need. I listened to her soft, helpless cries as she climbed higher and higher. A half a dozen times, I pulled her away as she was close to the edge, suppressing a chuckle as her moans grew more impatient. Finally, when I knew she couldn’t take any more, I sank my tongue deep inside her then drew it out, slowly, as my lips closed over her clit and sucked her in.
Seton’s whole body went rigid. A second later, she shattered.
Her body was still quaking and pulsing when I lowered her onto my shaft. She was hot and tight, and any thought I had of drawing this out, of taking my time, went away. I had to have her, had to drive into her deep and fast before I lost my damn mind.
“Jesus, baby. It never gets old,” I gritted out.
“Greyson,” she moaned.
“Gonna come, babe.”
“Yes. Oh, god, yes…”
“Jesus. Jesus fuck, yes…” I felt my cock thicken, knew I couldn’t hold out any longer. I rammed into her harder, faster, and then she clamped down on my shaft and I lost my damn mind. I exploded inside her, heat and fire releasing deep and fast as she clung to me and the world ended.
My mind went completely blank. After a while, it started to come back online. Seton was lying on top of me, both of us covered in a thin sheen of sweat. I was stroking her hair as the two of us inhaled, exhaled, inhaled together. Like we were one person. One soul.
Even after all this time, I still had moments like this. Moments where I couldn’t believe that this life was mine. That this woman — this gorgeous, sexy, fiery woman — was my wife.
No one had a life that was better than ours was. I was far luckier than a flawed man like me had any reason to be.
And as Seton drifted to sleep, I couldn’t help but marvel about how perfect everything was right now. Didn’t she see that? Didn’t she feel the same way?
Or when she asked me if I’d think about having another kid, was she telling me she wanted more?
In a world that could be downright shitty a lot of the time, we’d found the sweet spot. We were happy. If another kid came into the picture, would that be tempting fate? Would we be messing up a good thing?
3
SETON
The next day, Grey and I piled into the car with all the kids and made the drive up to Denver. At the hotel, we parked in the ramp and Grey checked in at the reception, where he had to show his ID to verify that we were with the band. A couple of minutes later, a large, muscular man in a suit with an earpiece came out to the lobby and approached us.
“Mr. Stone?” he asked. At Grey’s nod, he said, “I’m here to take your party up to the Hard Candy event.”
If the security guy was surprised by Grey’s MC cut, he didn’t show it, even though I was pretty doubtful we looked like the hotel’s usual clientele. Maybe he was used to rock bands and the motley assortment of people they brought in as guests. He did look a little surprised by the troop of youngsters we had with us, though.
Security Guy led the way past a bank of public elevators to a smaller one that needed a key card to access.
“We’re going in the fancy elevator,” Kendall whispered to Wyatt.
“It’s not fancy inside, though,” he whispered back when we stepped into the car. “It’s just regular.”
The guard used his key card again on the elevator panel and punched a button with no lettering or numbering next to it. The car rose up for close to ten seconds in a sort of limbo, bypassing what I assumed were the floors for regular hotel guests, toward the top buttons, which read P1, P2, P3, P4. A penthouse for each band member, I guessed.
But we didn’t go quite to the top. The elevator slowed, then stopped, at a floor whose button had no label.
“Here we are,” he intoned.
Then the doors opened, and we stepped out into a Christmas scene that could have been straight out of Macy’s.
Well, Macy’s with bikers and rock stars.
The event space had been festooned with all manner of tinsel, ornaments, and other decorations in a silver and red theme. An enormous Christmas tree stood in pride of place at the center of the room. Rock and roll Christmas classics blared over the sound system. On one end was a long table filled to the hilt with food. A wet bar was next to it, staffed with two bartenders in hotel uniforms. To the right, there was another small room. Through the open door, I glimpsed a Santa throne, with large decorative presents all around it.
