Page 18 of Bang
Iclose the spreadsheet analyzing Ford’s new venture in the Russian’s territory and shift my attention to the image on the wall. This is why I work from home occasionally. Not going into the office keeps my enemies on edge as to what I might be up to when I change my schedule. When in reality, being closer to my family is the ultimate reason and benefit.
Eden’s radiant smile never dims as she accepts the plate from Mrs. Bryant. I read her luscious pink lips thanking the housekeeper and telling her how delicious the lunch looks. Louis seems even more eager to check out the offering himself, swiping an apple slice before she can set the dish on the table in front of him.
Once he’s happily shoveling food in his mouth, my wife digs into the bags Marcella brought in for the party tomorrow, setting jars on the counter and chatting with our son between his bites. I don’t know why the hell she’s helping when that’s why the fuck I pay the caterer. I grab my phone off my desk and send her a message.
Why are you working?
Her cell vibrates in the next second, and she glances at the screen, grinning and shaking her head. I smile myself, enjoying the anticipation of her text back.
Why are you spying?
Fuck if my balls begin to ache as she leans over and grabs the remote, flipping through a few channels until landing on Louis’s favorite show. Since she’s a hard ass about limiting his screen time, if he’s watching the cartoon now that only means one thing. Eden’s distracting him.
After kissing the top of our child’s head and then uttering something to our housekeeper, she departs the kitchen. I follow her path through the living room and down the hallway. Passing Tony, he gives her a respectful nod from her greeting of good morning but they both keep walking. Him to the garage to supervise the men unloading their trucks and her to my office.
To me.
I’m already hard when her soft knock taps on the door. Jesus. “Come in.”
Goosebumps cover her silky pale skin when she steps inside with a timid smile on her pinked face. I know how much my attentiveness turns her on when she discovers I’ve been watching her. As if I could fucking do anything else. I have to be vigilant with their safety even in our home. Deep down I trust no one but her.
She’s sexier than fuck when she strides directly to me and my own skin blazes when she stands between my parted legs, with my chair now swiveled in her direction. “Are you confused, baby girl?”
A shudder rips through her from my gravely tone. As if we don’t play this game all the time. I don’t hide that I’m a psycho constantly tracking her, and she doesn’t pretend she’s not wet from my stalking.
“About what?”
“About who gets to be spoiled around here?”
She glances to the bank of screens and smiles a wistful smile from Louis sloppily eating his macaroni and cheese, more than occasionally missing his mouth while mesmerized by his show and oblivious as Mrs. Bryant wipes up spilled noodles around him.
“I do know and he definitely is.”
Wrong answer. I rise from my seat and my body brushes hers, with her hard nipples bridging the breath of space between us. “Come. I want to show you something.”
Without any hesitation, her warm hand slides into mine, a willing subject to her king’s orders. I guide her to the window—bullet-proof and tinted so no one in the expansive yard can see us. Or more importantly, watch her being fucked by her husband.
Again, no reluctance as I tug her in front of me and cup the back of her sweet head, holding her dainty nose just a centimeter from the glass. “What do you see out there?”
While I wait for her to answer, I glide my hands under her dress and caress her thighs. Soft and smooth, the skin warms beneath my palms, and she bucks forward with anticipation.
“Men setting up train tracks.”
“That’s right.” I caress over her hips and grasp the strings of her thong on each side to slide them down her legs. “What else?”
She moans as I massage and then lift her calf to yank the pink fabric over her heel on one side and then the other. I permit the delay in her response while I trail back up to her dripping pussy. Arousal coats my fingers when I dip inside. “Tell me.”
“They’re building a pen and laying down hay.”
I’m cruel bastard to torture her this way, but she knows the punishment when she disobeys me. When I say my wife doesn’t work, I fucking mean it. Rotating the heel of my palm back and forth across her clit, I have to wrap my arm around her waist to keep her upright as she cries out from the pressure. I fucking love how easily I can get her off this way. “I think I see a bounce house out there too, don’t you?”
“Y-yes. I s-see a bounce house t-too.”
I smile against her shoulder when I feel her squirm, attempting to get the friction she needs to come again. “Do you like riding my hand, wisp?”
Long hair, fragrant with her flowery scent, tickles my cheek when she nods. “I like riding you better.”
Shit gets crazy between us with her confession, and almost out of my damn mind, I jerk her around and shove her up the glass resting the back of her thighs on my hips as I tug my belt. Nothing gets me harder than my innocent wife talking dirty, and our hands battle to unzip my pants and release my hungry cock.