Page 11 of Her Kensington
“Maybe,” she teases.
Lowering my hand, I watch as her eyes stay tightly shut and a smile twitches my lips. “Good girl.” I regret my words the second her face drops. Our conversation on the plane about me calling Danni my kid sister when she’s older than Summer slams back into me. I couldn’t give a fuck about our age difference and I wasn’t aware it was something she was too bothered about, but I think I might have been wrong. As far as I’m concerned, age, sex, colour or whatever else doesn’t matter when it comes to love. I’d have fallen head over heels for Summer whether she was twenty-one or fifty-one, I’m sure of it.
As I race around to her side of the car, I try to think about how I can prove to her that her age doesn’t matter, but I come up short, too excited to show her our temporary little paradise in front of us.
“Come on,” I say, grabbing her hands and helping her from the car. “Don’t peek.”
I can’t help but laugh when a growl comes from the back of her throat as I move behind her, place my hands on the curve of her waist and gently push her forward.
Focusing on where I’m taking her and trying my best not to appreciate the stunning villa as we walk through to the floor to ceiling windows, my hand once again covers Summer’s eyes. The driver places our luggage in the hallway before calling out goodbye and closing the front door behind him, leaving us alone for the first time.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
Slowly, I pull my hand away as her eyelashes flutter open. Her breath catches as she takes in the view in front of us and I wrap my arms around her waist. “Harrison,” she breathes, as she stands stock-still. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen something so stunning.”
“I have.” Spinning her so her back presses against the window, I lower my lips to hers and take what I’ve been impatiently waiting for but unable to have during our long journey.
She whimpers as I run my hands from her waist and up to the swell of her breasts. I wanted to hold off and allow her at least a few minutes to explore the place, but one taste and getting inside her is all I can think about.
Slipping the straps of her dress from her shoulders, I stand back as it pools around her ankles, exposing her bare chest and toned stomach. My gaze drops and I hungrily take her in. “Fuck, I need you.”
Grabbing her hand, I tug her in what I hope is the direction of the bedroom. She stumbles a little behind me where she’s still in her shoes, so I pull her into my arms and carry her the rest of the way.
“Carrying me over the threshold?” she asks between kisses to my neck as I walk us into what must be the master bedroom if the size of the bed is anything to go by.
“You got it, Mrs. Abbot.” She smiles against my shoulder before dropping her to the bed in favour of removing my clothes.
“Hey,” she complains, but the second she sees my hands working on the buttons of my shirt, she stops. Her eyes watch my every movement as her breathing picks up pace.
Looking back up after dropping my boxers, I find she’s scooted to the edge of the bed, still only in her white lace knickers and shoes.
“Spread your legs.” She hesitates for a second, her shyness seeping back in slightly, but she soon does as I say before leaning back on her hands and giving me an image I never want to forget: my wife laid out on our honeymoon bed, waiting for me.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Dropping to my knees, I wrap my hands around her thighs and tug her until her arse is hanging off the edge of the bed. Quickly pulling her knickers down her legs, I throw them over my shoulder and eat her until she’s screaming out in our peaceful paradise.
