And he’d never seen this cunning side of her.
Instead of denying her, he dumped her on her back and went right for the target she wanted him to concentrate on. He latched his lips over the swollen lips of her pussy and found the sensitive knot.
She arched off the bed, and he used every single trick he knew about Harper. He knew her body better than his own. He knew where to stroke, where to nip, how hard to rub, and when she liked the zip of pain with her pleasure.
Her bucking scream-filled pants were louder than the frantic seagulls outside. And he was hard as a goddamn pike, but he pushed his own need to the back of his mind.
And when she shook under his mouth, when the tremors reached out to her thighs, when she finally bowed up with a strangled breathless shout before crashing back to the bed, completely spent, he finally relaxed.
He crashed next to her, his cheek pressed to her inner thigh as he dragged in equally difficult lungfuls of air.
“Oh, my God. Seriously, what is wrong with me?”
He lifted his head. “I’m not complaining in any way, but wow.”
She shifted onto her side and scrunched down to him until their noses touched. “Evidently, I can’t get enough of my husband.”
He laughed. “Your husband is completely fine with that. As long as you give me five minutes to regroup.”
She slid the back of her knuckles over his stiff shaft before tracing his aching head. “Regroup, huh?”
“Purely a physical response to all those sex noises you were making.”
She pushed his hair out of his face. “I’ve missed us.”
He brushed his nose along hers, breathing her in before he tasted her swollen mouth. It was easy now. The wild had blown out of her like a summer storm. Okay, so it was more like a category three, but it seemed like she was back to his usual Harper.
The sleepy, cuddly one that he rarely saw these days. When she sighed and nuzzled his cheek, he finally let the last of the weirdness slip away.
“So, what do you want to do today?”
Her blue eyes danced. “Anything I want?”
“Anything that includes us going out into the world.”
She stuck out her lower lip and he laughed. “At least for an hour.”
“Okay.” She lengthened the word into a breathy sigh, before rolling him onto his back and straddling his belly. “I say we go shopping.”
He groaned.
She drilled her finger into his side until he jumped. “I want to get stuff to cook for tonight. Where else am I going to get such fresh seafood?”
When his stomach growled, he couldn’t deny that it was a good idea. “There’s a grill outside on the porch.”
“Perfect.” She vaulted off him, flashing her truly delicious ass as she crossed the room. “I cut up some fruit to go with the croissants that were on the table. I’m going to take a quick shower.”
He rolled off the mattress, dragged on his boxers and wandered over to the little table in the kitchen. Part of him wanted to follow her into the shower, but he wasn’t sure he was ready for round eight.
Instead, he found the pineapples and strawberries she’d cut up, along with the fluffy pastries and a carafe of coffee. He took the tray and padded out to the patio and stretched out on one of the loungers.
The sun was already at its zenith and a few people were out on the beach. Winter in Galveston was still beach weather for some, himself included. The sea air tasted like freedom. Not that there wasn’t plenty of ocean where they were, but Galveston was nice and remote.
He brushed his palm over the heavy beard he’d let grow in. The chances of someone recognizing him here were slim. After next month, his episode on Something Wilde would pretty much put an end to that. He had a fucking cool tattoo to show for it, but the idea of him on display for a television show was downright disconcerting. When he’d done it, he figured that his segment would be a blip on the radar compared to the other clients Casey would have on the air. Casey Wilde’s producers had loved it and the social media angle that Jazz and Harper had created so much that it was now the main ingredient of the show.
He was so fucked.
His tat was in the main credits for the show, for fuck’s sake.
He wasn’t the type to parade around half naked—that was more Simon’s style. But the stage was hot, and more often than not he ended up losing his shirt by the end of a run. Hiding his tats weren’t really an option even if he conceded to a tank or muscle shirt. His arms were still on display.
A cool tangle of hair slid over his shoulder, dragging him away from the land of fame and the famous. He grinned up at his wife. She smelled like peaches today. He slid his arm around her waist and dumped her into his lap. She giggled and snagged the bowl of pineapple from the tray before settling against his chest.
“It’s nice not to have anything to do.”