She gives me a coquettish shoulder raise. “Pretty much.”
“Really,” I growl. By now we’ve reached the end of the aisle. I pull her aside, but still there’s too many people. So I grab her hand and rush her behind the farmhouse.
“Where are we going?” she pretends to wonder, laughing.
Away from prying eyes, I lean her against the wall, needing to feel the length of her body against mine. Her heartbeat flutters like a bird against a window, her lips part, her eyelids close.
That’s my wife.
I run my hands up and down her sides until I feel the bare skin at her thighs, then slide one hand under her dress and find… nothing but more bare skin. I cup her ass.
Not a single thread of fabric. “Fuck…” I growl.
“It’s not what you think,” she starts.
Not what I think? It’s a bare pussy. There’s no other way to put it. I plunge two fingers inside her to make my point.
“It’s because…” a sigh as I pump in and out of her “the dress is so… oh Noah… so clingy you could see the… ahhh… the underwear so I… I…” She clenches her thighs around my hand. “Baby,stop. Anyone could see us.”
“But you were doing so good.”
She humors me with a chuckle. “There’s kids. Kids tend to run around houses.”
Good point. “Let go of my hand?” She has me in the iron clutch of her thighs anddamn… I could use some of that around my head as I eat her, around my hips as I take her, around—
“Promise you’ll stop,” she breathes.
“Scout’s honor.”
She giggles and clenches harder.
“Open your thighs for me, woman,” I order.
“You’re so dirty,” she whisper-moans in my ear. “I can’t wait for you to fuck me.” Then she opens her thighs, and I reluctantly remove my hand, sucking her juices off my fingers.
She pats the front of her dress as she pushes herself off the wall. “Do I look okay?”
“You look like someone who almost got fucked against a wall.”
Her eyes widen, her mouth gapes. “What’s that supposed to mean? You make it sound like a good thing.”
I hold my laughter and reach to fix the strands of hair escaping from the fancy pile at the back of her head. “It means you have that hungry look on you and…” I’m not sure how to put the next thing… “these little guys are still calling for attention.”
She looks down her dress and yelps at her pebbled nipples. “Ohmygod.” Lifting the draped fabric, she looks inside. “I had those little thingies,” she says, producing with widening eyes what looks like a petal-shaped Band-Aid, then another, “but I guess… I guess… the sweat?”
“Babe, you don’t sweat. Not that much,” I say with utter confidence. “Like I said. You look ripe for a good fuck.”
She gapes. “That’s not what you said!”
Shit. Now her cheeks are turning rosy, her nipples are begging for more attention, and why is her dress clinging halfway up her ass? …maybe there is a sweat effect, the kind that would make me fuck my wife against that wall if there weren’t any kids around.
“Almost fucked… primed… what’s the difference?” My erection is getting painful as I get into the specifics of the different stages of making love to Willow. Judging by her bodily reaction, she feels the same.
We need to stop acting like horny teenagers. Getting a grip on myself, I take her hand and pull her to a side door leading inside the house.
“Noah Callaway, we are not having sex in here,” she hisses, trying to resist my pull.
“Just showing you to the bathroom.” Now she follows. “I think they might be waiting for us for photos,” I add.
