Page 89 of Hooked on Trouble

That’s when someone knocks on our door. “You two spend any longer in there, and we’re hitting the slopes without you.” Shay is way too dedicated of a skier.

“You can mainline Gatorade to replenish your fluids.” Sawyer laughs at his own joke and pounds the door once.

I rock against Nico’s hips, the two of us grinning at each other. “Give us a minute,” I call.

“A minute?” Nico whispers.

“Be quick.”

“Only if we get alone time later. I like this baby-making business.”

“I like you. Now hurry up and make me come.”

I swivel my hips, and he growls.

He flips me over and pins my hands above my head, rolling his hips exactly how I like it—short strokes in and out, then deep and hard. It won’t take long. It never does. The trouble is keeping quiet. In our Vancouver house, screaming and shouting my pleasure heightens my release, something we’ve discovered as of late. In our shared Aspen condo it might be best to keep a lid on the vocal side of our performance. I bite my lip instead.

Nico has other ideas. “Fuck ’em. Let them hear how good I make you feel.”

He palms my breast with his free hand, his lips crushing mine in a greedy kiss, wet and punishing as our hips meet. It overloads my senses—his thickness filling me, his breath inflating my lungs. Our talk of babies and all the love my husband has to give is bigger than this room. This vacation. It blocks everything out but us.

I shout, “God yes,” as we move against each other. I forget where we are, that I have a huge photography show to pull together and events coming up. That our friends can hear our every word. All I can do is feel.

“Fuck.” I’m so close, each snap of his hips pushing me toward the edge. “Yes. Oh God. Yes. Just like that.” Then I topple over, a symphony of yeses hollered.

Nico’s “Fuck, I love you. Oh fuck. Oh fuck,” is loud enough to wake the dead.

I press my face into his neck and cringe; our friends will never let us live this down. I should care. I really should. But they can suck it.

My abdomen clenches, and Nico shudders. He nips my shoulder. “To be continued. Shower now.”

He does caveman well.

Twenty minutes later we stride out, long underwear on, humming to ourselves. We planned this group vacation a while back—our three-year Aspenniversary—as a way to have fun and celebrate how we all met. The chalet we’ve rented has soaring ceilings, Navajo rugs, and a spectacular view of the mountains. Shay and Kolton are cuddled on one end of the living room couch, his face lowered to Shay’s still-flat belly, talking to his unborn kid. Lily and Sawyer are at the dining room table, his mouth wide open as she flicks Lucky Charms at his face. He catches most of them and chews happily.

Thankfully our friends don’t say boo. Don’t even look our way. Maybe the walls are thicker than I thought. Nico pours us each a coffee while I search out bowls and milk.

“What time do you guys want to head out?” I ask.

“Not sure,” Sawyer says. “Maybe nine oh, oh, oh, ooooooh clock.” His high-pitched orgasm impersonation stops me cold.

“Really?” Kolton deepens his baritone. “I just ohfuck ohfuck don’t know. Might be too soon.”

Shay joins in with “Oh, baby. Yes, yes, yes. Nine is ohGodyes perfect.”

They get louder and more dramatic, tossing out random exclamations of rapture. Lily face-plants on the table, laughing hysterically, and I can’t even be annoyed. Not with the way she and Shay are cackling while Sawyer and Kolton kiss and fondle the air like pornographic mimes.

Nico’s cheekbones glow, matching the color of the hickey on his neck. We trade looks. We shrug. Then we high-five each other.

“Be jealous,” is all my man says.

No chance they are. Shay and Kolton got married before us, a stunning affair at Whistler Mountain hosted, of course, by Over the Top Events. My favorite photo is of Kolton spinning Shay, her curly hair flying in reckless circles. In seven months they’ll be adding a little boy or girl to their perfect slice of life. Sawyer is as immature as ever, but he and Lily are inseparable, too. They’ve even started a new line of recycled clothing called Saved.

His homage to her effect on him.

When the catcalling dies down, Nico and I sit at the table to drink our coffee and eat our cereal in comfortable silence. As I shovel a spoonful of Lucky Charms into my mouth, a red bra lands in front of me.

“We’re tossing them today.” Shay is way too chipper for this hour.