Page 78 of Clear Shot
“And there’s a little surprise waiting for you.” He motions with his head and I see a gift bag on the floor in the middle of our very empty living room.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Go find out.”
He sets me on my feet, and I hurry over to the bag, lifting it excitedly. It’s not heavy but it’s not light, so I can’t imagine what it could be. I tear through the tissue paper and the box in front of me makes my eyes bulge.
“Aiden!”
He gives me a slow, lazy grin. “I want to see you wearing nothing but those shoes about a minute from now.”
My blood heats, and my body goes on high alert.
I open the shoebox and there in front of me are the shoes I lost in the hurricane—my stupidly expensive Christian Louboutin stilettos. Black with a pointy toe and red underneath. I never got a chance to wear the pair I had, but now I can’t wait to put these on.
My gorgeous, thoughtful husband is leaning against the railing of the stairs.
“I’m going to fuck you in every room of this house, but you get to pick which one we do it in first.”
I slowly pull my blouse over my head and drop it, my eyes never leaving his.
“I think I need you to bend me over the kitchen counter,” I whisper, sliding my jeans down and wiggling out of them.
“Yeah?” He starts unbuttoning his shirt. “Then where?”
I turn away from him as I unhook my bra and then glance back over my shoulder playfully. “Then you should go down on me on the stairs.”
His eyes gleam as he yanks his shirt off and unzips his slacks. “Where are you going to suck my dick for the first time?”
I turn back to him as slowly as humanly possible and hook my thumbs into the sides of my panties, pausing before beginning to drag them down. “In the pool.”
He must like that answer because his eyes turn to liquid fire. “Put the damn shoes on, Hana.”
I set them on the floor and slide my feet into them, watching as my husband advances on me like a predator about to annihilate his prey—in the very best way possible.
“You are the sexiest woman on the planet,” he growls, yanking me against him.
“You’re not too bad yourself,” I tease. “But you’re still wearing clothes.”
“Don’t worry about what I’m wearing—kitchen.Now.”
Fuck, I love when he gets all gritty and bossy.
I sashay toward the kitchen, making sure to swing my hips back and forth as I walk. I know he’s watching, and that gets me worked up all over again.
“Keep that up, we're not going to make it out of this room,” he rumbles.
We barely make it to the middle of the kitchen before he’s on me, kissing and touching, tongue swirling with mine, hands everywhere. He’s dominant and possessive, strong fingers kneading my skin as we kiss and kiss and kiss some more. Like two people starved for affection and passion and satisfaction—because we both know we’re going to achieve all of those things in very short order.
The kitchen is bright and well-lit, like most of the house, but I’m barely aware of my surroundings as my husband sends me into arousal overdrive. It’s always like this when we’re together, but there’s something special about today. Buying the house, carrying me inside like a bride, replacing the shoes I lost, and that clear, commanding voice telling me what he wants to do to me—and where.
It’s the hottest thing ever.
“Right there,” he whispers, turning me away from him in front of the massive kitchen island. He bends me over the beautiful taj mahal quartzite countertop and pushes my torso down against the cool stone. “Hard or gentle?” he asks, using his hands to squeeze and knead the globes of my ass.
“You choose,” I pant. “I don’t care—I just want you.”
“Oh, you’re going to have me.”
