“Dorian, we’ve been over this already. If that hand hits my ass, you are dead meat.”
I paused, hand high in the air, unable to believe I’d just been threatened by the woman turned over my knee. My wet knee. “You dumped a pitcher of water on me!”
“You ordered me to bring you a beer. Had you asked nicely, you’d be drinking it by now.”
“Shit.” Another ice cube melted to the point of falling through the deck lounger slats. Of course it had to have been a fresh pitcher of ice water. Guilt warred with the honed instinct to redden Hope’s ass. She’d brought the water from our villa onto our private beach because I’d said I was thirsty. Instead of thanking her, I’d told her to grab me a beer.
Not nice, but she knew I could be an ass when she married me last week. And speaking of nice asses…
I reached for another rapidly melting ice cube before it could fall. Placing it at the top of the gentle swell of her cheeks, I watched as it immediately began to melt its way down her crack. About halfway her shock wore off and she began to struggle, adding a really nice cock rub to the arousing visual.
It was day five of our ten day honeymoon in paradise. We’d screwed our way through the first three days, and after giving her a two day rest from penetration, I was ready to go. Judging by the way Hope was moving against me, she was ready too. The fact that she hadn’t killed me was also a good sign.
Just to be sure, I wet my fingers in a pool of icy water and eased one of them into her sweet pussy. Then two. Hope didn’t flinch; she pressed back against my hand, the contrast of the cold water in her hot passage an added bonus.
“I can’t wait any longer, Hope.” I pulled her up so she was straddling me on the lounger. Yeah, it would have been nice to sit back in it, but that would have meant sitting in a pool of icy water. Though I doubted anything would lessen this raging hard-on, shrinkage wasn’t a myth. Switching to her lounger would have meant waiting, and I was serious. I couldn’t wait.
After our one scare, Hope had gone on the pill. Thank God, because a condom would have been as wishful as that beer and again, I wasn’t waiting. Hope wasn’t waiting, either. With my name on her lips, she shifted and slowly sank me deep, inch by inch. By the time I was buried in her to the hilt, I was ready to explode.
“Don’t you dare come yet,” Hope warned.
“Like hell,” I growled back, grabbing onto her hips in case she got the insane idea of slowing down. Or climbing off.
“Whoever comes first has to go get that beer. And fetch anything else his wife wants for the rest of the day and night.”
“Ha ha. Aaahh!” She twisted in my lap, and I had to grit my teeth against the urge to come. My wife knew me well; the gauntlet had been thrown. But I knew her well, too.
Her lush breasts were bouncing in my face, and I only had to lean forward slightly to flick my tongue over one of her distended nipples. Her gasp of pleasure was followed by a moan when I brought my fingers – still wet from her pussy – down to press on her clit. Then I closed my lips over her nipple and sucked hard.
Hope went wild, but so did I. All I could feel was her soft skin against mine, the blinding heat of her pussy surrounding my cock, spreading its way up the base of my spine.
Then Hope, that wonderfully evil wife of mine, ground down on my lap, leaned over, whispered, “Come for me, lover,” and stuck her hot wet tongue in my ear.
That was it for me. Shit, she had me at, “I do.” Before that, really, though she had been wearing a wedding dress the night I met her. I grasped her hips and met her next downward movement with a push of my hands and a thrust of my hips. I came deep inside her in a rush that made my toes curl, releasing her nipple to cry out my pleasure. She was two seconds behind me, and I kept her in my lap, my cock still buried to the hilt, so I could feel each precious convulsion.
I managed to open my eyes and found Hope looking at me with all the love in the world.
“Yeah?” I groaned when she sat up all the way.
“I’m thirsty. Make mine an orange juice.”
I had to laugh. “For you, my love, I’ll fly to Florida and pick the oranges myself.”
About the Author: My favorite hobby is reading, and I am a complete romance snob. If a story doesn’t have romance, it isn’t worth it. If there’s hot sex, it’s extra worth it. Let’s face it; fantasy is usually a lot more fun than reality. Not always, but usually.
If you are interested in finding out why Hope was wearing a wedding dress when she and Dorian met, buy "Love Cuffs", by Dalton and Ashley Ladd, being released by Ellora’s Cave in September. Website: www.daltondiazromance.com