Page 13 of Dirty Roxie
She jots the order on her pad.
“Well, I didn’t know you hate rum.” Ronan smiles in apology to the server. She blushes slightly under his gaze. Jesus Christ, what is it with these two? The last thing I need is my undercover husband giving it up to our poolside server on our pretend vacation. I’ll look like an idiot.
“Don’t be silly, sweetheart. You knew that.” I shake my head and look back at the server. This time her smile is more compassionate and directed at me, as though she deals with this every day. Forgetful husbands who order their wives the wrong drinks. “Don’t you remember our wedding night? When you begged me to tie up and ball-gag you? Then body shots off your—”
“No one needs to hear this story, Roxie,” Ronan is quick to interrupt, but I’m not backing down.
I turn to the server and say, “Suffice it to say, as I worked my way down his six-pack of shots”—gesturing to his washboard abs to prove my point—“the queasier I felt.”
I stand to face Ronan, then go balls to the wall and straddle him on his lounger. Shock registers on his face, which he tries to play off with a tight smile. I run my nails down his chest and stomach toward the line of hair leading into his swim trunks while wriggling my ass back and forth, getting more comfortable on his growing dick.
His hands come up to grab and still my hips, and I hold his gaze as best I can when we are both in sunglasses. “The closer I got to his happy place, the worse I felt.”
I run the tip of my finger along the elastic band of his shorts, watching the muscles twitch under my touch, and stopping to rest my hand with the base of my palm pushing along the tip of his cock.
I turn back toward the server, leaving my hand right where it is and say, “Sure enough, the moment it hit the back of my throat, I gagged and almost threw up in my mouth”.” I wink at her, pretend to nudge her with my elbow in a gesture of camaraderie, instead hitting only air.
Ronan makes a choking sound and grabs both my hands to hold them still. His chest heaving under his brightly colored shirt. I feel victorious like I’m in control until he rotates his hips under me. And everything hard on him hits everything soft on me, in all the right places.
My breath catches in my throat and I lean forward slightly, trying to lessen the pleasure I’m feeling. The server looks from me to Ronan and back again. It’s clear she’s confused by our actions. I don’t blame her. I am too.
Ronan releases my hands and I stand, moving back to my lounger. He rearranges himself subtly and turns to the server. “May we see the food menu once you put in the new drink order, please?”
“Right away, Mr. Johnson, sir.” She scurries away before having to witness any more bizarre behavior between Ronan and me.
“What was that, Roxie?” he hisses.
“We’re supposed to be married and here on vacation. I come down barely ten minutes after you to find you practically dry humping the server.”
“Oh please,” he scoffs. “I was hardly doing anything of the kind.”
“That’s not how it looked from where I was sitting.”
“I was being polite. That is all.”
“Well, maybe it bothers me since you aren’t polite to me. Did that ever occur to you?”
I expect him to argue some more. Even gearing myself up for it. And I am disappointed when he returns with, “You’re right. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
My head rears back. I’m not even sure I heard him right, but then he picks up my hand and kisses the back of it softly. The tingles travel all the way up my arms, through my body and down to my toes.
The server returns with my drink and the food menus. She doesn’t stick around for any extra conversation this time, which I snicker at once I realize it. I take a large sip of my margarita, impressed by the taste, then peruse the menu.
“Wanna split some nachos?” I ask Ronan.
“God, no.” He shudders like he’s revolted.
“Seriously, what’s wrong with nachos, fancy pants.”
“I’ve asked you repeatedly not to call me that.”
“Yet you keep acting in such a way that requires I do.”
“Because I don’t want nachos?”
“Yes, because you don’t want nachos. We’re in South America, it’s practically the birthplace of nachos.”
“Your geographical ignorance is showing.”
