Page 45 of Merlot Marriage

“I’ll be on the lookout for trouble from you two.” He pulls a clean shirt out of his suitcase. “Are you going to tell her about us?”

I freeze, my bra still backward on my chest. “No? I thought we were keeping this quiet. That’s still the plan, right?” I twist my bra around so I can finish putting it on, waiting for Philip to say something. He still hasn’t responded by the time I get it straight, the straps untwisted and my boobs sitting in the cups correctly. “Philip?”

His eyes are glued to my body. “Do you always put your bra on like that? It’s like scooping ice cream.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” I point out, pulling a jersey dress out of my bag. I love sundresses; they make getting dressed so easy.

Philip groans. “Are you really going to wear that?”

I smooth the orange fabric down over my hips, twisting from side to side so it flares out. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“I’m going to be imagining what’s underneath it all afternoon.”

I roll my eyes and take my bag of toiletries to the bathroom to finish getting ready. “You still didn’t answer my question.”

He sneaks in behind me and turns on the shower. “I was not planning to say anything to Cassie. Or TJ. Or our families.” He sticks his hand under the water to test the temperature, then steps in, his backside disappearing under the steam before I can reach back to squeeze it. “Nate, uh, may suspect, though.”

I squeeze a bit of sunscreen on my fingers, rubbing it into my skin as I speak. “Do we care what Nate thinks? And would he tell anyone?”

His reply is drowned out by the water, but I’m pretty sure he agrees with me. He keeps talking, but I can’t understand any of it, so I finish applying some makeup, not bothering with much since it’s just Cassie. Then I run some product through my wet hair so it air dries nicely.

I’m just giving myself a once-over in the mirror—how Jackie lives without a full-length mirror is beyond me—when Philip steps out of the shower. He whistles and reaches out for me, but I evade his grasp, tossing a towel over his head.

“Aw, no fair, babe,” he whines, toweling his wet hair off. As always, the curls stick out every which way, but he doesn’t seem to care.

I peer at him, then my hair products. “Can I try something?”

“Does it involve more sex?” He waggles his eyebrows, taking a slow step closer.

Laughing, I grab a tube off the counter. “It doesn’t. At least, not right now. But it might get you laid later.” I wink, then flip open the cap, squeezing a dollop of product out onto my fingers.

I finger comb his hair, separating and defining the curls on top, squeezing as much water out as I can. He’d never have the patience to let me do a proper routine on his hair, but I’ve always wondered what it would look like if it was at least a little bit styled.

“You’re too tall,” I grouse, pushing his shoulders until he kneels on the bathroom mat.

“Not a complaint I’ve ever heard before, but sure, babe. Whatever you say.” As he continues his running commentary of how I’m pulling his hair out, his fingers brush the backs of my knees. I jerk, but he doesn’t let go, sliding his hands up the back of my thighs.

His touch is so light that it tickles at the same time it sends a wave of need through me. “Stop that.” I twitch as his wandering fingers trace the curve of my ass.

Philip groans. “I’m going to be thinking about how your ass feels in my hands all afternoon. How perfectly round it is and how much I want to bury my face in your pussy.”

My cheeks, the ones on my face, go hot at his words. I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s so vocal about what he wants—the man never stops talking—but to hear him talk about me and my body that way takes me by surprise every time.

Laughing to hide my embarrassment, I keep twisting and arranging the curls around his face as he explores under my dress, not making eye contact. He keeps up a litany of the things he’s going to imagine while he’s working, including laying me out on the bar top and eating me out, and pressing me up against the wall of windows and taking me from behind while we watch the sunset over the fields. Each scenario he paints builds a little more pressure inside me. Now I’m going to be thinking about them all afternoon too.

“Ophie, you’re squirming.” His voice is rough as his thumb skates past the apex of my thighs. I jerk my hips, but he has such a firm grip on me that I can’t escape. “Are you okay?” He looks up at me with a wicked grin.

“I’m fine,” I manage to say through gritted teeth, fighting not to whimper. “Quit teasing me.” I push against his forehead as he moves to lift the fabric. “And don’t you dare mess up your hair by trying to get under my dress.”

Escaping, I turn to grab a small towel so I can squeeze some more water out of his hair.

“Ophelia Moore, will you please…” Philip pauses until I turn to look. He’s shifted, bringing one foot out so he’s on one knee, a tube of product in his hands. “Share your hair care products with me? Forever?”

The silly gesture makes me laugh, breaking the sexual tension that had been building in the small space. “You idiot.” I shake my head. “I’ll buy you your own. My hair’s not as curly as yours.”

“Then will you teach me how to do whatever you just did?” Pushing to his feet, he glances sideways in the bathroom mirror. “I didn’t know my hair could look this good.”

He turns back to me, hunching his shoulders in a terrible imitation of a model, lips pursed and eyes crossed. Laughing, I push him out the door. “Go work or something. I need to finish getting dressed.”

---