K. Bromberg - Aced

“Something’s different about you . . .” I leave the comment open-ended so she can respond.

But of course she doesn’t take the bait. I should have known my wife is smarter than that. She’ll make me work for the answer, so we just stare at each other in a battle of wills before her smile slowly widens into a full grin.

Give me a clue, Ry.

Nope. She’s not going to. I should’ve guessed as much. Might as well admire the view anyway: cleavage, lace, a whole lotta skin, and thighs I can’t wait to be between. The smirk on her face tells me she knows exactly what I’m doing when I finally meet her gaze. When her eyes flicker to the table beside her, she finally gives me something to go off.

The table is covered in takeout boxes from our favorite Chinese restaurant. There’s a galvanized bucket of ice with some bottlenecks sticking out of it and paper plates and chopsticks piled on the side. Truth be told, I was so busy looking at her, I hadn’t even noticed the food.

But now, my stomach growls.

“I got your favorite,” she says, fidgeting with the hem of the lace so my eyes are drawn back to the V of her thighs, where it’s dark enough I can’t see anything. But fuck if it’s not from a lack of trying. “I hope you’re in the mood for Chinese. I thought we could eat out.”

I can’t hide the lightning-quick grin that flashes across my face because the type of eating out I’m thinking of has nothing to do with chopsticks. And from the purse of her lips, she knows perfectly well what I’m thinking. And yes, I may be hungry, but I don’t really give a flying fuck about food right now because there’s the taste of something else I’d rather have on my tongue.

“I know you’ve been working hard, stressed about the race next week. Sonoma has always been a tough one for you . . . so I thought I’d treat you to a date night with your hot wife,” she continues with a lift of her eyebrows, taunting and daring me all at once. Goddamn tease.

“Does my hot wife think that when she greets me on the patio in a getup like that, I’ll give a rat’s ass about the dinner, the cold beer, or the sunset we’ll get to enjoy while eating it?” I ask as I cross the distance; the need to have my hands on her growing stronger with each passing second.

“For starters . . . yes.”

“I like starters.” I reach out and trace the line of her collarbone with my fingertip. After all this time, there is still something so damn sexy about her body moving ever so slightly into my touch, telling me she wants me as badly as I want her. “And I also like dessert . . .” I say, my voice trailing off. The air is thick with sexual tension as I drop to my knees on the chaise between hers. She’s crazy if she thinks she’s going to greet me like this and not get fucked good and hard before we leave this patio. “But you forgot one very important thing.”

Her violet eyes widen as I lean in. “What’s that?” she asks, her voice breathless. My every nerve is attuned to the sound of it.

“You forgot to kiss your husband hello.” I catch a flash of a smile before she tilts her head back so our lips are in perfect alignment.

“Well, let me correct that right now, sir ,” she says, knowing damn well that term will only turn me on more. Shit. Like that’s a hard thing for her to do. It’s Rylee, isn’t it?

Before I can finish thinking about what more I want her to do while calling me sir, she leans forward and closes the distance between us. And fuck yes, I want all of her right now, but I’ll take what I can get. Besides, the way she kisses me is so damn sexy. It’s that kind of kiss guys hate to admit they love: the soft and slow kind that causes that ache deep in my balls before it slowly spreads up my spine and tickles the base of my neck. It’s the kiss that comes two steps before I lose control and panties are torn because the need to bury myself in her tight, hot pussy is the only desire I have.

When she pulls back to end the kiss, I groan in complaint and fist my hands to prevent myself from reaching out and yanking her against me. I’m ready to say screw the dinner, regardless of how hungry I am.

“Better?” she asks, sass on her lips and seduction in her eyes.

“Hmm . . . there are other parts of me that still need to be welcomed home properly.” I fight the grin I want to give her because I love when she’s like this. Feisty. Sexy. Mine. Shedding her reserved nature in the way she only does around me.

“What a poor, deprived husband you are,” she says, her lips in a sexy pout while her fingers walk up my thigh. I watch the ascent of her hand, my dick definitely wanting those fingers to move faster. “And I promise to welcome all of those parts home properly, but first . . . you need to eat .”

Buzzkill. Seriously ? She thinks she can tempt me with her touch and then stuff an egg roll in my mouth? Does she not know me by now? That when it comes to her I have no restraint? Well, unless of course those restraints are tying her to a bed.

“You tease.” I lock eyes on hers the same time I reach out and grab onto her hand. I place it exactly where I want it: my cock. “Why wait? We can have dessert first.”

“Nice try, Ace, but dinner’s going to get cold.” She cups my balls, fingernails scraping ever so softly that the minute my head falls back and the moan falls from my lips, she tugs her hand from my grip. “Let’s eat.”

“Oh, now that’s cold.” I laugh. What else can I do? Like always, the woman has me by the balls. I stare at her, smirk on my lips and disbelief in my eyes, as I swing my legs over the edge of the lounge chair. “You can’t greet me wearing that and expect me to focus on Kung Pao chicken.”

“But it’s your favorite,” she says, voice playful. With determined actions, she starts to open containers.

I’m hungry all right, but not for Chinese.

I reach out and tug her against me, so her back is to my front, and the feel of her warm body against mine strengthens my resolve. I’ve decided Chinese food is much better reheated. And if I have any say in the matter, that’s exactly what’s going to happen to ours.

“I beg to differ. You’re my favorite,” I murmur against the curve of her shoulder as her curls tickle my cheek and her vanilla scent fills my nose. My let’s-always-stick-to-the-schedule wife’s body stiffens in resistance at first, but when I press a kiss just beneath her ear in that clothes-immediately-fall-off zone, her body melts into mine and she relaxes. “I want dessert first.”

“Rule breaker,” she sighs, lacing her fingers with mine on her chest. She’s trying to figure out how to rein me in when she should know by now it won’t do any good. I always get what I want when it comes to getting my fill of her.

“You wouldn’t like me any other way.”

“True.”

“How about we compromise?”

“Compromise?” she asks, as if she’s shocked to hear that word coming from my mouth when discussing sex.

“Yes, it means you give some and I give some.”

“I have a feeling what you want to give and what I want to give are two entirely different things,” she teases. “Don’t forget that I know you, Donavan. I know you like to play dirty—”

“Damn straight I do, especially when it comes to having sex with you.”

She just smiles and shakes her head at me. “But I have a plan.”

“You always have a plan,” I say with an exasperated laugh. “Bet my plan is better.”

“Lay it on me,” she deadpans and then realizes exactly what she’s said. I can feel the laugh she tries to hide vibrate from her back into my chest.

“How about we have sex first and then eat?” I suggest, knowing I’m driving her crazy. Her laugh rings around us, but for the first time since I’ve been home, I hear something different in her tone. Before I can give it much thought, she continues.