PARKER SULLIVAN WAS a sex god.
A wicked, slightly perverted, big cock wagging sex god.
Her pussy quivered at the thought.
That was all it took. One thought and Angie became a cock-seeking missile.
Her laughter bounced off the tile walls of the playground-size stall with the super convenient bench seat that seemed tailor-made for shower fucking.
Adjusting the temperature of the water, she watched as the space filled with steam. Using a pouf covered in bubbles made from Parker’s body wash, Angie sighed with pleasure as she glided it up and down her body. She loved being surrounded by a scent associated with the handsome hunk of hot lawyer loving she married.
As if she conjured him into the shower room just by thinking about him, Parker appeared just outside the reach of the spray, lounging against a tile wall. He was looking at her curiously.
“What’s the deal, honey? You run out of soap?”
Oh, god. Caught red-handed with a pouf full of suds. Angie giggled softly and made a wry face.
“It’s like having you on my skin.” She shrugged and worried her lip. “Is it a bit stalkerish and creepy?”
His hearty laugh filled the room. “It’s adorable. I just came in to tell you the staff will be here in five. Don’t come out of the bedroom till I say so, okay?”
“Can you issue that demand with a kiss? Please?”
He crooked his finger. “Don’t get me wet.”
She leaned in and claimed his lips in a delicious kiss.
“Thank you,” she purred when he stepped back.
Mr. Pervert Von Cock-Wag McSex-God gave her a smirk and a lecherous wink and drawled, “No clothes,” as he left the shower room.
Muttering to herself after watching his swaggering butt walk away, she rinsed off and kept up a running commentary at the same time.
“Can’t wait to see what else he has on his filthy mind.”
She stuck her face in the stream of water and then swiped a hand from brow to chin.
“Didn’t he say something about sundaes?
“Round two? How many rounds did he have planned?
“Damn. My nipples are sore.
“Hope the staff hurries.”
She did a final slow turn under the spray, did some shower stretches now that she was warmed up, and then finished.
While she was drying her hair, Angie kept catching the glint from her wedding rings.
Oh, my god, she thought. I’m married to Parker Sullivan.
It occurred to her while she was rubbing moisturizer onto her neck and chest that when her thirtieth birthday rolled around in a few short months, there was a damn good chance she’d not only be married but pregnant too.
Emotion swamped her so quickly that she had to stop and sit down. All her dreams were coming true.
Glancing at the doorway Parker had left through, she thought about his dreams. All of this had been part of his most wished-for outcome of their rocky relationship.
The wedding, their honeymoon, the endless gifts and how he’d orchestrated every minute—it dawned on Angie that he must have been thinking and planning for months.
Every time she thought there was no way she could love him more, she found more. More love. More respect. More profound gratitude.
Her husband was too wonderful for words. His love was more than a word or concept. She felt it in everything he did and said. It would be her greatest pleasure to be by his side, taking care of her kinky lawyer husband in the years ahead, and God willing, giving him the family he longed for.
On cue, she heard his muffled laughter. He was probably charming the sarong off one of the ladies or talking up the male staff.
Angie snickered, thinking about the many times this past year she’d been the focus of a jealous glare. Women queued up for a sample of her man’s swoonish virility. So did the guys who either wanted to be him or try to seduce him to their team.
“Good luck with that.” She giggled softly.
She paced in the shower room, anxious to be with him, but he’d told her to wait for the all clear from him, and when her big, bad alpha caveman issued a command, she obeyed.
Most of the time.
Needing something to do, she went searching for her journal in the pile of their stuff. She found it, was glad the pen was still in place as a bookmark, and started to turn away when she saw the corner of his chronicle.
Should she?
The internal debate was a short one. Of course, she should. He said it was okay, so Angie grabbed the black leather journal and took a seat on the floor of the dressing room with both books.
When she was a kid, she and Sophie used to play with a little book their mom had called a “Ladies’ Oracle.” The idea was to think of a question and then open the book to whatever random page felt right to find the answer. Using the same approach, she let the universe guide the selection and opened the journal to the landing page.
Parker’s distinctive scrawl made her smile. He wrote the same way he acted. Big, bold, and impressive.
The summer you turned ten years old, my parents took you to the Hollywood Bowl. Alex and I were home from college and had a major fit that you got the California outing while we were stuck sweating our balls off in the Arizona heat. It’s funny thinking about it now. My dad told me to buck up and stop bitching—that you were like a daughter to them and they’d done the same thing for Sophie.
You went to a movie night concert with the Bowl orchestra playing the film score. I don’t recall the movie. I only remember how you lit up like Times Square when you described every note.
I think that was when the idea for Desert Thunder started percolating in my mind. I was jealous of the fucking orchestra because of your enthusiasm. I wanted you to be that joyful about me. Alex and I had always played in a band—sometimes with others, sometimes fucking around. But that was when I got serious and all because of you.
During the long, lonely years when we were apart, Thunder was a subconscious connection to you. Luring your brother in once Meghan came into the picture and moved him from semi-invalid to the old Alex was part of that neediness.
You’re my muse, Angelina. Whenever I play, it’s for you. Always.
Wow. He’d written a lot between the lines, but she understood and took it all to heart. She loved music because of her mother and Parker. Something special happened whenever her mother played or sang, and something magical came over her when Angie sang with Parker. It hadn’t ever occurred to her that when he played or performed, it was because of her.
She was in such deep thought that she didn’t realize he’d come into the room.
“Honey?”
She looked up. He had the cutest expression on his face. Catching her reading his thoughts must have thrown him, judging by the shadow of uncertainty she saw in his eyes.
Closing the leather-bound journal, she let loose with an audible sigh and clutched it to her naked breasts.
“I want a Desert Thunder t-shirt.”
A slow, wobbly grin started at one corner of his mouth and spread. When it reached shit-eating territory, it changed to a smirk.
“Hold on,” her husband drawled with a good deal of mock sarcasm. “Are you telling me you don’t have one? For real? My girlfriend-fiancée-sub-wife doesn’t have a whole drawer full of them? Fuck, Angie. Some groupie you turned out to be.”
Good comeback. She was impressed and let her face say so. But she also had a smirky response.
“Excuse me but how many Valleja Winery t-shirts do you have? I do your damn laundry and have never seen one.” She sniffed with phony outrage and said, “So there.”
Parker chuckle-sneered. He was really good at it. Especially when he was playing pirate.
“Uh, I think you’re right on the edge.”
She blinked and made a face. “Edge of what?”
“A demerit or two.”
The bark of laughter that shot from her gut and bounced off the walls told him what she thought.
She waved her hand. “Help me up.”
He arched a brow, and she laughed.
“Please.”
He gave a healthy yank and got her upright. She kissed his lips and marched away to put their journals back in the pile.
“You’re overdressed,” she told him teasingly.
“Then perhaps my wife should take me in hand. Do something about it.”
Oh, she’d take him in hand all right!
With wifely efficiency, Angie wasted no time stripping her big, hunky husband naked. He talked while she worked—explaining a whole lot of nothing about the resort staff and whatever transpired when he’d spoken to them. She wasn’t listening.
When he was gloriously naked, she did as he asked and took him in hand. They both watched as she wrapped her fingers around his thick cock and fondled him like a piece of delicate china.
It was ridiculously easy to get into playing with his body, and she did until a wayward thought burst into her brain.
“Wait! Did the ice cream come? It did, didn’t it?”
Suddenly pushing him aside, she took off in a fast sprint for the kitchen. She wanted some goddamn ice cream!
Parker’s wicked laugh nipped at her heels as she took off.
“Ditched already? Jeez, Angel. I’m wounded.”
She clapped her hands and shouted at him when she found the old-time ice-cream cart parked in the middle of the big kitchen.
“Are you serious? Parker! Hurry.”
Peeking into the cart, she found tubs of chocolate and vanilla ice cream and so many toppings her mind whirled.
“Candied pecans? Oh, lord.” She popped one into her mouth and groaned with the first crunchy bite as the delicious nutty sweetness exploded on her tongue.
He approached her, moving his powerful, muscled body with masculine grace. She took in his mouthwatering virility and was aware of her body’s response. He called to her just by being close.
“This is Meghan’s fault,” she told him. “Her and that damn ice-cream maker.”
Parker made a disbelieving face. “Save it for someone who hasn’t known you your whole life. Aren’t you the only Marquez to get detention for double dipping the ice-cream lady? Two for one, wasn’t it?”
Flipping her hair, she eyed him with dry amusement. Something sweet and magical about his humor filled her with joy.
“You know too much,” she chided.
Deep, husky laughter floated up from his throat and hung on the air.
“Right back atcha, baby girl.”
“Stop yammering, big guy. Someone promised his exhausted wife some freakin’ ice cream. Before round two, I believe was how you put it.”
“Why, princess”—he sniggered on a courtly but very mocking bow—“I told you there’d be begging.”
“I am not begging,” she pointedly announced with all the outraged ex-virgin captive snark she could put on it. “You’re going to do it anyway. I’d just like some ice cream beforehand if you don’t mind.”
His eyes sparkled with sexy amusement. “Do what?”
“Huh?”
He shrugged and subjected her to an outrageous visual inspection. “You said I would do it anyway. I’m asking do what, princess? What am I going to do?”
Boy! Had she ever walked into that one. She covered her mouth and coughed to hide an involuntary smirk.
Refusing to look at his face, she studied a blank space behind him when she answered.
“You’re going to have sex with me.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “No, I’m not.” He scoffed with an abundance of amusement. “Pirates don’t have sex,” he pointed out with snarky emphasis. “Unless you want me to make you beg, princess, I suggest you answer my question accurately. What am I going to do?”
The question was one hundred percent Parker Sullivan. He didn’t need a pirate persona to be wicked.
His eyes raked boldly over her, and she struggled to ease back on the dizzying sexual current racing through her. Without being touched, she experienced a rousing melting tingle within that quickened Angie’s breathing.
She mumbled an answer and hid behind her hair.
He tugged on a curl and chuckled. “Too late for shyness, princess. I see you staring at my cock. Remembering how it felt inside you.”
She gasped and stomped her foot. “Why do you have to be so crude?”
“Because you like crude. It makes you wet.”
Blushing wasn’t something you just ordered up, so when her full body bloomed with a pink flush, it was real. He wasn’t kidding.
“Now say the dirty words, princess. Say what I’m most definitely going to do to you.”
“You’re going to fuck me, okay? Is that what you wanted? There! I said it. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Pirates fuck. I got it, believe me.” She tried to say it dismissively, but it didn’t matter. He just grinned broader with every fuck.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it? I want you to use the right words when you tell the king what I did to you. There was no sex involved. I fucked you. Every chance I got. And you liked it.”
“Did not,” she muttered.
“Tell that to your pussy!”
“Shut up,” she growled.
“On that note”—he smirked—“one ice-cream sundae coming up.”
He switched gears incredibly fast, leaving her to catch up when what she wanted was to climb him like a damn tree and do naughty things. Very naughty things.
Acting like a carnival clown, he made her an over-the-top sundae that was so nutritionally bankrupt it was probably illegal in some countries. Ice cream, fudge sauce, candied nuts, M&Ms, toffee chips, brownie chunks, crushed pineapple, whipped cream, caramel, a bit of banana, and extra cherries.
It was disgusting, and she savored every spoonful. In the middle of a sloppy mouthful, she caught him looking at her, and for a long moment, she couldn’t remember ever seeing him so happy.
He was having fun!
She nearly had a spontaneous orgasm when a detonation of pure delight exploded inside her.
Tonight was about fun.
She licked a glob of caramel off her lips and went with the flow.
He hoped this wasn’t his death-by-chocolate swan song because the combination of his wife’s deliriously happy manner plus a bucket of chocolate everything was seriously addicting.
Did he give a shit about too much sugar and calories in the sundaes they were inhaling? Nope. Not when her sapphire eyes twinkled with undiluted pleasure.
Milk chocolate, champagne, and ice cream—surefire ways to his lady’s heart, and that was all he cared about.
With her face flushed pink, she wore a mask of concentration as she tried to clean up. Angie’s natural beauty overwhelmed him at times. She was licking the corners of her mouth wearing an adorable frown.
This was one of the countless things he loved about her. One minute, she was as playful and energetic as a young girl, and the next, she could be a confident, composed woman. A woman who exuded a powerful natural presence.
But tonight was about indulging her playful side.
Parker mentally stepped back from the near constant seduction he subjected her to and concentrated on keeping things light. Despite wanting to remove a smudge of chocolate under her lower lip with his thumb so she could suck it off, he controlled himself. Plenty of time for that later.
She tried to help him clean up after they’d eaten a trough of ice cream, but he waved her off. After an inspiration lightning bolt, he asked her to grab the guitar and sing while he tidied up the mess.
He took a snapshot in his mind of how stunningly beautiful his wife was as she sat on a high stool, crossed her legs, and covered her nakedness with the guitar across her lap. She winked at him and strummed while she decided what to sing.
Inside his head, he did a geeky touchdown dance of happiness when she started humming. The song was fucking perfect—just like her.
Aunt Ash would be proud. So too his mom. They loved every sixties song—hands down—and would approve of “Dream a Little Dream” made famous by The Mamas & the Papas.
And she sang it beautifully. His wife’s husky vocal did Mama Cass proud.
He joined her as soon as he finished and took the guitar when she handed it to him.
“Your turn.”
He sat on the sofa and motioned for her to sit next to him.
“My dad always said it’s good to have a Marvin song for most every occasion.”
She laughed and playfully shoved him with her shoulder. “Dad uses Marvin Gaye on Mom, too.”
“Great!” He chuckled. “Family tradition then.”
Leaning over for a quick, wet kiss, he pulled back and murmured, “Marvin and me. ‘Too Busy Thinking About My Baby.’”
His exuberant wife made it through half of the song before she got up and started to dance. She was gloriously naked, and the movements did the usual things to his dick.
Time to move things along before he bent her over the sofa and slam fucked her for the hell of it.
Losing the guitar after the last notes faded, Parker stood and took her hand to led them onto the big deck where the next part of the evening’s fun awaited.
“Oooh, what’s this?” she exclaimed as the setup came into view.
“Body paint,” he explained. “Nontoxic, edible body paint. Guaranteed not to stain.”
The edible got her attention.
“Really?” she asked with her brows arched high. “What do you have in mind, Counselor?”
“Check it out,” he told her.
She left his side and stooped over one of the paint trays. Two trays held several large pots of body paint. What made this creative and not just kinky was that each setup corresponded to a famous work of art depicted in a paint-by-number pattern on a body outline.
One was Starry Night and the other a colorful design from a modern artist he knew she admired—Leonid Afremov.
A large cloth tarp was stretched out across a large portion of the deck.
They set to work. He painted her first with the Starry Night pattern. Then she made an Afremov design on him. Instead of licking the paints off, they got silly and rolled around on the tarp. What they made was pretty cool. He wanted to take it home and hang the tarp above their bed like a canvas until Angie wisely pointed out it wasn’t created with paint and would therefore not last. He made her promise not to mess with it until he had a chance to take some pictures.
A lovely swim in the calm, warm water took care of cleaning them up.
They played tag on the way from the water back to the house, and he remembered why she always won the game. Angie was a master tactician, like her damn brother, and seemed to know whether he’d zig or zag and be prepared to dart the other way.
On the house’s deck, she wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe. “This has been perfect. I don’t want to leave.” Her voice was thick with emotion.
She kissed him with loving tenderness. His heart melted, and he held her.
“We’re just getting started, baby girl,” he told her with a soft kiss on her forehead. “I’m hoping you’ll carry this place in your heart when we go tomorrow. That way, we aren’t really leaving.”
She turned, wrapped his arms tight around her middle, and snuggled her back against his front. He rested his chin on her head and took in the beautiful view. He wanted to remember this place forever.
It was a lovely, sentimental moment, and then his wife’s true nature had a giggle.
“We don’t have any tan lines.”
She sounded so pleased that he laughed. “Thank you for the dick sunscreen.”
Angie’s amused snort rang out. “It would have sucked if your baby-maker got sidelined. Somebody had to keep it together.”
At her reminder of the hoped-for consequences of the off-the-charts lovemaking they’d engaged in, Parker slid his hand to cover her stomach.
She tilted her head up and smiled. “I want a naughty little boy with a Sullivan smirk.”
“And I want a beautiful baby angel with her mother’s sapphire eyes.”
She suddenly glared at him and groused, “I’ll kill you if you put twins in me. Please don’t be an overachiever like my butthead brother.”
He sniggered. “Oh, didn’t you know? I’m programming for triplets. Can’t have that dickhead do something better than me.”
Her supersonic comeback knocked him for a loop and demonstrated why he had to stay on his toes around her. She was fucking quick and smart.
“Oh!” She scoffed and pushed out of his hold. “So you ARE using me to breed your little Jedis.”
He sputtered with shock. “What? Oh jeez, Angie. Please don’t use that word. I’m serious about Alex making me into a eunuch.”
She gave him a smug little smirk and patted his chest. “Just so we’re clear about having one kid at a time.”
“I don’t think we get a say.”
Her frown when his logic canceled her snark was a blue ribbon winner.
“Well, then,” she pithily growled. “Guess you’ll have to catch me first.”
She shoved and ran in the same movement and left him standing there wondering how the hell she moved that fast.
He chased her around the house while she performed some next level acrobatics, vaulting over furniture and using everything not nailed down as a prop. The only reason he caught her was because she started to laugh when he began acting out his caveman. Swinging his arms and pounding his chest like the king of the jungle, he knuckle-dragged and stomped until she fell apart with laughter.
She was trying to bolt when his arm shot out and grabbed her around the waist. Her feet left the floor, and she shrieked with alarm. Parker wasted no time throwing her over his shoulder. She laughed and struggled while he lumbered toward their honeymoon bed doing his best lecherous Neanderthal with sex on the brain.
He followed when he tossed her on the bed, grunted, and immediately put his face between her legs. She smelled so fucking good that he lost no time devouring her pussy with greedy pleasure.
With his caveman unleashed, Parker took them on a no-holds-barred journey of avaricious carnality that pleased him greatly. She fed his hunger and surrendered to the power of his loving.
The first time she came, he just kept on going—never letting up until he had her on the crest of another tremendous climax. When they started, his intention wasn’t to lose control, but he did, and before long, his cock was pounding away. He couldn’t be bothered when his foot tangled in the bedclothes until he tried to move a certain way, and they went tumbling off the bed.
Two seconds after he thudded to the floor on his back with Angie impaled on his cock, they cracked up laughing and didn’t stop. They made inappropriate jokes and kept each other laughing as the pounding continued. In a moment of sheer perfection, they got off together. It was the first time in his life he was laughing as he came.
It seriously could not have been a better way to end their night.