She looks him up and down appreciatively, fingering the card with one red nail. “I’ll keep your offer in mind.”
But Matthew, like me, isn’t ready for the party to end just yet. “Wait, you don’t have to leave now.”
Dee-Dee stands and holds up a magazine. “I have a catalog, Matthew. Let’s look it over together in our room—you can make a Christmas list.”
His eyes follow her as she walks out, then he scampers after her like a puppy chasing a bone.
Erin announces that she’s taking a nap, and my sister and Steven disappear without a word to each other, or anyone else. My eyes never leave Kate. It’s only been a few hours . . . but still . . . I missed her.
“You look relaxed,” I comment. “Did you have a good afternoon?”
Kate stands and grazes her palms over my chest and across my shoulders, feeling me up. “It was nice. But I know how to make it even better.” She wraps her arms around my neck and slides her tongue around my ear. It’s soft at first—teasing. Then she plunges inside with the perfect amount of pressure to make my knees want to buckle.
Every guy has a spot. A highly sensitive place that, when stimulated, goes right to his dick. For some, it’s the neck or the stomach. For some freaks it’s the toes. But for me? It’s my ears. Kate knows this.
Sucking lightly on my earlobe, her hands skim down my sides around to the back, before settling on my ass with a firm squeeze. I’m not complaining—this is me here—a little grab-ass or jerk the johnson is never a bad thing. But Kate is usually more on the conservative side. Less overt with her sexual advances, particularly when other people are nearby.
I lean my head back to look at her face. Her smile is lazy, and her eyes—did I say they were shiny? They’re not. They’re glassy. There’s a difference.
“Have you been smoking Warren’s crotch stash?”
She bites her lip. Guilty as charged. She holds up two fingers, pinching them together, and closes one eye. “Just this much.” Then she gives me an innocent, adorable look. “Are you mad?”
As I said before, I’m not into drugs. They’re not just a vice—they’re a crutch. A chemical support for weak-minded individuals who can’t deal with life’s everyday bullshit. But it’s not like Kate is popping Mommy’s Little Helpers three times a day. Since I’ve known her, she’s gotten stoned exactly twice—both times with Dee-Dee, while the four of us were on vacation together. Kate doesn’t buy or grow her own stuff. She would certainly never get high around our son.
So if she wants to kick back and toke up once in a blue moon, I’m not going to be the self-righteous, overbearing ass**le who gives her shit for it. “Of course I’m not mad.”
Her smile grows. “Oh . . . that’s good. Because I have plans . . . plans that require you not being angry.” She giggles wickedly. “Well . . . maybe a little angry would be okay.”
Then she attaches her lips to my neck, sucking and kissing, moaning softly. Have I mentioned that weed makes Kate horny? Oh, yeah, it does. Which is another reason I’m perfectly happy with her current condition.
I sweep her up into my arms, princess style. She squeals. Then I tell Jack, “We’ll be in our room. Don’t knock on that door unless the place is on f**king fire.”
Now that the goddess host has left the building, Jack’s feeling needy. “I thought we were going to play Xbox?”
“Plans change.” I swing around and make my way toward our room.
“That’s not cool, man. Bros before . . .” My glare cuts him off. Because there’s no way I’m going to let him finish that sentence when he’s talking about my fiancée.
He takes the hint. “Fine. Dicks before chicks, then.”
“You might want to rethink that. Because while you’re out here jerking your game remote with Warren, I’m gonna be in there, with Kate. No contest, buddy.”
I walk through our door and kick it closed behind me. Then I set Kate on her feet, cup her face with my hands, and kiss the breath right out of her. I pull the pink robe down her arm, exposing the creamy flesh of her shoulder. I taste it with my tongue, then slowly make my way up to her neck.
Her head rolls to the side with a moan. My hands make quick work of the robe and the black, strappy nightgown underneath—sliding them off Kate’s body into a ring of satin around her feet. After kissing her lips deeply one last time, I kneel in front of her, soaking up the sight of her beautiful bareness.
She’s perfect. It shouldn’t surprise me—I know what she looks like. But still, every view of Kate’s firm tits, her flat waist, her toned, smooth legs, revs me up like a kid getting his first glimpse of p**n .
Because she’s mine. Because she’s amazing. Because she wants me as badly as I want her. And this is the way it’s supposed to be—the way it’s supposed to feel. The way it always will—an intense haze of lust and heat and adoration.
Her heavy-lidded eyes look down at me as I lean forward and kiss the skin around her pu**y. She’s completely smooth and soft—freshly waxed. Kate pulls back just a bit at the contact.
“Tender?” I ask.
It’s times like this I’m particularly glad I’m a guy. Because manscaping with an electric razor is one thing. Getting hair ripped out in large clumps with hot wax? No thanks. Sounds like a goddamn torture technique, doesn’t it?