time to get a few things in order before her oh-so important husband arrived home for what promised to be a very interesting evening. After all, she’d been fantasising for a very long time…
* * * *
Nine?
Her husband clearly needed a new watch.
It was already half past and she’d seen neither hide nor hair of him.
Impatience hammered inside her, and her pissy mood matched that of the weather. It was raining. And it wasn’t a good long soak or a gentle drizzle. Nope. It was a miserable, cold, in-your-face rain. It gnawed at your fingers and bit at your ears.
Which was why she went to the front door and locked it. For good measure, she latched the safety chain.
Less than a quarter of an hour later, she heard the doorknob jangle, then a key sliding into the lock. Then the thud as the door didn’t open more than a handful of centimetres.
“Crikey. Beth!”
She stayed where she was, arms folded across her chest, shoulders propped against the wall, one leg bent at the knee, high-heeled shoe also on the wall.
He rang the doorbell a couple of times. And then another few times with quick jabs of his finger.
“Beth!” he shouted through the small opening, “You must have latched the door.”
He didn’t have a university education for nothing, now did he?
A few seconds later, she took pity on him. “Hang about,” she shouted. “I’ll have you inside in less than a jiff,” she said, looking at him through the small opening. She closed the door. It took her a couple of moments longer than absolutely necessary to release the safety latch. “Oh my word! You’re soaked through.”
His umbrella had all but turned inside out in the wind. His raincoat was drenched. His saturated leather briefcase dripped water.
Poor thing.
She closed the door behind him and said, “Let me help with that.” She took his brolly and shook the water from it before putting it in the umbrella stand. Then she helped him take off his raincoat. She hung it on the wooden coat tree and watched the puddle it made on the ceramic tiles.
He was still all deliciously professional, if a little worse for the wear. His dove grey suit was ready for the dry cleaners, and his white, button-down shirt was limp.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said. “I thought about you all day. Couldn’t wait to get home.”
“I’ve been anxiously waiting. Counting the minutes.” Standing on her toes, she linked her arms around his neck and leaned into him.
“You’ll get wet,” he warned.
“I’ll get you.” She nipped at his lower lip. “That’s worth any sacrifice.” Reaching up a little farther, she dug her fingers into his damp hair, pulling it slightly and holding him steady for her kiss.
“Didn’t know I married a tigress.”
“You’re about to find out.” She nipped his lower lip with even more intensity. He gasped and she took the opportunity to seek his tongue.
She kissed him deeply, passionately, demanding his attention, commanding his response.
Then, lowering her arms, she reached between them to grab his cock.
“Beth…?” The word was muffled between them.
His cock, which had been mostly soft, began to harden. She squeezed it tighter. He groaned.
Slowly she ended the kiss. “Let me pour you a whisky.”
“I…” He dragged his hand through his own hair.
She must be getting to him already.
“Damn… I want to spend time with you.” He took hold of her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. “But I brought home about two hours worth of work.”
“It will wait.”
“I’m due in court—”
She squeezed his cock harder. “You didn’t hear me correctly?”
He scowled. She’d thrown her unflappable husband off stride. In the past, she might have pleaded. Or worse, pouted. But that had gotten her a whole lot of nowhere. “You’ll have a whisky,” she repeated. “In the
* * * *
Nine?
Her husband clearly needed a new watch.
It was already half past and she’d seen neither hide nor hair of him.
Impatience hammered inside her, and her pissy mood matched that of the weather. It was raining. And it wasn’t a good long soak or a gentle drizzle. Nope. It was a miserable, cold, in-your-face rain. It gnawed at your fingers and bit at your ears.
Which was why she went to the front door and locked it. For good measure, she latched the safety chain.
Less than a quarter of an hour later, she heard the doorknob jangle, then a key sliding into the lock. Then the thud as the door didn’t open more than a handful of centimetres.
“Crikey. Beth!”
She stayed where she was, arms folded across her chest, shoulders propped against the wall, one leg bent at the knee, high-heeled shoe also on the wall.
He rang the doorbell a couple of times. And then another few times with quick jabs of his finger.
“Beth!” he shouted through the small opening, “You must have latched the door.”
He didn’t have a university education for nothing, now did he?
A few seconds later, she took pity on him. “Hang about,” she shouted. “I’ll have you inside in less than a jiff,” she said, looking at him through the small opening. She closed the door. It took her a couple of moments longer than absolutely necessary to release the safety latch. “Oh my word! You’re soaked through.”
His umbrella had all but turned inside out in the wind. His raincoat was drenched. His saturated leather briefcase dripped water.
Poor thing.
She closed the door behind him and said, “Let me help with that.” She took his brolly and shook the water from it before putting it in the umbrella stand. Then she helped him take off his raincoat. She hung it on the wooden coat tree and watched the puddle it made on the ceramic tiles.
He was still all deliciously professional, if a little worse for the wear. His dove grey suit was ready for the dry cleaners, and his white, button-down shirt was limp.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said. “I thought about you all day. Couldn’t wait to get home.”
“I’ve been anxiously waiting. Counting the minutes.” Standing on her toes, she linked her arms around his neck and leaned into him.
“You’ll get wet,” he warned.
“I’ll get you.” She nipped at his lower lip. “That’s worth any sacrifice.” Reaching up a little farther, she dug her fingers into his damp hair, pulling it slightly and holding him steady for her kiss.
“Didn’t know I married a tigress.”
“You’re about to find out.” She nipped his lower lip with even more intensity. He gasped and she took the opportunity to seek his tongue.
She kissed him deeply, passionately, demanding his attention, commanding his response.
Then, lowering her arms, she reached between them to grab his cock.
“Beth…?” The word was muffled between them.
His cock, which had been mostly soft, began to harden. She squeezed it tighter. He groaned.
Slowly she ended the kiss. “Let me pour you a whisky.”
“I…” He dragged his hand through his own hair.
She must be getting to him already.
“Damn… I want to spend time with you.” He took hold of her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. “But I brought home about two hours worth of work.”
“It will wait.”
“I’m due in court—”
She squeezed his cock harder. “You didn’t hear me correctly?”
He scowled. She’d thrown her unflappable husband off stride. In the past, she might have pleaded. Or worse, pouted. But that had gotten her a whole lot of nowhere. “You’ll have a whisky,” she repeated. “In the
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