If you could die by orgasms—death by orgasms, if you will—then I was going to die a very happy woman.
A very happy, well satisfied, happy with her life with not one single regret woman.
He growled into my ear, tilting his head slightly so that beard of his rasped deliciously over my throat.
“Hurry up and come already.” He squeezed my ass to the point of pain. “I’m hanging on by a thread here.”
You couldn’t rush perfection.
Or, at least, I wouldn’t have thought you could.
But before I could say that, letting him know that my body did things in its own time, I was proven wrong. Yet again.
It was as if I didn’t know my body at all.
Price, though?
He could play my body like his own personal fiddle.
With a delicious twist of his hips, a grind down and up, he reached that spot that only he could hit.
I gasped, and it was then that I realized my mistake.
Or Price’s, as you will.
Price, being so close to my ear, got the brunt of my scream as I clamped down on everything.
His cock. His head. His hair.
I practically held him in place with my spider-monkey reflexes as I came, and came hard.
Oh, and screamed in his ear the entire time.
By the time that I went limp, he was claiming eardrum damage.
That didn’t stop him from following me into oblivion, though.
Something in which I told him as he practically dragged me to the shower a few seconds later.
“My body has a mind of its own,” he grumbled as he pulled me behind him with one hand and rubbed at his ear with the other.
I snickered. “Sorry.”
He tossed me a heated glance over his shoulder, pulling me into himself when he came to a stop beside his shower.
A shower that, might I add, was amazing.
I pressed my naked self into his back, marveling at the way he always made me feel so small when I was standing next to him.
The muscles in his shoulders flexed against my face as he turned on the shower and adjusted the heat.
In the three days that I’d been married—God, it still practically stuttered my brain to a halt to say that—I’d realized a few things.
One, Price took lukewarm showers. As in, why was he showering at all, lukewarm.
Two, Price was a get in the shower and get out kind of guy. No hanging around doing nothing while you thought about your life choices.
Three, if we hadn’t just had sex before getting in the shower, we were having sex while in the shower… cleanup was incredibly easy when stuff washed right down the drain when you were through.
Four, and most importantly, Price went out of his way to give me what I liked if it was within his power. Meaning, we took hot showers because he knew that I liked them. He lingered, because he knew that I liked to. And he waited until I was done with my lingering before he got out and handed me the better towel.
First on my agenda for the weekend was buying Price new towels because, holy crap, he needed some new ones.
It felt like I was drying off with sandpaper every time I got out.
“We need to go to the home goods store… possibly Target. I need to go get you new towels.” I paused. “I have a Target card that gives me five percent off of every purchase. Target is probably best with how many towels we need.”
He chuckled. “Firstly, it doesn’t matter how many percent off there is with your Target card. I’m very financially stable, and I’m the one with shitty towels. So I’ll be purchasing them. Secondly, Target gives me hives.”
I snickered. “Target is the one place that I can go and be left alone, because it’s full of busy mothers that don’t have time to notice me because they’re too busy wrangling the kids.”
“We’ll have to wait until a bit later, anyway,” Price said as he pulled me into the shower. “My brothers are on the way over, and I don’t think they’ll want to go to Target.”
That was the first time I was hearing that news.
I washed my hair with shampoo that smelled like boy before saying, “Not that I mind them coming over… but why?”
“It’s my turn again to host dinner this week. Since last week was messed up. And we do it on Sunday evenings. Cannel sometimes comes, too, but it kind of became a tradition of the boys while Mom went with Cannel somewhere, leaving us to our own devices. Now that they have wives, sometimes they come, sometimes they don’t.” He shrugged like it was normal to uninvite the wives to a family thing.
I rolled my eyes. “If they’re not here—the wives—I’ll go hide in your bed and read. Just bring me food.”
He pulled me close, and with conditioner now running into his eyes, he said, “You’ll not be stuck in my room while they’re here because it’s just them. You’re welcome. Always.”