At his place, Trick often tries to persuade me to stay topless for a while after taking a shower. Whenever I do, there is nothing else that interests him. If we’re leaving this stunningand isolated beach retreat, I’m going to make the most of our last day.
I grab my wicker tote, which has the novel I’m reading, my sunglasses and a beach towel. Snagging the sunscreen on my way out of the bedroom, I glance at the pretty seashell bedspread. It’s so sweet that I almost feel guilty for all the wild sex it’s seen the past couple nights.
My new husband has been very sweet by day, but his dark desires still come out at night. Which, if I’m being honest with myself, I’m enjoying way too much. I think it might be the pregnancy hormones or something. My appetite for sex is ravenous.
I return to the living room, and when Scott sees me, he stops moving. I grab a container of fresh pineapple rings from the fridge and add them to my bag along with a fork.
“You can meet me out there, okay?”
The corners of his mouth curve up. “Laurelyn?”
“Yes?” I ask innocently.
He turns off the burners. “I’ve decided I’m not ready for breakfast yet.”
“You’re gonna have coffee though, right?” I ask, walking backward toward the glass door to the beach.
Trick reaches over and turns off the coffee machine. “No, I’m coming with you right now.” He rounds the counter and joins me.
My mouth curves into a satisfied smile. “Oh good. You can put lotion on my back. I’ll get another towel for you.”
“You do that,” he says, his dark blue eyes intent. “Is this a game to see whether you can get me to chill at the beach an extra couple days?”
“Maybe,” I tease, though that had not even occurred to me.
His gaze goes from my breasts to the baby bump and back. “Well-played, babe.”
“I’m sure we’ll have a great time in Venice, too,” I say amiably as I grab another towel. “I’ve never been. It looks stunning in pictures.”
He holds the sheer curtain aside so I can step out onto the sand. “But in Venice you won’t be topless all day,” he says, contemplating it.
“No.”
His smirk is telling.
“So what do you think?” I ask. “Leave for Venice in two days, instead of tomorrow?”
“Fuck Venice.”
“Hmm,” I say with a small smirk.
He cocks a brow, then he shakes his head. “Don’t get cocky. If I wanted to, I could make you go topless in Venice. I could rent a villa and arrange for your clothes to be unavailable.”
“You could,” I say, turning my head to look at him. “But isn’t it better if walking around topless is a little honeymoon present from your wife?”
He looks away for a second, his smile widening. “You heard me say ‘fuck Venice,’ didn’t you?”
Down by the water, I lay out the towels on the sugary sand. The fizzy sound of the surf is perfect. I squeeze sunscreen on my hands, about to put it on my chest.
“Hey, put that on my shoulders instead,” he says, moving closer. “Let’s wait a minute to put lotion on you.”
There’s an answering telltale throb between my legs at his sexy tone and clear intention to put his mouth on me. My hands rub lotion on his strong shoulders, and his head dips over me, sucking a nipple into his mouth. He pushes me back onto the towel, and a hand slides down to stroke my belly.
“Privacy has its privileges,” he murmurs as his hand moves up to cup my breast.
The warm morning sunshine and the soft sand fade into the background as what he’s doing to my body becomes the main focus.
It only takes a moment for him to rid himself of his shorts. Then he pins my hands above my head as he makes love to me. The things he whispers to me are as filthy as ever. Marriage has changed some things, but not this.
