“You’ll learn,” I said, my voice growing deeper as my arousal increased. “In fact, this evening I’m taking you out for a lesson, but first, we play.”
“Wait, wait,” she protested. “There’s something else in the bag.”
“Ah, yes, there is. I almost forgot,” I said, pulling back.
Annie dipped her hand in the bag and pulled out the brochure I’d tucked in with the box. “A property brochure?” she asked, eyes alight with excitement.
“That’s right. If we’re moving to Ireland, we’re gonna need a home, now, aren’t we?”
I was taken completely off guard when tears started to fill her eyes, and I pulled her close.
“Hey, hey, what are the tears for?” I said, brushing away some of the wetness beneath her eyes with my thumb.
She sniffled and spoke so quietly. “I’m sorry. I’m being an emotional idiot. It’s just that I love you. I’ve always been alone, and the idea of having a proper home with you is a little overwhelming. I feel like I’m going to wake up in a minute, and it’ll all have been a dream.”
I took her hand in mine and placed it over my heart. “That’s not going to happen. This is real. You’re my home now, and I’m yours. Nothing can change that. I won’t let it.”
The look she gave me took my breath away, like I was all she ever wanted and she couldn’t believe she actually had me. That went for both us because I felt exactly the same way. I returned her look, and then my lids grew hooded. Being alone in a bedroom with my beautiful fiancée did that to me. My eyes trailed to her chest, where her breasts rose and fell with her breathing, and I slid my arm beneath her body, pushing her to the top of the bed. A tiny sigh escaped her when I climbed between her legs and captured her wrists in mine, pinning them over her head.
“So, love, silk rope or cuffs today, what will it be?” I purred and thrust my hips into her.
Her eyes glazed over, and a fiery expression came over her as she met my stare. “Or I could touch you.”
A grin shaped my lips slowly as I thought of all the ways I was about to make her scream. “Why, Annie dearest, that’s the correct answer.”
***
New York’s Finest
Blogging as The Socialmedialite
February 14
I don’t care what anyone says to the contrary, Lumbersexuals are here to stay.
They’re too delicious to be a fleeting fad. It’s like everything you want in an actual lumberjack—the beard, the smoldering eyes, the well-muscled torso, the big hands, the flannel, the boots—but without the dangling food in the mustache, dirt on the floor, or any actual lumber (but don’t worry, there’s still plenty of wood nudge nudge wink wink).
Although, I admit that some of these Lumbersexuals take things a bit too far. For instance, my husband and his teammates. As you see from these stealthy pictures taken two nights ago, none of them have shaved for almost four months, not even a trim! They all look like wild beasts or Neanderthals.
Well, everyone but poor Sean Cassidy. Sadly, as you can see from the third picture down, his beard is uneven and splotchy, like a prepubescent with peach fuzz. It resembles some kind of Rogaine accident or beard Hair Club for Men subscription gone terribly wrong.
Aside from Sean’s valiant (but failed) effort, these guys are all growing beards for a good cause, and I can’t fault them for that.
Check out the link to the highlighted charity below to learn why Irish rugby players aren’t shaving and maybe donate some cash to this worthy cause.
Till next time!
(Wedded in bearded bliss) The Socialmedialite
THE END
About the Authors
L.H. Cosway has a BA in English Literature and Greek and Roman Civilisation, and an MA in Postcolonial Literature. She lives in Dublin city. Her inspiration to write comes from music. Her favourite things in life include writing stories, vintage clothing, dark cabaret music, food, musical comedy, and of course, books. She thinks that imperfect people are the most interesting kind. They tell the best stories.
This is the sixth full-length novel published by Penny Reid. Her days are spent writing federal grant proposals for biomedical research; her evenings are either spent playing dress-up and mad-scientist with her two people-children (boy-7, girl-4), or knitting with her knitting group at the local coffee shop. Please feel free to drop her a line. She'd be happy to hijack your thoughts!
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Read on for: Sneak Peek of Elements of Chemistry, by Penny Reid (release date March 30, 2015) Sneak Peek of Hearts of Fire, by L.H. Cosway (release date March 9, 2015)
Sneak Peek: Elements of Chemistry
by Penny Reid; release date March 30, 2015
CHAPTER 1: Atoms, Molecules, and Ions
Quiet, silent, muted, hushed, stilled, reticent… I moved my mouth, breathed the words—soundlessly—from my hiding place.
This game comforted me, calmed me, settled my nerves. Yes, recalling synonyms while anxious was a bizarre coping strategy, but it worked. And very little usually worked.
The voices from beyond the cabinet grew louder and were accompanied by the click of heals and the dull echo of tennis shoes. I held my breath and strained to decipher how many sets of feet were represented by the approaching shoes. I guessed two, because only two voices were audible.
“… think that he’s going to want to fuck you? After what happened last Friday?” The words were a hiss emanating from an unknown male voice; I tensed at the use of vulgarity.
“I’ll get there late. If you do your job then he won’t even remember it.” Came a feminine reply. The female was closest to my hiding spot in the chemistry lab cabinet; her words were, therefore, much clearer.
“Shit.” He said. I tried not to huff in disgust at his foul language as he continued. “I don’t even know how much to use. I’ve only used it on bitches. ”
“I don’t know either. Just… double it. Martin is, what? Like, twice the size of the girls you usually dope out?”
I tensed again, my eyes narrowing. The name Martin, in particular, made my heart beat faster. I knew only one Martin.
Martin Sandeke.
Martin Sandeke, the heir to Sandeke Telecom Systems in Palo Alto California and smartypants in his own right. I, also, came from a notable family—my mother was a US senator, my father was the dean of the college of medicine at UCLA, and my maternal grandfather was an astronaut. However, unlike Martin’s family, we weren’t billionaires. We were scientists, politicians, and scholars.
Martin Sandeke, the six foot three, modern day physical manifestation of Hercules and captain of our University’s rowing team.
Martin Sandeke, unrepentant man-whore extraordinaire and kind of a jerkfaced bully.