Page 56 of Marriage (Red, White &) Blues

“Are you sure?” I whisper back against his, my breath hitching when he slid his finger over my sweet spot, and I shivered.

The dimple popped out on the corner of his mouth even as we continued to kiss. “Can’t do this if you’re in prison.” He rolled on top of me, pushing between my thighs. This was exactly the morning stretch I needed. His hip movements started slow causing my eyes to roll back. “Eyes, Glory,” he demanded and my eyes spring open at his command.

We never lost eye contact as he pumped, the thrusts going harder, rougher, but not faster. I opened my mouth to scream his name or something but no sound escaped. My entire body jerked as his thrusts grew to a fevered pitch. A hurricane brewed violently inside me. Thunder crashed. Lightning bolts ripped a path along every pleasure point until a torrent of orgasmic bliss destroyed me.

“Okay,” I said with a painfully heaving chest. “Murder is off the table for now, but after this election we are done with campaignsforever.” I pressed my lips to his again. “And I mean forever—not even for secretary of the PTA at our future children’s school.”

He nipped the skin at my shoulder. “Promise. Not even PTA secretary.”

Now that they’d forced this impromptu luncheon on me, I had to give into reality and reluctantly pushed up from the floor to shower.

“No,” Blake whined. “There’s time before the car shows. “There are still rooms I haven’t fucked you in yet.”

“Fucked me in?” I asked. “Is this alpha speak?”

“Do you like it?”

“Are you ordering me to?”

“Yes,” he answered. “And if you insist on showering, then you’ll have to put up with me taking you bent over the sink and pressed up against the cool tile. Do you have a scooter?” he asked bizarrely.

“No. Why?”

“Because I plan on you not being able to walk by the time the car shows.”

I grabbed his hand, dragging him up, more than ready to find out how he planned to damage me. In the end, I still retained the ability to walk but my sex definitely pulsed.

And with the cloudy, chilly day outside, I chose a fitted, tan, cowl neck sweater dress that stopped just below my knees. I paired that with a thick, brown suede belt and my brown, suede, tall boots with the tall heels. And I might have rebelled a bit by leaving my hair down and curly and going with my gold locket and gold hoops rather than pearls. With my makeup finished, I walked out of the bathroom to get Blake’s opinion.

“Well?” I asked as I turned in a slow circle for him to take in the whole outfit.

“My mother’s going tohatethat dress.” He was right. My face fell. “You just keep upping the beauty quotient, which is saying something.”

“Thank you.” A beautiful warmth curled around my heart from his compliment.

“Is your wedding ring in place?”

Odd question. I held my left hand up to show him. “Of course. Why?”

“Because everyone needs to know you’re taken.”

I laughed. “It’s awomen’sluncheon.”

“Like that matters.”

Deciding to let that one slide, I change the subject, asking, “What are your plans for today?”

“Oh—get this, I got a call from Candice while you were dressing. Apparently, my father, Brock, and I are golfing with Philip von Dutton, Gerald McCain, and about ten of their wealthiest cronies.”

“Honey…” I chuckled in sad commiseration. “You hate to golf.”

“Why does it always have to be golf? Why not squash or pickleball?”

“I know,” I said, pressing a hand to his cheek.

“Then we have that dinner tonight where we have to put up with even more insufferable small talk. The only part of the day I’ll enjoy is sitting next to you.”

“We get Sunday off,” I offered to help.

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