minibus felt as cooperative as he did.
Chapter Eight
Rebekah enjoyed Santa Fe. The website she’d consulted while planning the trip had been right about the restaurant—delicious and romantic—as well as the hotel—gorgeous Southwestern style, cozy, and wonderful customer service. When using the traveler review site, she’d gone with the number-one visitor choices under every category, and so far she hadn’t been disappointed. She was glad she hadn’t used the same method for choosing their Vegas hotel. She couldn’t imagine a pricier hotel would have been any more fun.
“Time to get up,” she whispered in Eric’s ear. “We’re going to a museum.”
He grumbled something incoherent and smashed his pillow over his face.
“It’s a museum of art.”
He yanked the covers over his head, burying himself and the pillow still smashed to his face.
“Fine. I’ll go look at all those flowery vaginas by myself.” She scooted off the bed and reached for her shoes.
Eric tossed back the covers and sent the pillow tumbling from the bed. “Did you say vaginas?”
She lifted her eyebrows and nodded. “Vaginas everywhere.”
“I’m in.” He rolled out of bed and stretched his arms over his head. Rebekah forgot she was putting on her shoes as she sat on the carpet and stared at his long, lean body. The man was all well-defined muscle and sinew. Perhaps she’d been a bit hasty in getting dressed this morning.
But he was on board for the museum, so they headed out without any play time.
As they wandered the Georgia O’Keeffe art gallery, Eric began to fidget. “When do we get to the vaginas?”
“These are all vaginas,” Rebekah said. She looked down and spoke to her crotch area. “My husband didn’t recognize you.”
He lifted one brow. “These are all flowers.”
“Are you sure?”
He moved closer to the painting of an orchid and examined it, tilting his head slightly. “It does look like pussy.”
The woman beside him, who was studying the same painting, sniggered and then burst out laughing.
“Told you,” Rebekah said. “They’re beautiful.”
“I agree—pussy is spectacular. But if I get a boner every time I see a flower in the future, it’s your fault.”
“Georgia O’Keeffe’s fault,” she corrected. “I’m going to buy some prints in the gift shop and hang them all over our bedroom.”
“I’ll never be able to leave the room,” he complained.
“That’s the idea.”
They were on the road by noon, and while in the back of her mind Rebekah was hoping they’d make it to Oklahoma City by nightfall, she didn’t mention it to Eric. He got sidetracked storm chasing. Even though it was a cloudless day in December, he was sure that if he drove down enough dirt roads, he’d eventually spot a tornado. After taking several turns onto unpaved roads, their navigation proved worthless. Spectacularly lost somewhere in Oklahoma, Rebekah couldn’t believe there were still places in the United States that didn’t have cellular service. So they drove around the countryside, eventually stopping at sunset to watch the bright orange sun paint the sky pink before sinking below the horizon. Caught up in the splendor of nature, they warmed their chilly lips with deep, tender kisses before climbing into the back of the minibus for some calisthenics.
By the time they found an interstate that led them to Oklahoma City, it was too late to take in a comedy show in Bricktown and the restaurant she’d chosen was already closed, so they ordered room service and watched a campy zombie movie in their hotel suite before succumbing to exhaustion. It was the first night of their married lives where they fell asleep before making love. Eric seemed to realize this at around four in the morning, when he woke her with a stiffy poking her in the ass.
“I’m too tired,” she mumbled. “Let me sleep.”
Eric decided to take care of his condition on his own. The rhythmic slapping of him beating off was
Chapter Eight
Rebekah enjoyed Santa Fe. The website she’d consulted while planning the trip had been right about the restaurant—delicious and romantic—as well as the hotel—gorgeous Southwestern style, cozy, and wonderful customer service. When using the traveler review site, she’d gone with the number-one visitor choices under every category, and so far she hadn’t been disappointed. She was glad she hadn’t used the same method for choosing their Vegas hotel. She couldn’t imagine a pricier hotel would have been any more fun.
“Time to get up,” she whispered in Eric’s ear. “We’re going to a museum.”
He grumbled something incoherent and smashed his pillow over his face.
“It’s a museum of art.”
He yanked the covers over his head, burying himself and the pillow still smashed to his face.
“Fine. I’ll go look at all those flowery vaginas by myself.” She scooted off the bed and reached for her shoes.
Eric tossed back the covers and sent the pillow tumbling from the bed. “Did you say vaginas?”
She lifted her eyebrows and nodded. “Vaginas everywhere.”
“I’m in.” He rolled out of bed and stretched his arms over his head. Rebekah forgot she was putting on her shoes as she sat on the carpet and stared at his long, lean body. The man was all well-defined muscle and sinew. Perhaps she’d been a bit hasty in getting dressed this morning.
But he was on board for the museum, so they headed out without any play time.
As they wandered the Georgia O’Keeffe art gallery, Eric began to fidget. “When do we get to the vaginas?”
“These are all vaginas,” Rebekah said. She looked down and spoke to her crotch area. “My husband didn’t recognize you.”
He lifted one brow. “These are all flowers.”
“Are you sure?”
He moved closer to the painting of an orchid and examined it, tilting his head slightly. “It does look like pussy.”
The woman beside him, who was studying the same painting, sniggered and then burst out laughing.
“Told you,” Rebekah said. “They’re beautiful.”
“I agree—pussy is spectacular. But if I get a boner every time I see a flower in the future, it’s your fault.”
“Georgia O’Keeffe’s fault,” she corrected. “I’m going to buy some prints in the gift shop and hang them all over our bedroom.”
“I’ll never be able to leave the room,” he complained.
“That’s the idea.”
They were on the road by noon, and while in the back of her mind Rebekah was hoping they’d make it to Oklahoma City by nightfall, she didn’t mention it to Eric. He got sidetracked storm chasing. Even though it was a cloudless day in December, he was sure that if he drove down enough dirt roads, he’d eventually spot a tornado. After taking several turns onto unpaved roads, their navigation proved worthless. Spectacularly lost somewhere in Oklahoma, Rebekah couldn’t believe there were still places in the United States that didn’t have cellular service. So they drove around the countryside, eventually stopping at sunset to watch the bright orange sun paint the sky pink before sinking below the horizon. Caught up in the splendor of nature, they warmed their chilly lips with deep, tender kisses before climbing into the back of the minibus for some calisthenics.
By the time they found an interstate that led them to Oklahoma City, it was too late to take in a comedy show in Bricktown and the restaurant she’d chosen was already closed, so they ordered room service and watched a campy zombie movie in their hotel suite before succumbing to exhaustion. It was the first night of their married lives where they fell asleep before making love. Eric seemed to realize this at around four in the morning, when he woke her with a stiffy poking her in the ass.
“I’m too tired,” she mumbled. “Let me sleep.”
Eric decided to take care of his condition on his own. The rhythmic slapping of him beating off was
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