business.
"Don't make me come," I moaned, pleading as I arched into his hand. "It'll make my head hurt." Oh, God, I was so close. Stopping now would be wonderfully frustrating and I would go nuts.
"I don't think so," he murmured, kissing his way down my neck and making sparks fizzle behind my closed eyelids. "No jostling. Just relax, and let me take care of you." Then he bit the side of my neck and forget "close," I was there, wave after wave of orgasm shuddering through me while he held me down and kept me from moving.
In a way, we were both right. My head hurt, but who cared?
"What about you?" I murmured as I began drifting off to sleep.
"I'll think of something extra you can do, to make it up to me."
Extra? What "extra"? We already did everything I was willing to do. Vaguely alarmed, I forced my eyes open. "What do you mean, 'extra ?' "
He chuckled and didn't reply. I went to sleep wondering where I could get a suit of armor.
Wyatt has making up down to a fine art.
----
Chapter Nine
I felt much better the next day, Sunday. The headache had subsided from a pounding presence to just a presence, and one that I could almost ignore.
Wyatt drove me over to his mother's house so I could inspect the arbor; as Jenni had said, it needed a coat of paint—as well as scraping and sanding before it was painted. But it was the perfect size, and the shape was wonderful, with a graceful arch that reminded me of the onion domes on buildings in Moscow. Roberta was in love with the arbor and wanted it as a permanent addition to her garden. We agreed that sanding and painting the arbor was a perfect job for Wyatt, since he was in charge of the flowers.
I could tell from the faintly wary look in his eyes as he studied the arbor that he was beginning to realize "the flowers" meant more than a couple of vases and a bouquet. Roberta could barely hide her grin, but until he asked for help she was going to let him stew, while she quietly handled the flowers herself.
There was always a chance he wouldn't ask for help—his inborn aggressive, dominant streak might keep him from admitting he couldn't handle the job. We had agreed we wouldn't let the charade go on any longer than two weeks. That was long enough to let him share in the stress, without actually letting him do something that would interfere with our plans.
Yes, it was mean. So?
From there we went to my parents' house for lunch, to satisfy Mom's need to fuss over me and my need to be fussed over. We were grilling pork chops—grilling is never out of season in the South—so Dad and Wyatt immediately went outside, beers in hand, to see to the grill. I thought it was cute, the way they'd bonded, two guys trying to stay afloat in a sea of estrogen.
Dad's very philosophical and smart about it, but he's had years of experience with Mom and Grammy—Grammy equals, like, two of me. Plus, Dad had raised three daughters. Wyatt, on the other hand, was accustomed to being immersed in guy stuff: first football, then law enforcement. Even worse, he's an alpha personality, and has a hard time understanding the concept of "no." Getting me was a testament to all the dominant, aggressive facets of his personality; keeping me was a testament to his intelligence, because he'd seen right away that Dad was an expert in the war between the sexes. Okay, so it isn't really a war; it's more like different species. Dad speaks the language. Wyatt was learning.
Mom and I got everything ready for the grilling to start, all the while making more war plans— er , wedding plans—and when the men took over the pork chops we had a few minutes to rest. She'd found a dress online that she liked, which she'd ordered, and she showed it to me on the computer. I wasn't having any attendants, the wedding would be smaller and more informal than that, so I didn't have to deal with picking out bridesmaids dresses or anything like that, thank heavens. We looked some more for the gown I had in mind and
"Don't make me come," I moaned, pleading as I arched into his hand. "It'll make my head hurt." Oh, God, I was so close. Stopping now would be wonderfully frustrating and I would go nuts.
"I don't think so," he murmured, kissing his way down my neck and making sparks fizzle behind my closed eyelids. "No jostling. Just relax, and let me take care of you." Then he bit the side of my neck and forget "close," I was there, wave after wave of orgasm shuddering through me while he held me down and kept me from moving.
In a way, we were both right. My head hurt, but who cared?
"What about you?" I murmured as I began drifting off to sleep.
"I'll think of something extra you can do, to make it up to me."
Extra? What "extra"? We already did everything I was willing to do. Vaguely alarmed, I forced my eyes open. "What do you mean, 'extra ?' "
He chuckled and didn't reply. I went to sleep wondering where I could get a suit of armor.
Wyatt has making up down to a fine art.
----
Chapter Nine
I felt much better the next day, Sunday. The headache had subsided from a pounding presence to just a presence, and one that I could almost ignore.
Wyatt drove me over to his mother's house so I could inspect the arbor; as Jenni had said, it needed a coat of paint—as well as scraping and sanding before it was painted. But it was the perfect size, and the shape was wonderful, with a graceful arch that reminded me of the onion domes on buildings in Moscow. Roberta was in love with the arbor and wanted it as a permanent addition to her garden. We agreed that sanding and painting the arbor was a perfect job for Wyatt, since he was in charge of the flowers.
I could tell from the faintly wary look in his eyes as he studied the arbor that he was beginning to realize "the flowers" meant more than a couple of vases and a bouquet. Roberta could barely hide her grin, but until he asked for help she was going to let him stew, while she quietly handled the flowers herself.
There was always a chance he wouldn't ask for help—his inborn aggressive, dominant streak might keep him from admitting he couldn't handle the job. We had agreed we wouldn't let the charade go on any longer than two weeks. That was long enough to let him share in the stress, without actually letting him do something that would interfere with our plans.
Yes, it was mean. So?
From there we went to my parents' house for lunch, to satisfy Mom's need to fuss over me and my need to be fussed over. We were grilling pork chops—grilling is never out of season in the South—so Dad and Wyatt immediately went outside, beers in hand, to see to the grill. I thought it was cute, the way they'd bonded, two guys trying to stay afloat in a sea of estrogen.
Dad's very philosophical and smart about it, but he's had years of experience with Mom and Grammy—Grammy equals, like, two of me. Plus, Dad had raised three daughters. Wyatt, on the other hand, was accustomed to being immersed in guy stuff: first football, then law enforcement. Even worse, he's an alpha personality, and has a hard time understanding the concept of "no." Getting me was a testament to all the dominant, aggressive facets of his personality; keeping me was a testament to his intelligence, because he'd seen right away that Dad was an expert in the war between the sexes. Okay, so it isn't really a war; it's more like different species. Dad speaks the language. Wyatt was learning.
Mom and I got everything ready for the grilling to start, all the while making more war plans— er , wedding plans—and when the men took over the pork chops we had a few minutes to rest. She'd found a dress online that she liked, which she'd ordered, and she showed it to me on the computer. I wasn't having any attendants, the wedding would be smaller and more informal than that, so I didn't have to deal with picking out bridesmaids dresses or anything like that, thank heavens. We looked some more for the gown I had in mind and
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