Her body shook as she started to giggle. “Well, you know, I never really counted them up. I’m usually too preoccupied with my own pow to keep track of what you’re up to.”
“Your pow,” he growled. Her tank top was a pretty cherry red, one of his favorite colors. He eased the soft, thin material up her torso, and she lifted her arms so he could pull it over her head. “I think you’re mistaken.”
“About what?” Her laughing face emerged from underneath the top, hair disheveled and eyes sparkling.
She wasn’t wearing a bra, and her breasts bounced free. Her beautiful, generously rounded breasts with the erect pink nipples. His mouth watered as he looked at them.
“That’s pows. Plural,” he told her. He cupped her breasts, massaging her nipples with his hands. His voice lowered into a growl. “You’re too preoccupied with your multiple pows to keep track of what I’m doing. And I’m going to make you pow until you scream.”
Her chuckle turned husky, and her eyes darkened with pleasure. She whispered, “Give it your best shot, big guy.”
She hadn’t called him that in months. A corner of his mouth lifted as he picked her up and dropped her on the bed.
Her eyes widened as she landed in a sprawl among suits and outfits. Her pale blond hair spilled over her face. Laughing, she started to roll away. “Clean clothes! Clean clothes!”
“Screw the clothes,” he said. Bracing himself with one knee on the mattress of the bed, he picked handfuls of material up and tossed things aside.
Her laughter turned breathless. “I was going to pack all of that,” she protested.
“Screw packing,” he told her. As she tried to wiggle off the bed, he grabbed her by the hips and pulled her toward him.
“That’s easy for you to say,” she scolded, but there was no heat in her words. “You never pack your own stuff. Things just magically appear, clean and pressed, and ready whenever you need them.”
She sat up, and her unsteady fingers caught the hem of his shirt and pulled it up his torso. He obliged her by pulling the shirt over his head and tossing it.
He picked up a handful of her hair, studying it. Pale gold strands gleamed in the late afternoon light. Obeying an impulse, he rubbed his face in the luxuriant mass. It felt like raw silk against his skin.
“Of course things magically appear when I need them,” he told her. “That’s why we have so much house staff.”
She pulled back to glare at him. “Hey, I have news for you—all this prep work neatly laid out on the bed that you just threw on the floor? Your house staff had nothing to do with that. Your wife did.”
His eyes narrowed on her. “We are both half naked on the bed, about to practice getting pregnant and giving each other multiple pows, and we’re arguing about laundry?”
Her glare faded into uncertainty. After a pause, she said, “I guess so?”
Immensely satisfied, he nodded and pulled her up against his chest. They knelt there, skin against skin. Running his hands down the elegant curve of her back, he whispered against her mouth, “We are so married.”
Her uncertainty vanished, to be replaced by happiness and heat, and a gleam of returning laughter. “Yes, we are, aren’t we?”
“And twice mated,” he whispered against her mouth. Her lips were plump and soft, and molded to his as he kissed her. “In case you were thinking about trying to get out of it.”
“Well, technically, you’re twice mated,” she pointed out. “I didn’t suffer amnesia, so I’m not.”
His questing fingers found the fastening of her shorts. As he thumbed the fastening open and pulled the zipper down, he heard her breath catch.
“Don’t give me semantics at a time like this, woman,” he growled. “We’re married, twice mated, and I’m about to get you barefoot and pregnant with my mighty sperm, so lie back and take your pows, will you?”
“Ooh.” Her sexy little murmur of anticipation shot straight to his crotch.