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The movement of his hands stopped, and he lifted his head away from my shoulder, so he could twist his neck in my direction. “Are you serious right now?”
“The garbage needs to go out,” I told him, my lips twitching.
Johnny’s thumb at my breast swiped over my nipple. “Later.”
“We have company coming,” I reminded him.
Not missing a beat, he pointed out, “They aren’t going to be here until tonight.”
His breath was hot against my skin, and he went back to using his hands in the most delicious of ways. Normally, I wouldn’t have minded. I’d go on the journey with him and enjoy it for all that I was confident it would be. But today was different. “I still have cleaning and food prep to do before they get here.”
Johnny’s hands both shot to my hips, and he spun me around. “You know what else is great about being married?”
His question caught me off guard, because I was certain he’d already shared his honest answers to it. Shaking my head, I answered, “No.”
Johnny lifted me up, moved away from the sink, and placed me on the counter. “It’s a partnership,” he started, his hands going to the hem of my shirt. After he tore it over my head, tossed it aside, and brought his hands to the waistband of my sweats, he continued. “That means we work together, and we compromise.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “I agree.”
He removed my pants and grinned. “Good. Then, we’re in agreement. You and I fuck on the counter now, and afterward, I’ll help you with all the cooking and cleaning that needs to get done before our friends arrive.”
I stared at him, wondering if he was just saying what he thought I wanted to hear, so he could get his way. But Johnny had never been the kind of guy to lie to me. And the truth was that he wasn’t a guy who merely stuck to taking out the trash or mowing the grass. He often helped me with dinner or vacuuming or any other household chore. So as quickly as I had the thought that he might be feeding me a line, it was gone.
Johnny was a man of his word, and if he said he was going to help, he had every intention of helping.
“We could cook and clean first,” I suggested, knowing it was going to drive him wild.
Cocking an eyebrow, Johnny didn’t respond with words. He merely ripped my panties down my legs and brought his thumb to my clit. Then he applied pressure and circled there.
My lips parted at the same time I separated my thighs a bit wider to give him better access.
And that’s what did it.
Johnny leaned forward, brought his lips to mine, and whispered, “I had a feeling you’d be interested in making a compromise.”
“You’re not fighting fair,” I rasped.
His opposite hand came up to cup my breast. As his thumb stroked over my nipple, he continued to play between my legs, and he replied quietly, “Baby, I’m not fighting at all.”
No.
He wasn’t.
And I quickly realized I wasn’t going to do anything to change his mind. Then again, I wasn’t entirely sure I was even interested in doing that.
Because Johnny never disappointed when it came to communicating just how much he loved me and my body.
“Kiss me,” I begged.
So, he did.
And right there on the kitchen counter, my husband fucked me.
“Do you guys have to be the best at everything?”
It was hours after Johnny seduced me in the kitchen. Once he’d had his way with me—something he didn’t let me regret compromising on—Johnny followed through on his promise to help with the cooking and cleaning.
I wasn’t surprised, though.
