Man of Matrimony by Thea Dawson

Author:Thea Dawson [Dawson, Thea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aeroplane Media Press
Published: 2019-03-30T16:00:00+00:00

17

Liam

Am I making a mistake, sitting here on the couch, making out with my wife?

My wife. Crazy thought, that.

The snow queen melts against me, her supple body pressed against mine, her tongue slipping across my lips. She tastes like the world’s most expensive whiskey sour, sweet and lemony and out of my league, and … yeah, this is probably a mistake, with no one to blame but myself.

To say I’m attracted to her is an understatement. Living at close quarters with her, I’ve had my fill of chances to stare at that toned, disciplined body. God knows she’s beautiful enough.

But attraction? That’s nothing. Take a cold shower, go for a run, wank off if you need to. You don’t need to follow through with every bird that catches your eye.

This, though, is sliding into something else. Up until now, I’ve thought of Bree as rather like an expensive work of art: beautiful, but you wouldn’t touch it. But when she started to cry so suddenly, so out of character, looking sad, lost, so completely not her regular high-and-mighty, on-a-pedestal self, I suddenly felt a tug toward her that wasn’t just physical.

It was a need to see her happy again.

Coaxing a little smile out of her was worth the sacrifice in whiskey—which, given it wasn’t my whiskey, maybe wasn’t that much of a sacrifice. Still cost me a bit of pride, though.

Oh hell, it would have been worth it even if it were my whiskey and I’d had to pour the whole bottle down the drain to wash away some of the despair in her eyes.

Now her arms have somehow slid up around my neck and I’ve pulled her as close to me as I can, seated as we are on the couch. I slide one hand across her cheek and into her hair, astounded that anyone could have such soft skin. I probe her lips with my tongue, and they part to let me in.

There’s fire beneath this ice.

For long minutes we make out like a pair of shy but randy teenagers then I feel her hand at my collar, fumbling at the top button of my shirt. I should stop her, but the devil on my shoulder whispers that just one button won’t hurt … nor two.

I mean to say something to slow this down, but now it’s her tongue that slides between my lips, stealing my words and most of my thoughts along with them. My arm, which is no long taking orders from my brain but from parts much further south, snakes around her firm, slim waist and pulls her into my lap.

Now she’s straddling me, the hem of her prissy little skirt riding up to expose those long, lean legs. My hand just happens to land on one and it’s all I can do to keep it on her thigh and not slide it up any higher. Her lips have moved on to my throat, her fingers are in my hair. Her teeth nip at my earlobe, and I swear out loud, but I’m not even sure what I’m saying.

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