Compass (Siren Songs Book 2)

by Stephie Walls

  “You realize it’s all going to have to go in the garage until we move?” I raise my eyebrows at him knowing he hasn’t thought this through. Selfishly, I didn’t encourage him to move his personal items last week because I wanted him with me and wanted to avoid this very discussion.

  “Why?“ It’s adorable how oblivious he is to reality sometimes. I love the way he furrows his brow, almost hiding his bright blue eyes. The confusion on his face is evident.

  “The house is stuffed with furniture as it is. I’ve lived here for years and am out of room for my things.”

  “You planned this didn’t you?” He smirks at me. I’m not as devious as he believes I am, although I wish I were. Alas, I’m not. This didn’t dawn on me until I saw our friends and family piled on top of each other to have dinner. “You married me just to get a house, huh?”

  “I’m after your fortune.” I roll my eyes and turn my back to him. He smacks my butt, the sting sending me up the stairs in a hurry.

  Following behind me, we meet in the bedroom. We start our nightly routine while continuing the conversation at hand. “I’m serious, Moby. We need to think about this. You can’t tell me you think staying here is a viable, long-term option,” I call out from the closet as I disrobe. Moby has a strict no clothes in the bed policy. I appear stark naked before him winning the permission I seek.

  He drops the shirt he’s holding, staring at me in my birthday suit. I’ve always had the assets; I’ve just never chosen to flaunt them, until Moby. He’s a visual guy, so I use it to my advantage, not publicly, but behind closed doors, anything goes.

  At five feet, five inches and one hundred twenty pounds I’m small in comparison to his six feet, two inches and one hundred extra pounds of solid muscle. I swear there’s not an ounce of fat on the man. Even as a personal trainer, he’s perfectly built but not in a body builder way. His muscles are toned and well-defined, but nothing bulges more than it should. He’s just in great shape and very hot, to boot.

  He has an affinity for seeing me strut toward him, slowly, without a stitch of fabric touching my skin. The only thing on my body other than the hair on my head is the gorgeous ring my husband put there. He decided he likes seeing the sparkle trail my skin as I sashay my ass in his direction.

  With my hand flat on my chest, I work it down, cupping my breast, tweaking my nipple, moving down to my belly between my abs. I’ll reach my happy place about the time I reach him, so I have to do some quick convincing. “Moby, please. Won’t you even consider moving?”

  “I moved less than a week ago.”

  I quit walking and stop the downward movement of my hand.

  “Come on, Pipes. Don’t be a tease.” I try not to stare at his hand covering his manhood, adjusting his growing erection.

  “Will you at least consider the townhouse might be too small for our needs?”

  He glares at me; unhappy I’m using his weakness for my gain. He reaches for me to encourage me to continue on my path to his arms.

  “Hmmm?” I’ll see how badly he wants the body in front of him. He’ll give me what I want in less than sixty seconds. I start the mental countdown, sensually caressing my breasts as I stand in the middle of the bedroom, less than five feet from him. Pinching my nipples, they harden at my touch, pebbling the rim of my areola.

  “Piper…” he grits out in a growl and begins stroking his length through the denim.

  “Yes, Moby?” My coy smile does nothing for him.

  “Here!” He points to the spot directly in front of him, within touching distance. The determination on his face tells me he’s just about to give in.

  “Can we consider moving?” I drop my hand below my naval, my fingers shimmying toward my wet center and his eyes track every movement.

  “For the love of God, yes! Now fucking come here.” It never occurs to him he could have come to me, getting his way, and putting an end to his torture. Bless his little heart.

  I saunter to him, taking significantly longer than needed just to draw his excitement out. When I reach him, he doesn’t utter another word. I know where to go from here to get things moving. Undoing his jeans, at an agonizingly slow pace, I pull his zipper down. He flexes his ass causing his pants to puddle at his feet. Commando. Fuck, he’s hot. Seizing my hand, the one causing the ruckus between my legs, he pulls those same fingers to his mouth, sliding them in, sucking them gently.

  Retrieving my hand, I use them both to explore his body, the ridges, the dips, the hard muscles, kissing along his chest, down his defined abs, with a quick tongue to his navel because he’s weird and likes it. Down to my favorite part of his body, well, second favorite, the deep lines pointing me toward heaven. Playfully nipping at his hips with my teeth brings chills to his skin and a seductive smile to my lips.

  On my knees, I gaze up at my husband looking down at me, observing me intently as I move to take his cock in my mouth. Teasing the underside of the head with my tongue, I don’t give him what he wants right away. Sucking the sides with my lips, licking him with a broad tongue, kissing his thighs, tantalizing his heavy balls with my fingers. It’s evident he loves the attention and hates it at the same time. He wants the main event but has a hard time with the opening acts. He’s an instant gratification guy.

  Giving Moby what he wants, I lock eyes with his cyan orbs as I grip his solid rod in my right hand. With my left hand digging into his ass cheek, I press his firm head past my lips while my tongue swirls the ridge before taking him deep. His cock plunges to the back of my throat causing my eyes to water. His hand finds my head, tangling his fingers in my hair, he sets the pace and the depth, and he likes it extreme. The closer he gets to gagging me the happier he is. He’s aroused by the control and watching my eyes tear. He’s not forceful, it’s methodical, just like everything Moby does. He never rushes an orgasm, mine or his, and he prefers to come in my pussy rather than my mouth—direct quote from the man himself. His grip on my hair changes, relaxing some, pulling his length from me.

  Nodding his head, he indicates for me to rise. Standing before him, he tilts his head again toward the bed. It’s late, we’ve had a long day, hell we’ve had several long days in a row. Following his command, I pull the covers down, and as we climb in, we each turn off the bedside lamps.

  In the darkness, moonlight shines through the windows and is the only illumination for our escapade. He reaches for my hand under the covers, pulling me to him, then over him, my stomach to his.

  “Spread, baby.”

  Just the sound of his voice brings me near the edge. The words roll off his tongue in a warm tenor that sounds like the color gold if it were audible. I could come on command for this man with little effort. Every time we’re together, he tells me to spread, and I love the word.

  Doing as he tells me, I open my legs, my knees falling outside his thighs, revealing my most private area. The cold air on my wet center sends chills through my body. Thinking he’s warming my skin, he runs his hands down my arms, catching my hips mid-shudder, pushing me down on his cock. It still takes my breath every time. He lets out a low moan as my warm pussy surrounds him and digs his stubby nails into my hips.

  He’s thick. Thicker than any man I’ve ever been with, he has the length necessary to do the job, but his greatest asset is his girth. Each time he fills me, it takes a moment of adjustment, but I love the little bite of pain knowing the pleasure that will follow. I watch his eyes close as he waits with my hands on his chest. He, too, knows I need a second, never pushing faster than I can go.

  Feeling me relax, his hips start to move under me, thrusting his cock deep inside me, and I ride my husband knowing there’s no other horse in this rodeo. He’s the prized stallion everyone wanted. My body rolls in tandem with his, the head of his cock hitting the perfect spot on my front wall. He stares with intensity before casting his gaze on the rest of my body. His hands assist in my ride, ensuring a rhythmic pace and deep penetration. My head falls cascading my hair down between my shoulder blades,
my back arches, moaning his name, “Moby.” He knows I’m close. I won’t be able to hold out much longer. I wait to see if he joins or initiates round two for me so he can finish number one.

  His fingers sink into my ass, encouraging me to ride harder and move faster. He chooses the former, and his hips are pistoning underneath me. The pleasurable groans tell me he’s as close as I am. With one hand firmly planted on my ass, he digs deep into my skin, while his left thumb finds my clit, circling while I gyrate. We’re both glistening with sweat and the musky smell of sex fills my nostrils.

  Unable to hold back, he calls out, “Oh God, baby.”

  His sperm fills me, and instantly his orgasm sets off my own explosion, juices mixing, wave after wave crash around his cock, my pussy pulses, squeezing him.

  His clutch relaxes; he continues slow circles on my clit until he feels the muscles inside stop quivering. With no energy remaining to stay upright, I collapse on his chest into his waiting arms. He rolls me to his side, tucking me in for the night. Listening to him breathe lulls me to sleep.

  There’s something magical about waking up with her pressed to my side, nestled into my body. I’m sure most couples feel this when they first marry, but as far as I know, I’m the luckiest man to walk the face of the earth.

  Never in my wildest dreams did I think a girl like Piper would love a man like me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a bad guy. We’re just really different. Maybe that’s what makes it work so well. Piper’s beautiful but not in a model way. She’s not tall, she’s not overly thin, she doesn’t dress like she stepped off the catwalk—nothing like the women I dated before her. Her thick hair is the color of burnt toast. It drops a little beyond her shoulders with hints of cherry red that catch my eye whenever the sunlight hits it. Her eyes are a beautiful deep brown, almost like chocolate. They’re so dark and rich. The color sets off her flawless, creamy complexion. The poor girl doesn’t tan no matter how much time she spends in the sun, and she dresses for comfort, in a cute way, fitted little Tshirts and low slung jeans, which I’d like her to wear a little tighter, but they suit her personality.

  Including our wedding day, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen her in anything other than tennis shoes. She’s well-educated, always uses proper English, and is the obvious caretaker of her little clan. Her watchful tendencies are endearing, not overbearing. Piper has never made a move she didn’t spend time contemplating and planning. She’s the definition of type-A but not in the way Cam was before her attack.

  She’s a listener and an observer, but when she does have something to say, stop and take note, because it’s important. Other than Charlie, she’s the quietest of the group, at least when a large number of people are around. Just the two of us, and she could talk the horns off a billy goat, but I never tire of her voice. Hearing her laugh melts me into a puddle. I’m sure my brothers—and my parents for that matter—all assumed I’d marry someone like the girls I’ve always dated, but once you’ve spent time with a woman like Piper, there’s no comparison. She has a heart of gold, and would do anything for anyone she’s close to, but she keeps her inner circle small: her Fish, her parents, and now my brothers and the Wrights.

  I don’t think she ever thought her circle would expand to include anyone other than Cam, Sutton, Charlie, and Rachel. She mentioned more times than I like to think about she never thought she would marry, not because she didn’t want to but because she refused to settle for someone she wasn’t one hundred percent sure of in order to get what she wanted—a family.

  It blows my mind that Piper Pritchard, now Piper Cooper, didn’t marry any of the highbrow men she dated in the past. Instead, I’m the guy who won the ultimate prize. I got her heart, and I know I don’t deserve it. I promised her to cherish that gift until I take my last breath. No matter what bumpy road we travel, I’ll always find my way back to her, to keep her close, never let her stray, or believe I’ve forgotten the treasure she gave me.

  Softly brushing my fingers through her hair, I watch as she begins to wake, excited to see what the day brings us. Her body begins an involuntary stretch from shoulders to her toes, straightening out beside me. At the first site of the coffee-colored eyes I love so dearly, she smiles lazily, extending her neck to kiss my cheek. She refuses morning kisses until after she brushes her teeth, not just the deep passionate ones, but all involving our lips touching.

  It’s one of her many quirks endearing her to me. I’ve learned to keep Tic-Tacs by the bed. I was never a fan before I met her, but they’re everywhere now—in my truck, all over my apartment, all over her house, in her purse. Bad breath is never going to be a reason I can’t have her mouth when I want it. Shaking the box, she erupts in laughter; the grin on my face tells her exactly what I have on my mind. With her hand held out, she takes the orange candy, pops it in her mouth and I do the same.

  Fresh breath in hand, I pull her leg over my thigh, opening her pussy, ensuring it’s available when I’m ready to enter that sweet treat. Peppering her neck with affection, and then across her collarbone, her head tilts back allowing me greater access, lightly licking my way up to her chin, claiming her mouth.

  Her tongue sweeps by mine, tangling between us, slowly, passionately. My dick stiffens, and I catch the faint scent of her essence. My wife’s pussy has the sweetest smell I’ve ever had the pleasure of inhaling. I’d keep my face between her legs most of the day if she’d let me. That aroma turns me on instantly, blood filling my cock so I can fill her.

  Reaching over her thigh, under her leg, I stroke my length before running the head along her slit, coating myself in her juices. Her moan drives me forward, circling her clit before moving back down to dive in.

  “You’re so wet,” I heave the words into her ear, almost moaning. Her face blushes with embarrassment. Her vulnerability causes me chest to expand with pride. She trusts me implicitly.

  Poising myself at her entrance, her breath catches. As we make eye contact, she holds my stare and I flex my ass pushing deep inside her.

  “Mmm…” The noises she makes as her back arches and she accepts my cock almost have me exploding on contact.

  With my length buried deep, her eyes roll back in her head as she closes them. Using my grip on her thigh for leverage, my hips revolve back and forth, dragging my cock leisurely in and out. She both loves and loathes my sloth-like pace. It’s easier for her to adjust to my size, but it also causes her to feel each inch moving, begging for more, needing friction to build to the climax she desperately wants.

  “Moby, I need more,” she pleads and wraps her legs around me to dig her feet into my ass.

  “Deeper?” I ask and receive a confirming nod.

  We aren’t in a hurry this morning. We have nowhere to be, nothing to do, at least not for the next week. Being together, connected like this, we could spend the day lost in each other’s bodies.

  She jokes about how insatiable I am, but the truth is, Piper is a nympho. You’d never think it by looking at or talking to her. If she ever tells her friends about the places we’ve had sex, that she’s sucked my dick, and I’ve eaten her out—frequently with one or more of them less than a couple of feet away and often in public places—it would shock the hell out of them.

  Our secrets bring a smile to my face. Looking at my wife, I know without a doubt, I’m the luckiest man on the planet. Ensuring she knows how true my emotions are, I plunge, quickening my rhythm, I can sense her nearing the edge. Her mouth slightly ajar, eyes closed, breathing heavily.

  “Oh, yeah. Right there, Moby. Harder.” She tips her hips up to encourage me.

  I oblige her request, pounding my cock into her tight hole. Unable to hold back, my fingers dig into her, my body stiffens, ass clenching, I unload. She’s teetering, finally letting go, burying her face in my shoulder—she screams through her orgasm. I love the sound of her voice when I provide her release, the throaty, low grumble, grabs me in a way I can’t explain. It’s what wet dreams are made from.


  She softens beneath me, breathing heavily, my heart’s pounding, both of us completely sated. Untangling herself from our intimate pretzel, she rolls to her back, turning her head my direction. I turn mine to face her, God those eyes.

  “So are we calling Rachel today?” The question is unexpected and kills my after-sex high.

  “For what?” I ask, my face marred with confusion.

  “About looking for a house.” Her smile is infectious.

  “Seriously, Piper?”

  “You promised!”

  “I wanted to get laid. Surely that doesn’t count?”

  She throws a pillow at me. “It absolutely counts!”

  Straddling her hips, I pin her arms down to prevent further physical abuse. “You really want to buy a house?”

  She nods at me, playing those eyes up. She knows I can’t resist when she does this shit. Her lashes bat like Jessica Rabbit.

  “How are we going to pay for it?”

  “I’ve got it all mapped out.” Of course, she does. What was I thinking? “If you’ll let me up, I’ll show you my spreadsheet.”

  I flop to my back with a thud and loud sigh as she pops out of bed giddy with excitement. This is not how I planned to spend today, but if it makes her happy, then I guess we’ll be talking about houses.

  When she emerges from the closet with her laptop, she also has a shirt on. “That shirt was not part of the deal.”

  Her face scrunches in disbelief and she completely ignores my implied request for her to remove it before settling on the bed next to me. We spend the next hour outlining her financial plan for home ownership, which includes the money her parents gave us in lieu of throwing a huge wedding. Somehow she convinced me with her charts and graphs we need a bigger house. My wife wastes no time before calling Rachel.

  I should have known Rachel would be willing and ready to go at the drop of a hat. We’re meeting her at four this afternoon to look at her top three picks. I’ve heard Rachel is amazing at her job and can find the right space for anyone, but I have a hard time believing she can locate perfection with the limited information Piper offered. Closing the lid on the computer, she sets it aside, kissing me sweetly.