Page 5 of Entwined

I walk in the door, home from work, and have to stop and do a double-take… yeah, I'm in the right house. Which means, my little minx is still mad I sicced Whitley on her and a sinister scheme is afoot.

Can't wait… I love winning all the games my baby tries to play.

Except actual games — like Pictionary or Cranium — during which the girl literally sprouts horns.

I smell food, I see candles burning and there's baby-makin’ music playing softly. ELO’s “Strange Magic” to be precise; a favorite for both of us, to which we’ve made love countless times. I’m more than willing to add to that tally, and ordinarily, I'd be leaving a trail of my shed clothing as I go hunt her down, but knowing she's mad at me… I'm looking for a rusty, Tetanus-inducing metal, claw-tooth trap with each step I take.

“Laney? I'm home.” I throw caution to the wind, announcing my arrival, and what with her keen sense of, well, me, also my approximate location within said home. I brace for the consequences of my mistake, but she doesn’t pop out and pounce. No surprise attack with fists of fury flying. Hmmm.

“In the kitchen,” she calls out, seemingly sane, even somewhat jovial.

Uh huh — knew it… she's luring me in close to bear the full brunt of her planned fireworks. Well let the show begin baby, because I'm the Goddamn Fire Marshall.

She's at the stove cooking, or pretending to, with her back to me… wearing nothing but an apron. As in, I'm currently staring at her very fine, naked ass as it sways to the music. All feisty and feeling clever, under the illusion that since she told me I was “cut off,” I'm just gonna listen and comply to her completely unacceptable terms. Isn't she adorable.

“How was your day, dear?” she asks as she glances over her bare shoulder with a cunning grin, knowing damn good and well I'm standing here, hard as steel and gawking.

“Good, getting better by the second. Yours?” I play along, speaking calmly as I remove my suit jacket and tie, laying them both over the back of a chair.

“Mine was all right. Couple unexpected surprises, but you already knew that. Turned out great through. By the way,” she now spins to face me… the apron is sheer white, providing the perfect blend of teasing allure and provoking outline of what lies beneath. “Are you free September fourth?”

“If you need me to be I am. Why?” I arch a single brow, my tone darkening with lust as I undo my belt.

“I don't know what it is you think you're doing there,” she says mockingly, motioning to where I'm pulling the belt through my pant loops, “unless you’re planning to jack-off before dinner. In which case, wash your hands after. But I do need you free that day. It’s when we're getting married.”

Shoes and socks — gone. Shirt — off. Pants — unbuttoned. I'll stop there for now. I stalk toward her but she halts my advance by slapping the spatula she's wielding against my chest. “Hold it right there, buster. I wasn't kidding, you aren't getting any dessert tonight. You were amply warned. Deal with it.” She smugly tosses my own verbiage back in my face. “So, the date, you free?”

“I'm free.” She fails to hide the tiny shudder my deep, gravelly answer elicits, or perhaps it’s due to the penetrating stare I'm no doubt giving her.

“Good,” she says too breathily, spinning back around quickly in an attempt to stay true to her ruse. “You need to ask whoever you want as your Best Man and four groomsmen.”

“Done.” I reach beside her and flip the knobs on the stove to “off,” pressing my body against hers. “They've all been on standby for months.”

“Great. Could you please back up? I'm trying to cook, and I'd appreciate some room to do so.” Precious — her “serious” voice, betrayed by the flush of her skin and knowing, preparing, rigidity in her posture.

I nuzzle my face in her neck and wrap my arms around her waist, tugging her against my erection. “You 'bout done?” I murmur.

“With dinner? No. And it'll be done a lot sooner if you leave the stove turned on,” she tries for snippy, instead delivering sensuous defiance.

In one perfectly orchestrated move, I have her on the island countertop, flat on her back with me hovering over that delectable, barely-hidden body. Blonde hair fanned out, big brown eyes glazed with desire and a heated blush on her cheeks — fucking mesmerizing.

“Dane,” she can't decide whether to whimper, whine or gripe, “dammit! You always do this. Piss me off, then use seduction instead of apology.”

“That's not true.” I reach under her and untie the apron, peeling it off her. “I apologize if, and when, I'm sorry.” I slide two greedy hands up her flat, toned stomach and fondle her breasts. “I'm not sorry this time, baby. After all the waiting,” my hands trek back down, pushing her knees up and out, spreading her open for me. “I now know the exact day you will become my wife. No way in Hell I'm apologizing for that. But, I know today was probably stressful, not your thing, so I will be happy to take the edge off for you.” I wink and boast my cocky grin before burying my face between her legs.

Soaked. She can keep the Monopoly trophies. This game… I win every fucking time.

She instantly forgets any protest, pelvis arching up for more as she writhes under my ministrations. I replace my tongue with two fingers, slow and steady, unlike my voice. “Eyes open, Laney, let me see you.” Her droopy lids battle, but she wins, gazing up at me with a sexy, sated smile. “We good now, baby?”

“I am,” she purrs. “Almost.”

“That so?” I work her throbbing clit with my thumb, plunging two fingers inside her roughly. Just as she starts to clench around them and her begging sounds become actual pleas, I stop. Everything. “It's too bad you're still mad at me, despite the fact that anything I ever do is because I love you. My only motive, ever; my love for you.” I click my tongue and shake my head, adjusting my tone to a deceptively calm octave. “I can see how badly you need to relax; come on my face, take my dick, then maybe a nice, long bubble bath. And I want to take care of you, always. But I understand, you're upset.”

“Oh, for God's sake! There's nobody here to hand you a damn Oscar, you ass! You win, we're good. Now get your mouth back on me!” she pants, with a touch of lethal hiss.

“And then?” I cock one victorious brow.

“And then, fuck me, Dane.”

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