Page 23 of A Different Kind Of December
“Ditto. Although, I’ve gotta say that my wife ain’t skinny, she’s fucking perfect.”
“You’ve got your beer goggles on, Cam. I’ve seen more fat on a chip.”
I look up as I hear Georgia call into the mic, “Tiger. This way. Now!”
She hands the mic to her brother, grabs my hand, and marches me out of the room to the sound of wolf whistles, clapping and oi oi-ing.
“Dare I ask where the fuck we’re going?” I follow her swaying form out to our laundry. She pulls me into the room, slams the door behind us, and launches herself at me.
Her mouth slams down on mine, and her legs wrap around my waist, her arms around my neck.
I step forward a few paces and lift her up, sitting her back down on the edge of the worktop.
“I need you,” she pleads. Her hot breath hits my ear and the side of my neck. It’s all the encouragement I need.
“Lift your arms baby.” Her top has buttons down the middle, but I can’t be fucked wasting time with that shit and just pull it off over her head.
“Bra,” I order.
“Love it when you’re bossy.”
“No you don’t. You cop the hump when I tell you what to do.”
The room is almost pitch dark, but I can just make out her beautiful smile.
“Not when we’re having sex I don’t. I love it when you take charge.”
I know this, and even if I didn’t, it wouldn’t change anything. Georgia gets away with most things where I’m concerned, but in the bedroom, I’m the fucking boss.
“You gonna let me have your arse then?”
“Answers still no, and unless you have about four inches cut off that thing and lose some girth, it always will be.”
Yeah, I’m the boss in the bedroom—except when it comes to that.
I help Georgia in her fumbling attempts to get my T-shirt over my head, then lean forward and draw one of her nipples into my mouth while brushing my thumb back and forth over the over.
“I fucking love your tits.”
“I love your dick. Help me get my jeans off.”
She undoes her belt, button, and zipper.
“Lift your arse.”
I pull her jeans over her hips and then take off my own as she toes them down her legs and off. Without even checking that she’s wet—I know that she will be—I pull her to the very edge of the worktop and slide inside her.
“Fuck,” we both say at once.
“Feel good, baby?”
“The best.”
“Tell me what you want.”
“Kiss me.”
I slam my mouth against hers and oblige. Our tongues tangle, dual, and taste. I pull away and bite, lick, and suck along her jaw to her ear and down her neck before heading back to her mouth.
