Page 40 of A Very Grumpy Father's Day
SIXTEEN
Maddie
WHO’S YOUR MADDIE?
Well, I feel pretty great about myself right now.
Probably not anywhere near as great as Declan feels about me or about everything in general at the moment. But that was fun. Empowering. If he hadn’t already unpacked all those boxes for me yesterday, I’m positive he’d do it if I asked him to now.
Not that I did this to have some sort of leverage over my husband. I mean, yes, I do own my husband’s cock now more than ever. Not that marriage and sex are games or contests with winners or losers, but I am definitely winning this round. I just wanted to give him a gift that only I could give him. A gift that would keep on giving back to me, sure. But I think I just surprised both of us. In a good way. I think Declan Sullivan Cannavale, Esq. is having a very memorable Father’s Day.
He won’t remember the part where he passed out right after exploding into my mouth, of course, but he seems to be stirring. I know he won’t want to sleep for very long, but I also need him to recuperate so we can enjoy more playtime. I’ve already tidied up, checked my phone to see if Billy’s texted, and eaten half the chocolate from the honor bar while doing Kegels. We have two hours before the alarms start going off. I want to take a long shower with him because that marble bathroom is sexy and the luxury toiletries are superb and they’re going home with me.
I’ve been watching my husband sleep, in a not-creepy way, for a minute. I had forgotten what he looks like when there’s no tension in his face. He is almost unrecognizable. Still impossibly handsome. Still somehow a little bit cocky even when he’s unconscious. But he finally looks completely relaxed.
I, on the other hand, am totally energized.
He isn’t waking up, so I turn on the TV and find a soft jazz satellite channel. If that doesn’t gently rouse him from his slumber I’ll have to bring out the big guns. And by “big guns” I mean my boobs.
“Maddie…” he mumbles. His eyes aren’t open. I covered him with the spare blanket from the closet because I don’t want him to catch a cold. Or for some housekeeper to walk in and see him like this. As if a blanket over a tied-up naked man makes it all less embarrassing. But it wouldn’t be themostembarrassing thing that had happened to Declan in a hotel room since I’ve known him. “Babyyyy…”
His voice is so raw and deep. I go to his side and put my hand over his heart. “I’m here. How do you feel?”
A slow grin forms. “Pretty good, how ’bout you?”
“Pretty good, glad to hear it.”
“I fucking love you.”
“I fucking love you too.”
“I didn’t think it was possible to love you more than I already did, but now I do. That was amazing, you know that? Life altering.”
“Well, I am very pleased to hear it. It was enjoyable for me too.” And now it’s time to ask my husband something I never knew I’d be asking him: “Would you like me to untie you now, honey?”
He sighs. The longest, most complicated sigh I have ever heard. It tells a whole story, that sigh, but it ends happily, with him saying with clarity, “Yeah. I want to hold you. With my hands.”
“Okay.” I have to use the scissors to free him from his silky bonds.
He winces.
Not because it physically hurts him, because I’m cutting up two beautiful Italian silk scarves.
“I’ll save the fabric,” I tell him reassuringly. “You can have it made into a tie.”
“I fucking love that idea.” As soon as one of his hands is free, he reaches for my face and pulls me in for a kiss. “This is the best day ever.”
“It’s not over yet!” I hurry around to the other side of the bed to free his other hand. I don’t even get a chance to carefully place the pieces of scarf on the bedside table before he grabs me by the waist and pulls me onto the bed with him.
He maneuvers me into a spooning position. He’s still covered by the blanket, but I can feel him growing harder already. He caresses my hips, pulls my ponytail to the side and kisses my neck from behind. Up to the spot behind my ear. Down to the curve where my neck meets my shoulder and back up again to my cheekbone, my earlobe. Trailing and swirling his tongue and kissing and tasting me. The scruff of his two-day old beard feels so good against my soft skin.
He doesn’t stop kissing when he reaches around to massage my breast—gently, but wowza.
I am so glad I did an extra pump before coming to the hotel.
I could live in this sensual neck-kiss forever.
Except I really want to get into that shower.
