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Red smirks. She loves it when I order her around this way, toy with her body and her mind. I can't get away with it any other time, but when it comes to sex, we both know who's the boss.
I look at her shirt, which is untucked, but not unbuttoned. "Now."
With a sly smile that makes me throb against her, she lets go of my hair and slowly unbuttons her blouse, one agonizing button at a time. She loves to play with me, and even though it's fucking torture, I love it too. Like a man in a trance, I'm spellbound while she undoes the last button and pulls the black silk away.
And...shit. I have to close my mouth so I don't drool.
She's wearing that black thing I like––no, love––the one that's see-through so that I can see the way her perfect fucking nipples pop out like damn berries when she's all turned on. She doesn't know it; if I said something, she'd get self-conscious about it. But Red's nipples are her tell. The second she's turned on, it's like the room temperature just dropped by twenty degrees. When she was pregnant...forget about it. I feel dirty just remembering the thoughts I had about my pregnant wife, even though she was sick the entire nine months. Does that make me a pervert? Maybe. I don't really care.
I lean in slowly, and nip one breast through the lace. She arches into my touch and hisses.
"I said off," I order as my teeth latch to the other side. "That meant everything."
This time she's happy to obey. Red has even less patience than I have, especially by the time Friday rolls around. It's not that we can't have sex when our daughter is in the house––fuck, no, we'd go crazy––but by this time, it's been six full days of sneaking into the closet or the shower to mask the noises neither of us can keep tamped down. Six days of praying I'll have the presence of mind to kiss her when she comes, because my girl is fucking hopeless at staying quiet when I make her lose her mind. Unfortunately, it's one of my favorite things to do.
The bra-thing (I don't know what it's called––just that I like it) falls to the floor, and now I'm the one who's speechless, struck again by the beauty of this woman––my woman. Her breasts are a little fuller now, her hips a little wider after having a kid. She's even got a few tiny creases at the edges of those beautiful green eyes, and when I want to piss her off, I point out the few threads of gray she's gotten since Jenny was born. But none of that matters––every time I see her, all I can think is that I'm the luckiest son of a bitch alive. The smartest, wittiest, kindest, most beautiful woman in the world is in front of me, and she's all mine.
"Brandon," she whispers, bringing my eyes back up to meet those endless emerald beauties. I swear to God, the woman sees right through me.
I can't help it. I kiss her again, suck on her lips, first the top, then the bottom.
"Finally," I murmur. "It's been too long since this morning."
I'm having a hard time breathing; that's the effect she has on me. We've been married for five years, and I still have no idea what it is: jasmine? Tea? Something sweet and totally hers. Whatever it is, it's like crack to my dick.
Luckily, I seem to have the same effect on her.
"Off," she mutters, yanking hard enough at my shirt that I think a button or two pops off. I can't tell you how many times I have to send my shirts back to my tailor to replace buttons.
"Now," she demands when I don't move fast enough.
I have to stifle a chuckle. She's usually such a damn chatterbox, but when she's turned on, Red can only speak in one-word sentences. It's how I know she's really ready to go.
"Is this what you want, baby?" I ask in that low voice I know really gets her going. She says I growl like a lion. I don't know. I can't really control it. These things come naturally around her.
I pull off my shirt, letting her see the body I know she loves. It's just a body to me––big, annoying, with a few more aches and pains these days––but I do my damnedest to keep it up, if only to see that look on her face when she touches it in the flesh.
She brushes her fingers across my abdomen, scraping slightly with her nails. Her fingers pause over the scar on my left side, the one left by the knife that came way too close to ending things. I shudder. She knows exactly how to get me going too.
I slip a hand into her hair––the red hair she cut off a year after Jenny was born, when she finally had the balls to start her own firm with Kieran, Eric, and a few other people we poached from what used to be Sterling Grove. It's going well now, but it meant some seriously long hours in the beginning. In a way, it was good timing––I got to stay at home with my daughter and let someone else bring home the bacon while I figured out what I wanted to do with the three billion and change I walked away with after breaking apart my old life.
"I need a haircut," Red mumbles as I tug on the ends.
It's growing out again, just past her shoulders.
"Looks good to me," I say back as I dip down to suck at that spot on her neck that drives her crazy.
I'm not going lie; I miss it long, mostly because I like grabbing it in situations like these. But I'm telling the truth when I say she'd stop traffic in a garbage bag. Why does she think I still keep a driver around? I can't be trusted around heavy machinery when I see her in a skirt.
She's lost in a trance, her hands exploring me as she pushes my pants down with her feet. I kick them off with the rest of our clothes. She can't speak when she's like this, but her eyes glow. I love her glass face. I love that I can see every damn thing she thinks on it, especially when she's worshipping me.
Not bad for an orphan kid from Dorchester who never knew love. Red shows me with every single look.
Finally, she can't take the waiting anymore, and neither can I. She's been working long days getting the new firm set up, and the last two times we tried to do this, Jenny walked in to our room looking for her stuffed narwhal. That's right, my kid doesn't have a teddy bear or a stuffed dog. No, I had to go all over half the Eastern seaboard looking for a stuffed fuckin' narwhal because my daughter just had to have her own "water unicorn" after reading a book about them at school. Do you even know what a narwhal is? Do you know how hard it is to find a stuffed version of a weird looking whale with a giant spear coming out of its nose?
But the look on her face...she's too much like her mother, that's what she is. Everything shows, and when she's happy, she lights up the goddamn room. So, a narwhal it was.
"Hey."
