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I haven't seen many of those lately—except for two days ago, on the front lawn.
After a few hours of solitude in my office, I start to feel…antsy. Maybe I should check on Emery. She must be feeling at least a wee twinge of anxiety over her family's imminent arrival and the upcoming wedding. My wife had worried about getting smote during the ceremony, after all.
She's not in the sitting room or our bedroom, so I go down to the ground floor in hopes of locating my wife there.
I find her in the kitchen.
Emery doesn't notice me hovering just outside the doorway. She's focused on the various food items arrayed on the island—three packages of ice cream plus jars of fudge and caramel sauce as well as a can of whipped cream.
"In the mood to indulge your cravings?" I ask.
Emery turns toward me, leaning back against the island, and sets her hands on the rim of the granite countertop. "I am jonesing for something decadent."
I pore my gaze over her body, my eyes narrowing at the sight of her denim shorts that seem barely to qualify as clothing. They expose every inch of her shapely legs, and the short-sleeved top she wears reveals the lush swells of her breasts. The neckline just covers her jutting nipples, and the edge of her lacy pink bra peeks out from under her shirt.
"Ah, Emery…" My voice has roughened, as it always does when I have her alone. I rub my jaw, suddenly realizing I forgot to shave this morning. Lusting for my wife all day every day erases every other thought. "Your erse looks divine in those shorts."
"I wore them for you."
"And I appreciate it." I saunter across the kitchen to her, and my attention flicks to the ingredients on the island. "Donnae need food to be decadent."
"You have an alternate suggestion?"
"For a more satisfying dessert." I frame her body with my arms, penning her to the island with my hands on the granite surface. "A feast of pleasure."
I trace the shell of her ear with my tongue, following it down to the lobe, and tug her flesh into my mouth. The full length of my body bears down on hers, and I almost groan as the warmth and suppleness of her flesh yields to mine, the temptation to have her right here, right now too irresistible to fight. My cock presses into her belly, a steel-hard line against her willing body.
"Sex in the kitchen?" she says, and pushes her hand between our bodies to palm me through my trousers. "And in the daytime, with Mrs. Darroch somewhere in the house. My goodness, Rory, you're tossing out all the rules."
"Hell with the rules." I roll my eyes up, though not because she's vexing me. The lass has started to fondle me with her delicate, but strong, fingers. I flatten a hand over the small of her back. "I'll be taking my wife whenever and wherever I please."
"So do it. Right here."
Heat ripples through me as my gaze lands on the neckline of her shirt. "Do ye let your bra show in public?"
"No, baby. Only for you."
I groan and crush my mouth to hers, loving the way her lips yield to mine even while she thrusts her tongue between my lips, and I cannae stop myself from ravaging her mouth while she devours me with a matching hunger. I'm starved for her, every moment of every day, and the only thing that will satisfy the need is her body clenching my slat. She wraps her free arm around my neck while I lap at the roof of her mouth and slide my hand down to her erse. She rasps her thumb over the slit of my cock, exposed above the waistband of my trousers.
My body jerks as an electric shock rips through me. I grunt into her mouth, and my fingers sink into her erse.
Our fused lips muffle her frustrated whimper.
With my mouth fastened to hers, I grasp her erse with both hands and hoist her onto the island. Her bottom rests on the granite, but her bare legs dangle at either side of my hips, the perfect frame for my body. She wriggles against me, lashing her tongue around mine like she cannae get enough, and she opens wider for me. No man could resist an invitation like that. I need to shag her so badly that I hardly notice it when my ears start to ring because I can't take in a full breath while I'm ravishing her mouth. I unbutton her blouse, keeping one hand on her erse to hold her still while I free each button. Spreading the halves of her top, I mold my hands to her breasts and stroke my thumbs over her nipples.
Emery fumbles with the buttons on my shirt. I've shoved a hand inside her bra to claim one breast long before she gets my shirt undone and lays her palms on my chest. She races her hands down my skin and straight to the button fly of my trousers.
I coax her down onto the island, flat on her back, then unbutton my trousers and let them slump down to my ankles, suddenly glad I'd gone without underwear today. I lay my body over hers. She moans, the sound rife with need. I kiss a path down her throat and chest, spurring her to arch into my mouth. When my lips find the lacy edge of her bra, I dive my tongue beneath the fabric to drag it down the inner seam until I graze her areola.
She hugs my head to her breast and slings both legs around my waist.
"Bloody hell."
We both freeze. I did not speak those words.
Slowly, I rotate my head toward the doorway, though Emery still clutches my face to her tits. I clamp my lips into a hard line as I see who has interrupted us.
Emery glances at the doorway too—and yelps.
