Page 103 of The Wrong Husband
As if reading my thoughts. She rubs her thighs together. Then parts them on a moan.
I glance up to find her lips parted, her cheeks flushed. Her eyelids flutter open.
“Connor, please,” she whispers.
Instantly, I slide her panties down her gorgeous legs. When I glance down at the flesh between her thick thighs, I take in the moisture coating her lower lips. My heart rate escalates. My blood pounds at my temples. I need to taste her.Right now.
I sink down to my knees beside the bed and lick it off. A low groan emerges from her lips.
Unable to stop myself, I lick up the crease between her legs, around her already engorged nub. I slide my fingers inside her, gently weaving them in and out of her while I nibble on her clit.
She writhes. A fully body shudder grips her. She’s so close.
I go to work, licking her pussy, curving my fingers inside her, biting down gently on the irresistible button of her cunt until, with a sigh, her hips twist, her back arches and the moisture of her cum coats my mouth and runs down my chin. Her orgasm is like a gentle summer shower sweeping over the English countryside, coating the greenery with pearls of reflected light, and turning the earth into a fertile life-giving organism.
When she’s still, I raise my head, and move up her body, making sure not to touch her until I kiss her lips. I share her breath, and when I pull back, her lips cling to mine briefly.
Then she turns over on her side and lapses into slumber. I pull the cover over her, watching her sleep for a few minutes, before I straighten, then leave the room. Walking into the main cabin, I take my seat and pull out my phone.
The steward, who magically disappeared while we were occupied, comes by to check on me. I tell him I don’t need anything before I dial Brody’s number.
It rings twice then, “Wassup?" Brody’s voice is alert.
"What are you doing up so early?"
I hear the creak of a chair, then the shuffle of papers. He must check the time, for he exclaims, “I lost track of time."
"You’ve been working all night?"
"It would seem that way." I hear him crack his neck. "But since you’ve interrupted my flow, this is a good time to go home." I sense him rising to his feet, the rustle of fabric indicating he must be pulling on his coat. "Which begs the question, what areyoudoing up at four in the morning?"
"I’m on the jet."
"Okay."
"With Phoenix.
"O-k-a-y?"A note of caution sweeps into his voice.
"A couple of hours from Gibraltar."
Silence. "Did you say Gibraltar?"
I nod, though he can’t see it, but he must sense it because the air over the phone waves grows heavy. Then he whistles. "Holy shit, you’re doing it?"
He makes the connection right away, since Gibraltar is one of the few places where couples can marry quickly without needing a lengthy residency—much like Vegas.
"It would seem that way, yes." Unable to sit still, I rise to my feet and begin to pace the aisle between the seats. I take in the plush leather of the chairs, the darkness outside, interrupted by occasional far-off lights of a city we’re flying over.
"You sure?" His voice is steady, but there's doubt bleeding into his words.
"No. Yes. I don’t know."
"So… You’re not sure if you want to marry her?"
"Oh, I’m sure about that." I hesitate.
The silence stretches. When he speaks next, his tone is softer. "It’s not like you to be this indecisive. Of all of us, you were very clear about not wanting to be a Marine. You were the only one who could stand up to Arthur and tell him that life wasn’t for you. You convinced him there were other ways you could be of service to the country. You argued with him and refused to give in. And when he still didn’t listen you?—"
