“I won’t. I seriously never get anything.”
“With all your superstitions, you’d better be knocking on some wood with that statement.”
He makes a big production out of knocking on the bedside table. “Now let’s get some food into you.”
True to his word, after we finally check out of the hotel, we don’t leave the house at all over the next week. We watch him win the BAFTA for Best Actor on TV, and this time Marlowe accepts the award for him. During the week, Flynn works from his home office, participating in conference calls with the Quantum team in between checking on me and waiting on me hand and foot. He also oversees another meeting of the foundation board of directors, which I sleep through.
“You’re like my butler,” I tell him when he makes lunch for me on Friday, the day before the Valentine’s Day party his parents are hosting to celebrate our marriage. This is the first day I feel somewhat normal, although I’m still far more tired than I should be.
“We can role-play that sometime. I’ll be your faithful servant, and you can be the mistress of the manor who orders me to service her in more ways than one.”
“Ohh, I like that. Could I dominate you in this scenario?”
“To a certain extent.”
“When can we do that?”
“You might not want to light the fuse, baby. I’m feeling a little pent-up over here.”
“Awww, my poor sweet hubby has been so neglected by his sick wife.”
“You’re racking up the demerits,” he says with a teasing grin.
I rest my hands on his chest and look up at him. “Tell me the truth. Have you been taking the edge off on your own?” I can tell right away that the question has surprised and maybe shocked him.
“Whatever has become of my sweet, virtuous wife?”
“She married a sex-crazed maniac who has turned her into one, too.”
“Is that right?” He zeroes in on my lips, his eyes heating with desire. “Maniac, huh?”
“Answer the question.”
“Since you came down with the bubonic plague, I have not once touched the equipment except to pee and wash it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He takes my hand and covers his rock-hard erection. “He’s all yours—and only yours—whenever you’re ready to get back in the saddle.” Kissing my forehead and then my lips, he says, “P.S., it’s no fun without you. I hope you’re happy that you’ve ruined a long career of monkey spanking.”
“That’s very gross and very funny.”
“Also very true. I have no desire to ‘take things in hand’ when you’re around.”
“And this is a… new… development?”
“Very new. The hand and I go way back. It’s been a jarring breakup.”
I laugh so hard that my sides ache.
“This is the second time you’ve laughed at my pain. More demerits.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “If I were to help you with this pent-up situation you’ve got going on, would you let me leave the house?”
“Only if I can go with you.”
“Will I get to drive?”
“That could be arranged.”
“And will you take me to the club tonight?”
“Oh, well, um, you’ve been so sick. You might not be ready for that yet.”
“I’m ready.” I run my finger down his chest and hook it in the waistband of his jeans. “I’m more than ready.”
“I’m afraid to touch you right now.”
“How come?”
“The pent-up thing we previously discussed.”
“So you’re afraid you might scare me?”
He bites his lip and nods.
I lean close enough to touch my lips to his ear. “Do your worst.”
His arms band around my waist as he lifts me up and over his shoulder.
I let out a squeak of surprise as he takes us into the bedroom, coming down on top of me. He breaks the contact only long enough to all but tear the clothes from our bodies before he returns, wrapping himself around me. “This is gonna be fast,” he whispers the second before he captures my lips in a kiss that tells me how much he’s missed being close to me while I was sick. His hands are everywhere, tweaking my nipples, stroking my back and bottom, caressing the slick heat between my legs.
“Need you so bad, Nat.”
“Take me. I’m all yours.”
As he slides into me fully in one deep stroke, I arch my back, needing to be closer, as close as I can get.
He takes my hands and holds them over my head, our eyes meeting as he makes certain this is okay with me. It’s more than okay. I wrap my legs around his hips and meet his every stroke. He pulls out of me, leaving me reeling and on the verge of exploding.
“Turn over.”
When I’m posed on all fours the way he wants me, he kneels behind me, grasps my hips and drives into me again. “Yes,” he whispers. “I wanted to be deeper.”
I drop my head to my forearms and submit to him completely. He’s taken such tender care of me during my illness. I want to give back to him in every possible way.
“Ah, God, Nat…” His fingertips dig into my hips, and he picks up the pace. Then he reaches around to stroke my clit.
“Flynn…” He’s not my Sir right now. He’s not my Dom. He’s my husband, and I love him desperately. “Please…”