Blue Moon #3 (Story of Us Series - Into the Blue) - Sydney Jamesson Page 0,88
my arms and mirror his stance. “Then tell me. I want to know.”
“Cuts and bruising to her face and arms…”
“Yes. And…?”
“A dislocated knee, two bruised ribs and a sprained wrist.”
I hold my hand to my mouth in horror. “My God, Ayden! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“She asked me not to. Said she didn’t want you to worry or start going over what could have happened if you’d been there.”
My horror converts to anger. “If it had been me, then I’d still be in hospital, and we wouldn’t be welcoming our babies into this world in a couple of months.”
He pulls me towards him and wraps his arms around me tightly. “I know, Beth. That’s why we agreed not to tell you.”
I pull myself together and force him to release his grip. “You can’t do this anymore, Ayden. You can’t make decisions for me like you used to. I won’t let you.”
He runs his hand over my hair. “I realise that now. I sent my mild-mannered wife on a cruise and now she’s turned into Xena Warrior Princess. Believe me, I’m trying to get my head around it.”
Just the thought of it has me laughing. “That’s not true…”
“Oh no?”
“No. I don’t have a sword.” I pick up the knife, hold it aloft then continue with food preparation.
Amid laughter, Ayden takes out a tablecloth from the bottom drawer and wraps it around me from behind like a cloak. I drop the knife and reach out my hands, take the cloth from him and wrap it around us both.
“See, what a great team we make?”
“We do.” With his hands freed, he lifts me onto the other uncluttered counter top. “I love you, Mrs. Stone,” he whispers, placing a soft kiss on my lips.
“I love you too, Mr. Stone, but you’d better put me down.” I release my grip on the tablecloth around us.
He looks concerned. “Why? Aren’t you feeling well?”
“Yes. Never better, but the butter in the frying pan behind you is about to catch fire.”
He spins around. “Oh shit!” Thin plumes of black smoke are rising from the pan like smoke signals.
“You’re a terrible distraction. Why don’t you make yourself useful, finish laying the table, and choose some wine to go with the chateaubriand and vegetables.”
He lifts me down and takes hold of the tablecloth. “I can manage that, but once my mission is accomplished I’ll be back for payment in kind.”
“You’re such a mercenary.” I plant a kiss on his cheek. “Will you settle for a blow job?”
He gives me a startled look. “Did you just say what I think you said?”
“I did.” Nonchalantly, I flick on the radio and continue to prepare food, not looking up..
He presses his body into mine, bends his knees and grinds his cock into my derrière. “I don’t know if it’s the effects of that sea air or the hormones but you can’t go around making offers like that and not deliver.” He slowly lifts my dress. “What the fuck! You’re not wearing panties.”
“I know.”
His breath is hot against my left ear. “Why not?”
“Because you had so much trouble earlier with my outfit, I thought you might need some help.”
“That’s thoughtful of you. But, baby, you can’t have people round to dinner and not wear panties.” His erection presses against my cheeks as he dips and gyrates his hips. I can barely concentrate on anything other than his hardness and my arousal.
“They won’t know.” My voice is breathy and close to a pant.
“But I will.”
“That’s the idea.”
He takes hold of my shoulders, turns me around to face him and tips up my chin. “No.”
“No what?”
“No. You can’t do that.” His face is unflinching.
I bite my lip. “Why not?”
“I won’t let you.” He peppers my neck with kisses and nips at my earlobe.
“What If I refuse? Will you lock me in my room until I decide to be a good girl?”
“Jesus, Beth. Don’t push me.”
“But you like to be pushed…” I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him; small pecks at first then passionately, pushing my tongue into his mouth, feeling him push back. “You want me, you take me—now.”
Before the last consonant leaves my mouth, I’m lifted back onto the counter and my skirt is being ruffled around my thighs. He’s looking more turned-on and reckless in his intent than I’ve seen him in a long time. My chest is heaving; the material on my dress is rising and falling like wild flowers in a summer meadow.