“Got briefed on the demerit system,” he hollered after her. “A husband’s best friend.”
Angie almost peed herself from laughing so hard when she imagined her poor brother gritting his teeth as he laid out his and Meghan’s funny tally arrangement knowing what sort of fuckery was bound to be unleashed on his little sister as a result.
She stuck her head out of the bedroom and hollered loud enough so he’d hear her in the kitchen.
“Really, Counselor? You have to take someone else’s idea? Whatever happened to originality and creative expression? Pfft. Must be an old guy thing.”
She heard his stool scrape the floor followed by the sound of footsteps thundering her way. He appeared at the end of the hallway walking with determination and purpose.
“Old guy?” he barked.
She screamed and giggled then realized too damn late that there was no bedroom door to slam, so she ran for the bathroom.
He caught up with her in no time at all and subjected her to a wash, scrub, and rinse that triggered nonstop gales of laughter and all the snark she could unload. His dark looks and grumbles about their age difference made getting her hair wet all over again so totally worth it!
Parker gave his wife an inch, and in true Angie fashion, she ran with it and took more than a mile. It was her way. He let it happen, knowing exactly how the indulgence of her wifely responsibilities would end. It took a few days, but by their fifth morning in paradise, she was worn out and running on empty. Perhaps if waiting on him hand and foot had been the only thing on her daily agenda, she would have persisted longer. But add ferocious fucking and baby-making love snuggles into the mix, and his sweet desert angel was bound to run out of steam eventually.
His lusty wife was astride him in the playground bed, riding him with wild abandon. He let her have at it and stoked the fire of her passions until she hit the wall. Her grunting desperation filled him with an odd sense of pleasure. She was chasing an elusive orgasm—her hips churning and bucking.
She was also exhausted and overstimulated—by everything. Not just his dick.
He threaded his fingers into her hair and grabbed hold. Forcing her to look at him, he held her gaze until she stopped struggling.
“Be still,” he growled.
Her hands clutched at his shoulders, and she relaxed in his hold. Her hips calmed their frantic movements, and she melted into him.
Her sapphire eyes sparkled with desires he was more than happy to satisfy, but she was trying too hard and was missing the boat as a result.
He rolled his hips beneath her and searched for the sweet spot in her pussy that would steal her breath. Her groan when he found it was music to his ears.
“Breathe, Angel. Feel my cock.”
She shuddered, and a smoky glaze moved into her expression. “Parker,” she moaned.
When she started gyrating again, he firmed his grip on her head and growled deeply. “I said be still, wife. Concentrate on your husband’s cock inside you.”
She melted down a few seconds later. Now that he had her full attention and calmed the frantic movements that were getting her nowhere, she joined him in the moment.
“That’s my baby girl.” He grunted with approval as her luscious pussy warmed and flooded—just for him.
He released her head and grasped her hips. “Eyes on me, kitten.”
Parker lifted her slightly and then dropped as he bucked his hips into her seductive body. She moaned and swayed on top of him. It wouldn’t be long.
He was deep inside her, their eyes locked while she bit her lips when the end came into view. Her pussy tightened, and she started grinding in small circles.
He kept hold of her hips to prevent the manic fucking from retaking hold. Sometimes it wasn’t the stroke. Sometimes it was the connection.
“Come for me, Angel. Nice and easy, baby girl. Don’t force it. Just feel.”
She shuddered. Her eyes became unfocused. Her inner muscles pulsed wildly. He shifted and went for the spot that’d bring her the most pleasure.
“Parker,” she moaned. “Oh, Parker.”
His name on her lips as she started to climax was the sweetest sound imaginable.
He liked this. The deep, still orgasm. Without the distracting movements, he could concentrate on the feels. Her incredible pussy. The way she gushed with arousal. The sensation of his big cock nestled so perfectly inside her. When his cock swelled and pulsed, his brain melted. As her muscles squeezed, he was aware of the head of his cock pulsing as he unloaded deep. Each pulse against the wet walls of her pussy sent fire bolts of pleasure through his core.
It wasn’t always about the acrobatics.
She collapsed on top of him. His arms wrapped around his wife’s quivering body and held tight.
“I love you, Angelina,” he murmured. “More than you realize.”
Her lips pressing soft kisses on his neck and shoulder gave him peace.
In the long aftermath of quiet, he thought about the day ahead. She was “Mach 3, hair on fire” twenty-four seven. It was time to throw down with his Dom card and take over.
She’d try to take back control—a thought that made him chuckle. So he went with a direct command she couldn’t blow off.
“Today is about my beautiful wife. You do nothing without my permission. Understand?”
Her head came up so fast that he asked, “Is there a problem?”
She frowned so cutely. “What do you mean … permission?”
He fingered the collar made of colorful cord and smirked. “It’s my turn.”
“Oh,” she muttered.
He watched a hundred thoughts flit through her expression. God, she was something.
When she started to sit up, he held in a laugh. His naughty angel liked the dominant and submissive dynamic, but that didn’t mean she was any good at it. Not when it meant she couldn’t call the shots.
Fucking with her was mandatory, so he tugged on a loose curl, which made her eyes search, his face.
Let the playtime begin!
“I think today you will call me sir. I’d like that.”
She gasped and then lit up like a fucking spotlight. Sometimes she made it too damn easy.
Clapping her hands with delight, she made a moue with her sweet mouth and gave him a scorching look.
“So is this sir a noun, an adjective, or a …?”
He didn’t give her a chance to finish. Wrapping his hand around her neck, he pulled her in for a demanding kiss.
“You get three do-overs, my smartass wife. That was the first. It’s going to be a long day for you,” he said with a suggestive look. “I recommend deploying the remaining do-overs with care.”
The fire in her eyes and cheeky grin told him she was on board. Good. No more manic wife maneuvers. Not today. Today, she slowed down before she fell. Plain and simple. If he had to be the Dom to make it happen, he was up for the task.
When she started to scoot off the bed, he grabbed her arm and jerked her back against him, snarling, “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I have to go to the bathroom,” she stated matter-of-factly as though he was dumber than dirt.
“I have to go to the bathroom, Sir,” he drawled.
Realization dawned, and his wife responded with an audacious round of giggles.
She fought with the laughter and got control, but it wasn’t easy.
“Okay. Sorry, um, Sir.”
The giggle escaped, and she slapped a hand across her mouth. He arched one brow and dared her to laugh again.
While she giggled her way to the bathroom, he went for the tablet that put him in direct contact with the island resort staff and spelled out what he wanted. He was pulling the plug on her frenetic wifely shenanigans. For today.
Decisions made and a plan in place, he got busy. From one of the shipped cartons, he found something perfect for today, a wrapped gift, and laid it on the bed. He didn’t have to wonder whether she’d understand the significance of the
present.
Sounds from the bathroom got a host of reactions from him. Amusement and contentment flooded him at the same time. She was singing her heart out to a Spice Girls song. He listened for a moment and concluded it was called “Stop.” She was so into it that he was pretty sure dance moves were involved. The joyful sound reminded him to add a guitar to the day’s activities.
“Look!” she yelped a half an hour later when she came bad girl swaggering from the bathroom. Instead of a towel wrapped around her hair, she wore it along with a goofy grin. “I finally found something to wear!”
He crossed his arms and gave her an up and down inspection while she danced and pirouetted. “It’s your lucky day, Mrs. Sullivan.”
She caught sight of the wrapped package and shoved him out of the way to get at it. He felt a smile of memory cross his face. She’d been a sucker for gifts since she was old enough to walk.
She reached for the box, but he tsked and said “Uh,uh,uh.” Her response was a furious foot stomp and her hands on her hips.
He waited with a grinning smirk until she threw down with a pigeon-toed, eyes downcast, hair twirling performance of innocent bullshit that made him snicker-cough.
“Is the gift for me, Sir?”
A booming bark of laughter shot out of his chest and throat. “Oh, my god,” he bellowed. “This ‘Sir’ thing is more fun than I imagined. Please continue, Mrs. Sullivan,” he drawled with a gallant bow. A bow that would have been easier if his goddamn dick wasn’t standing at half-mast.
He handed her the package, and she hesitated. Then she took his hand and led him to a loveseat. He sat, and she made a seat for herself on his lap, after rearranging his aforementioned dick.
The romantic moment he was picturing in his mind screeched to an amusing halt when Angie inspected the wrapping and suddenly asked, “Did Sophie wrap this?”
His jaw dropped. Huh? What the fuck did Sophie have to do with the gift box? And why the hell was his wife thinking about anything but him?
“You know what she packed in my suitcase, right?”
Oh, right. He cringed and bit back an undignified laugh because letting Sophie pack Angie’s one tiny suitcase had been Parker’s only wedding fuck up. He foolishly imagined Sophie would behave. He’d been horribly wrong.
“A goddamn flannel nightie, some socks, a Bible with every passage having to do with sex, immorality, and a woman’s obedience to her husband marked with a Post-it, a box of condoms, and some random underwear from 1990. Oh, and a dog-eared copy of Pagan Lust.”
“What?”
He knew about everything but the last because she’d been railing about what a shit Sophie was from the moment they arrived and she opened the suitcase. Pagan Lust? He didn’t like the way that sounded.
“That stupid paperback has been around since the Stone Age. Where the hell do you think I learned all that pirate wench stuff?”
Oh, whew! He exhaled with relief. She was talking about a cheesy romance paperback. His mom had a collection that boggled the mind, but he couldn’t recall any covers with pirates and wenches.
He made a mental note to revisit this fascinating addendum and brought her back to the moment at hand.
“I’ll take care of Miss Sophia Marquez. Don’t you worry, little one.”
His declaration earned her beaming approval.
“And she most certainly did not wrap any of the presents I brought.”
“There’s more?”
Chuckling at her eagerness, he tapped the box. “Open this one, kitten.”
The beaming approval took on a sexy glow. She felt secure in her role when he framed things in a way she understood. For what he planned, he was her Sir, and she was his kitten.
Instead of tearing it to shreds, she carefully removed the ornate bow and unwrapped the ribbon. She’d peek at him from time to time and blush.
Paper removed and dropped to the floor, she kissed his lips quickly and lifted the lid. The tissue paper separated with a rustle as she spread it open. Inside the box were a sapphire blue one-piece suit and a gorgeous colorful sarong.
The suit was damn close to a Baywatch reproduction, and would take full advantage of his wife’s magnificent body.
Her soft gasp was full of appreciation. She lifted the sarong first and marveled at the beautifully colored filmy swath. When she held up the suit, it took about a nanosecond for her to make the connection.
He’d never seen her move so fast—ever. She jumped off his lap with the ease and grace of a jungle cat, kissed him soundly, and took her prizes as she ran from the room.
“Don’t follow,” she yelled, and a minute later, the sound of a hair dryer told him she was planning an entrance.
Thinking he’d better suit up too, Parker grabbed his off a shelf in the closet and pulled it on.
Today involved other people, so clothing would not be optional.
She quickly reappeared—her excitement palpable. When he got a good look at her in the suit, he had to control the Neanderthal inside him who wanted to do wicked things until she passed out from too much pleasure.
The reality was so much better than the visual he imagined.
Waving the flimsy sarong like a matador’s cape, she whirled around and modeled the sexy swimwear. It was essentially a second skin molded to his wife’s body. Styled for maximum cleavage, it was low cut and seductive as fuck. Her strong, toned legs made his mouth tingle, and when she turned around, he was glad his swim trunks contained the instant hard-on triggered by her back and ass.
“Why, Sir,” she cooed with an enormous grin. “I do believe you’ve developed a, um, thing for this color.”
Fuck, yeah! And making a couple of sapphire-eyed babies with the flirty vixen yanking his chain would be his absolute, unabashed pleasure.
She fingered the corded collar and subjected him to one seductive, flirtatious look and pose after another.
“Should I assume we’re having company?” She gestured at their suits with a wave of her hand.
“Yes,” he told her with an appreciative nod as she wiggled her ass at him for no reason. “Today is about playtime. Starting with paddle boarding.”
His wife was all over him in a flash. “Paddle boarding? Oh, Parker,” she gushed as her delight swept her away. “I’ve always wanted to try!” She hugged him over and over and laughed. “You know me so well.”
She was certainly right about that. Angie was a physical being in every sense of the term. Naturally athletic and born with an overabundance of energy, she was the kid who did everything. Ballet, field hockey, gymnastics, hiking, riding—you name it, and she’d either done it or was willing to try. She was also a bit too fearless at times.
He held her against his chest and hugged her tight. “I’ve dreamed about this, baby girl. Dreamed about spiriting you away and teasing your senses, spoiling you completely.”
She tilted her head and looked at him with her chin on his chest. “Did you ever dream it would be our honeymoon?”
It was a real question, and he answered honestly. “No. I think I always approached the subject of you and me from a forbidden standpoint. Having you once and then losing you almost killed me, and since I believed I got what I deserved, there never seemed to be a way forward. So I guess when I say spirit you away, I mean kidnap. Having our love in the open and supported by our families never seemed like an option, ya know?” He shrugged. “Sometimes I can’t believe Alex hasn’t neutered me.”
“There’s still time.” She snickered.
“I know how fucking lucky we are,” he solemnly admitted. “After everything, I’m somewhat stunned we pulled it off.”
“So you fantasized about an island paradise?”
“It’s my go-to Angelina pipe dream. Make believe I felt so deeply it made me cry.”
Her sapphire blues flashed at him, and a sweet smile curved her lips. “You’re too wonderful. I don’t deserve you.”
He cupped her face in his hands. “Sweetheart, you deserve this and
so much more. You were the one who had the courage to face the issue head on. If you hadn’t come home to Arizona, I’d be a miserable, old man jealous of everyone. Even that shithead St. John.”
He caressed her lips with his but didn’t deepen the kiss. There wasn’t time. When the sweet kiss ended, she immediately started babbling nonstop. In the span of five minutes, she’d touched on everything from the temperature of the water to pondering tropical endangered species to her snippy opinions on a massage oil in one of the resort’s gift baskets that she declared smelled like rotten avocado. She insisted Red would be appalled—thereby cementing Meghan’s role as the Justice Ladies’ resident guru on all things of that nature.
“Race you to the water,” she yelled a second after taking off in a mad dash.
“Excuse me?” he hollered after her with an abundance of amusement. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
She stumbled to a stop and turned to look at him. “Oh, right!” she cried out. “Sorry. Race you to the water, Sir.” If he were wearing socks, her giggle would have charmed them right off his feet.
Parker chuckled as he followed. He loved Angie’s spirit and sense of fun. Especially ridiculous fun. She’d be an amazing mother one day, but first, they had to get pregnant. His wildest hope and dream was that they make a honeymoon baby together. He was staring down forty, so starting a family was a priority.
Yelling, “Oh, look!” she pointed at a bunch of approaching water vessels while a big smile spread on her face. “Parker! Is that an outrigger canoe?”
She ran back to him and jumped into his arms. Wrapping the sarong in her hand around his neck and with her legs firmly around his waist, she pulled him in for a wicked kiss.
“I love you,” she murmured between drugging kisses.
“Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan,” one of the resort’s attendants called out. “La ora na!”
“That means hello,” his sexy kitten whispered into his ear.
“My name is Johann, and I’ll be taking care of you today.”
It was almost impossible for Parker to project an ounce of dignified behavior when she wiggled out of his arms and clung to his arm while softly snickering and making typical Angel comments. “Oh, my god,” she muttered through a glorious smile. “A guy named Johann on a Tahitian island.”
Honeymoon Angel: A Family Justice Novella Page 4