My Fake Husband (A Secret Baby Romance) - Page 47

“You stay warm. I’m going to make us breakfast,” he said. I grinned at him. I couldn’t help it. What woman could be luckier?

20

Damon

The car chase movie marathon was better than I could have imagined. Because it was the first time I’d watched those movies with Trixie, with her curled up beside me, wearing one of my t-shirts and asking irritatingly intelligent questions about the plot holes in the screenplay. Eventually, her evil plot worked. I know it was an evil plot because she cackled and said, “Yes! My evil plan has succeeded,” when I was looking up at her from between her thighs.

“So you bugged me with questions about the movie until I went down on you?”

“Well, yeah. I watched the first movie all the way through because I have a sense of fairness. When it sucked, I shifted into Plan Mode. Start trolling the movie until you can’t resist me. You love it when I take everything so seriously, and I knew it would be at turn on.” She gave me a mischievous grin.

“You realize you could have just asked me and I would’ve said yes. During, literally, the opening credits of the first movie, you could have said, ‘hey, Damon, wanna eat me out right here on the couch?’ and I would’ve probably grabbed your ankle and thrown your leg over my shoulder so fast you would’ve squealed.”

“Really? So I wasted all those thoughtful questions about the action movie franchise?”

“No, those kind of questions are never wasted. Now I can never watch these again without wondering why no one involved in the making of the films ever stopped to think that none of it makes much sense.”

“So essentially I ruined the movies for you?” she said, crinkling up her nose.

“No. You made them better than they’ve ever been. I enjoyed that second movie more than I did the last time I watched it. Maybe it’s the taste of you,” I said, kissing the inside of her thigh. “God, your skin is so smooth, it’s all I think about.”

I climbed up her body, stretched out on my couch and kissed her neck. “Let’s turn off the movies and put this to bed.”

“I’d love to,” she said, smiling.

“I haven’t tired you out yet?” I said archly.

“I’m just getting started. Are you too tired, fireman?” she teased.

I followed her into the bedroom thinking I was the luckiest man alive. I had her to come home to.

Weeks passed and it just kept getting better. There was so much business at Trixie’s shop that she promoted her part-time worker to full-time and hired another part-time girl to work the counter. This had the added benefit of my wife being home by 5:30 every night. I had talked to the chief and traded a couple shifts so I could be home for supper four nights a week. It was less overtime and a more regular schedule. Better, he said, for starting a family. I wasn’t trying to start a family but I sure as hell appreciated getting to spend the evenings with Trixie.

We went to the library one night for the book club, and got into a spirited argument over the book. Her librarian friend and some older people from town, including my mother were all there, taking sides in our discussion. Trixie was adamant that the main characters should not have ended up together, and she had ‘Reasons with a capital-R.’ They wrapped up the meeting half an hour late because of us.

“I’m surprised you didn’t whip out a deck of Google Slides and ask for a projector,” I said on the way to the truck. “You really hate that girl in the book.”

“She was a fundamentally awful person, and he deserved better. Look at how she handled herself when he was fighting the war,” she said, incensed.

“Maybe he wanted her, and it didn’t matter what happened, that would never change,” I said.

My hand was on her arm, and I pulled her to me. Right there, kissing her under the streetlight, I felt the happiest, the most right I ever had. The fury and passion in her argument fueled the kiss. Nipping and sucking at my lips, she drove me wild. I got the truck open and pulled her into my lap. She rose up on her knees, straddling me. We never broke the kiss. Not while I reached up inside her shirt and palmed her breast, not when she unzipped my pants, her breath broken in a high-pitched whine from the havoc of my fingers between her legs.

The last headlights had left the parking lot, leaving us alone there in the dark, deserted space lit by only the hazy bluish glow of the streetlamp outside. I tucked her close to me, my arm low around her hips, her jeans thrown somewhere into the floor. “Please, please,” she said into my mouth. That was all I needed. In seconds, I was inside of her, tight and hot. I tipped my head back against the headrest, riding the sensation of tunneling into her sleek grip. She rose up and covered my mouth with hers again, and I drove my hips upward, unwilling to let her slide up my length when I could bury myself inside her tight passage and groan as I pounded into her. The cab of the truck grew humid with sweat and sex and heavy breathing. Hot and breathless, we ground against each other. She rode me, the wild arch of her body curving back and rocking down on me until we came together in a blinding explosion of hot, wet pleasure.

Tags: Natasha L. Black Romance
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