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Q eases his bike to a stop and lowers the side stand. I slide off with reluctance. My favorite part of being married is being able to ride behind my husband, clinging to him as he weaves through traffic and leaning into him as he takes curves. The thrill of doing it, with the momentum pinning me to him, my body plastered to his, the wind whipping around us, enclosing us in our own private cocoon as he zooms down an open highway… is almost orgasmic. Though that might have to do with my being able to slide my fingers under his leather jacket and his shirt, flattening them against his taut stomach, and feeling the muscles ripple as he controls the bike.
It's a primal thrill. It infuses my body with adrenaline, which I’m coming down from as I wait for him to dismount. He takes my helmet and locks it in the rack, alongside his. Then, he holds out his hand. "Shall we?"
I take in his much-worn jeans which cling to his powerful thighs, the leather jacket which outlines the breadth of his shoulders, hair slightly overgrown, more than it was when I first met him, and mussed. His cheekbones are sharp enough to cut my heart to pieces, and his lower lip pouty enough that every time I glimpse it, I have an irrational need to bite down on it. The lines around his eyes crinkle as he grins at me. He looks younger, more relaxed, more at ease.
"Marriage suits you, Mr. Davenport." I smile.
"And you, Mrs. Davenport." He locks his arm around my waist and draws me in. I melt against him, raise my lips, and he closes his mouth over mine.
The kiss starts off tenderly, full of promises which I know he intends to keep, full of hope for our future, and happiness, and joy, and every possible emotion that feels right and true and real. Then he swipes his tongue between the seam of my lips, and a jolt of need shoots through my veins. My core clenches; my stomach bottoms out. The sensations zip down to my toes, then back to my pussy, where they hook their teeth into my sensitive skin and elicit a groan from me. A sound that he promptly swallows. He wraps his fingers around my hair and pulls, and the pain bites into my scalp, sinks into my blood, and zooms down to the triangle between my legs. He positions me over his thigh, and I shamelessly begin to hump it, trying to get myself off, trying to— A wolf whistle cuts through my thoughts.
I try to pull away, but Q continues to kiss me. I’m aware of someone approaching us. I slap at his shoulder, and he releases me, but not before he squeezes both of my butt cheeks with his massive paws. The sharp pain spikes my lust, and I almost come. Then he wraps his arm about my shoulders and, turning me around, pulls me into his side. "Son," he holds out his hand.
Felix shakes it, a broad grin on his face. "Seriously, you two, get a room." He laughs.
Q smirks.
I roll my eyes.
In the past month, since Q stepped down as CEO, he’s spent a lot of time getting to know his son. The result? There’s a noticeable ease between them. There’ll always be history between the three of us, but there’s an understanding which binds us as family.
"You guys have any idea about what Arthur’s cooking up?" Felix stabs his thumb in the direction of the house.
Q raises a shoulder. "Don’t know. Don’t care. Am here only out of courtesy, and only because Arthur insisted."
He shakes his head. "You’re free of his machinations, now that you’re happily married, and you’re no longer part of the Davenport Group. I admit, I was shocked to hear you resigned as CEO, but the more I think about it, the more I realize you made the right decision. You’re a free man.” His eyes shadow for a few seconds, then he pulls himself together. "It’s time I owned my future. Time I gave shape to my plans and struck out on my own."
Q regards him with curiosity. "What are you going to do?"
He looks between us, and when he smiles, it carries a hint of decisiveness. "You’ll find out inside." He nods at us, then continues into the house.
"Should we be worried?" I wonder aloud.
"Nah"—my husband shakes his head—"I trust Felix to make the right decision." A-n-d, that’s how much things have changed. A few months ago, I doubt he’d have been able to say that. But Q has put in a lot of effort in building bridges with Felix. "No matter what he decides, his trust fund is in place as a safety net. He’ll inherit, as long as he gets married before he turns thirty."
"Is that wise?" I look up into his handsome face. "You’re doing an Arthur on him?"
He winces. "Guilty as charged. And I hate to say it, but perhaps there's a method to Arthur’s madness, after all. If not for him, I wouldn’t have been compelled to act on my instinct and ask you to marry me as soon as I met you." He bends and brushes his lips against mine. "Or perhaps, I’d have done it anyway, but Arthur’s ultimatum had a role to play in my actions. There’s no refuting that."
"We owe him." I nod.
"Which is why we’re here." He blows out a breath "Shall we get this over with?"
"Is the theme… A Mad Hatter’s Tea Party?" Knox nods in the direction of the long table set up in the center of the garden.
“Sure could pass for it,” I agree.
We’re standing in the backyard of Arthur’s townhouse. Trees surround the estate, shielding us from early afternoon visitors to Primrose Hill. Knox shuffles his feet, then rolls his shoulders. He continues to scan the group gathered around the table.
"You okay, man?" My husband shoots him a curious glance. "You seem… on edge."
"You need to get your eyesight checked, old man," Knox grabs a glass from a passing waiter and takes a sip, only to spit it out. "Some non-alcoholic shit," he growls.
"I can help." The same petite, blonde-haired, bespectacled, curvy woman who hides her curves by wearing a suit two sizes too big, who I saw at the gallery a month ago, materializes at his side. She pulls out a flask and splashes clear liquid into Knox’s half-filled glass.
Knox relaxes. "Thanks, doll," he says without looking at her.
She winces but stays silent.
