Chapter 15
Golden ribbons of sunlight washed over Stan’s dark, powerful body as he rose above Prissy, midnight eyes boring into hers, face taut with passion as he thrust into her. His shaft was rock-hard and throbbing, driving inside her with deep, penetrating strokes that sent waves of white-hot ecstasy crashing over her.
“Oh, baby,” she panted breathlessly. “Right there, honey…ohhh, yes…yesss!”
She ran her hands down his strong back and dug her fingernails into the flexing muscles of his round butt, making him shudder and groan. His firm, sweaty stomach slapped against hers as he picked up the tempo, banging the headboard against the wall with the ferocity of his thrusts.
Prissy loved it when he took her like this. Rough, raw, no finesse. No mercy. And with their kids out of the house that morning, she had no shame or inhibitions. So she moaned wantonly and shouted encouragements to her husband, reveling in the way her dirty talk fueled his lust and hunger.
“You feel so good, sweetheart,” he groaned raggedly. “So fucking good.”
“So do you,” Prissy moaned, intoxicated by the animalistic sounds of lovemaking that echoed around the room, as heady as the carnal musk of their bodies that filled her senses.
As she watched, Stan lowered his mouth to her bouncing breasts, sucking her swollen nipples until she arched off the bed with a broken cry.
She tightened her slick thighs around his waist and frantically rocked her hips against him, matching his relentless rhythm until she erupted in an orgasm that tore a rapturous scream from her throat.
As her feminine muscles clenched fiercely around Stan’s engorged shaft, he swore savagely and wrapped her legs around his upper torso, giving him a deeper angle of penetration as he plunged harder and faster. Moments later he came with a hot burst of semen that exploded inside Prissy’s body.
He hung over her for several moments, chest heaving, muscled arms shaking as he supported his own weight.
Slowly easing her legs from around his chest—but keeping his thick shaft wedged inside her—Prissy curved her arms around his neck and brought his head down to hers for a deep, sensual kiss.
“I missed you,” Stan confessed in a husky whisper.
“Mmmm,” Prissy purred languorously. “I can tell.”
He chuckled, sucking her bottom lip before trailing lazy kisses to her throat. “Did you miss me?”
“Hmm, let me think—”
When he bit the sensitive side of her neck, she threw back her head and laughed. “Just kidding! Just kidding!”
“Tell me you missed me,” Stan commanded softly.
Prissy smiled. “I missed you, sweetheart. Do you even have to ask?”
He smiled into her eyes, tenderly brushing damp tendrils of hair off her face. “The boys and I took a vote, and we unanimously decided that you’re not allowed to go out of town anymore.”
“Is that so?” Prissy teased, nibbling his goateed chin. “Well, I think the school board might have something to say about that.”
“Too damn bad,” Stan growled.
Prissy laughed.
God knows she was in no hurry to leave on another business trip. She’d missed her family terribly, and her journey home had been long and stressful thanks to a violent thunderstorm that had delayed her flight three hours. By the time she’d arrived in Denver, she was beyond exhausted. But her fatigue had taken a backseat to the pure joy she’d felt when she saw her husband and sons waiting for her. They’d surrounded her, greeting her with rib-crushing bear hugs as other travelers looked on with envious smiles. As Manning grabbed her luggage and Stan clasped her hand, the others took turns vying for her attention, updating her on their weekend activities.
Prissy had been further delighted to return home to an immaculate house and a fragrant, home-cooked meal. After dinner, Stan had drawn her a hot bubble bath. When she fell asleep in the tub, he’d carried her to bed and spooned her for the rest of the night.
The next morning, the boys had served her breakfast in bed and kept her company until it was time for them to leave for school. When Stan returned from dropping off Manning, he’d wasted no time climbing back into bed with Prissy and having his wicked way with her.
What a homecoming, she mused now, cuddling closer to her husband’s warm, damp body. Since she’d taken the day off to rest and it was Stan’s last vacation day, they both wanted to make the most of their time together.
Which might not involve leaving the bed.
“So,” Prissy drawled, lazily rubbing the sole of her foot along Stan’s hard, muscular calf, “let’s recap what I missed over the weekend. Mason led his team to victory by scoring three touchdowns, Maddox’s loose tooth finally came out, Magnum beat you fair and square at poker, Monty finished his book report on your ancestor Bishop Wolf, and Manny was called on to bless the offering at church. Anything else I missed?”
“Nah,” Stan murmured, gently nipping at her breast. “That pretty much covers it.”
“Are you sure?”
He hesitated for a fraction of a second before lifting his dark head to meet her gaze. “I’m sure.”
Prissy searched his face. Although his expression betrayed nothing, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was keeping something from her.
“Any particular reason you decided to tack on two more weeks to Manny’s punishment? Especially when you’re the one who told me to go easy on him?”
Stan shrugged a shoulder. “I thought it over some more, and I decided that being grounded for a month, instead of two weeks, would make more of a statement.”
Prissy nodded slowly. “That’s a good point.”
Before she could comment further, Stan turned the tables on her. “So, did you see her before you left?”
Prissy didn’t have to ask whom he was referring to. Since Thursday night she’d been hoping and praying that he wouldn’t bring up Celeste, but she should have known better.
Several beats passed before she gave a small, defeated sigh. “Yes,” she admitted. “I saw her.”
Stan stared at her in surprise. “I thought you weren’t going to.”
“I wasn’t. But she called my hotel room and threatened to make a scene at my workshop if I didn’t agree to have dinner with her.”
“Typical,” Stan muttered with a snort of disgust.
Prissy said nothing.
“So what’d she have to say for herself?”
“Not much,” Prissy lied, ignoring a sharp pang of guilt at the thought of Celeste’s shocking confession. “We had dinner at a nice restaurant. The next afternoon, after the conference sessions had ended for the day, she took me shopping and sightseeing.”
“Did you see that fucking bastard?” Stan growled.
“Grant?” Prissy shook her head. “I refused to see him or the condo where they’re staying.”
Stan scowled, muttering a savage oath under his breath.
Not for the first time, Prissy marveled at the personality differences between Stan and his brother. Where Sterling was calm, even-tempered and longsuffering, Stan could be brash, broodingly intense and downright ruthless when provoked. There was little doubt in Prissy’s mind that Stan would have killed Grant Rutherford with his bare hands if he’d been in Sterling’s shoes.
“When is she gonna tell Sterl that she’s in Minnesota?” Stan demanded.
“When she’s ready.” As Stan opened his mouth to protest, Prissy pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. “We agreed not to interfere. Remember?”
“I know, but—”
“No ‘buts,’ honey. We had an agreement.”
Stan clenched his jaw tightly, his eyes glittering with anger and frustration. After several tense moments, he growled, “I’m giving her two weeks to tell Sterl that she’s in Minnesota.”
Prissy frowned. “But—”
“Two weeks, Pris. My brother and nephews are more important to me than that damn woman’s need for secrecy.”
Stan’s harsh tone and feral expression brooked no argument.
After studying him for a few moments, Prissy relented with a deep sigh. “I’ll call and let her know.”
Stan nodded curtly.
Prissy reached up, using her thumb to smooth the furrow between his brows. “You keep scowling like that,” she murmured, “and your face is going to freeze into a permanent scowl.”
Stan stared at her, the edges of his mouth twitching in amused recognition of the warning she often gave the boys when they were sulking.
“Uh-oh,” Prissy intoned, running her fingertip over his soft, full lips. “Is that a smile trying to wiggle free?”
He eyed her silently for a long moment. Then, without warning, he rolled away and pulled her on top of him.
Prissy laughed, blowing her disheveled hair out of her eyes. “Thanks,” she teased. “You were getting kinda heavy.”
Stan’s answering smile was distracted as he settled back against the soft mound of pillows and regarded her from beneath his thick black lashes. Sensing a shift in his mood, Prissy waited for him to speak.
Several seconds passed.
“Would you tell me if you were unhappy being married to me?”
Caught off guard by the question, Prissy stared down at him. “Where’d that come from?”
He didn’t answer.
And then she understood. “Ohhh, I see. This is about what happened between Sterling and Celeste, isn’t it?”
Stan gazed at her. “We were eighteen years old when we got married, Pris. We were crazy in love, but we knew nothing about the real world—buying a house, paying bills, raising a family. We’d never been on our own before, and then eleven months after we got hitched, along came Manny. You spent practically the first ten years of our marriage with child, or nursing a child.”
“And I don’t regret a single moment of that,” Prissy said earnestly. “I love each and every one of my precious babies. I love being the mother of your children, Stanton.”
His eyes probed hers. “You were one of the smartest kids at school, the class valedictorian. You could have gone to any college you wanted and become anything you wanted.”
Prissy smiled softly. “The last time I checked, having a family didn’t prevent me from earning a Ph.D. And you helped make that possible by adjusting your schedule at work and taking care of the boys so that I could study and attend school.” She gazed wonderingly at Stan. “I couldn’t have accomplished half of what I’ve accomplished without you by my side.”
As his expression softened, he caught her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles so tenderly that her throat constricted. “I love you,” he said huskily.
“I love you too, sweetheart,” Prissy whispered feelingly. “I could never regret marrying you. You’re the only man I’ve ever loved, the only man I’ve ever wanted. So you don’t ever have to worry about me walking out on you and our children. I’m not going anywhere.”
Sitting up, Stan cradled her cheek in his hand and kissed her—a deep, soul-shaking kiss that melted her from the inside out.
As they slowly drew apart, Prissy searched his glittering dark eyes. “Now it’s my turn to ask the question.”
“What question?”
She paused. “Would you tell me if you were unhappy being married to me?”
“That’s not even a possibility,” he said quietly, unequivocally. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Priscilla. I don’t know what I’d ever do without you in my life.”
Her heart soared. When he gazed at her like that and spoke with such love and devotion, her fears and misgivings dissolved. How could they not?
Leaning back against the pillows, Stan let his hands roam up her thighs, kneading and caressing her as he murmured, “What do you wanna do today, wife?”
Prissy smiled almost shyly. “Whatever you want. Doesn’t matter to me.”
“I thought we could have lunch at the Black Kettle,” he suggested, referencing the town’s only Native American restaurant, which had been named after a Cheyenne tribal chief who’d sacrificed his life to broker peace between Colorado’s white settlers and the Cheyenne people during the 1800s. The quaint, popular café was owned and operated by the family of one of Manning’s school friends.
“Mmm.” Prissy’s mouth watered at the thought of feasting on Indian fry bread stuffed with spicy chicken, black beans, cheese, red onions and salsa. “I’d love to have lunch there, but I promised myself I’d be good this week. I need to be able to squeeze into my dress for Saturday’s ball.”
“You will.” Gently grasping her hips, Stan eased her over his shaft so he could rub the blunt head against the tender folds of her sex.
Prissy shivered at the delicious sensation. “I will?”
“Umm-hmm. And I’ll help you.”
She licked her lips. “How?”
His eyes glinted wickedly. “By helping you burn off as many calories as possible.”
“How you gonna do that?” she purred.
Sliding into her wetness, he proceeded to show her just how.
After several more rounds of steamy lovemaking—which culminated in the shower—Stan and Prissy got dressed and ventured out for an early lunch at the Black Kettle, where they were greeted ceremoniously by members of the Navarro family, who ran the restaurant.
Since it was a balmy autumn day, Stan and Prissy decided to dine on the terrace to enjoy the breathtaking mountain views. When their fragrant meals were served, they sat close together, eating from each other’s plates and sipping from a large margarita glass for two.
After their plates had been discreetly cleared, they lingered to savor the beautiful, postcard-perfect scenery. Talking and laughing softly between stolen kisses, they made plans to go on a cruise next August to celebrate their sixteenth wedding anniversary. This, of course, led them to begin reminiscing about the special ways they’d commemorated the occasion over the years.
Even when money had been tight, they’d always made a big deal out of their anniversaries, leaving the kids with Sterling and Celeste or Prissy’s mother so that they could spend a romantic night at a hotel or enjoy an intimate candlelight dinner at home. And whenever their anniversary fell during the first week of school, Stan always had roses delivered to Prissy at work, making her the envy of her fellow teachers.
After leaving the Black Kettle that afternoon, they headed to one of their favorite parks and strolled hand in hand along the scenic lake. Not since the night in the Jacuzzi had Prissy felt so relaxed and utterly satiated. The look of lazy contentment on Stan’s face told her he felt the same way.
With two hours left until their sons got out of school, they decided to go bowling.
When they arrived, the bowling alley was nearly empty, so they pretty much had the place to themselves.
While Prissy was an average bowler, Stan was a master, throwing multiple strikes in a row with the skilled ease of a professional. Whenever their family had gone bowling with Sterling, Celeste, Michael and Marcus back in Atlanta, all the boys had vigorously lobbied to be on Stan’s team, because any team anchored by Stan usually won.
Over the next hour, Prissy laughed, groaned protestingly and thumped her head on the table as her husband made quick work of her, sailing to victory after two embarrassingly lopsided games. When she taunted him and talked trash in a pathetic attempt to throw him off his game, he merely laughed and pointed to the scorecard.
When he began their third match by knocking down nine pins, Prissy decided it was time to employ another strategy.
While Stan was waiting for his ball to be queued up, she unfastened the top four buttons of her fitted sweater, revealing enough cleavage to tantalize and distract without getting herself arrested for indecent exposure.
When Stan looked at her, she undid her ponytail and shook her hair loose, then combed her fingers through the thick, relaxed strands. As Stan watched her, she leaned across the table and plucked a cherry Tootsie Pop from the bowl of leftover Halloween candy. She unwrapped the lollipop and began licking it slowly and provocatively.
Stan was riveted.
“Better go before you forfeit your turn, baby,” she warned silkily.
He swallowed hard and nodded, then turned away. Prissy watched as he rolled the ball down the lane and narrowly—uncharacteristically—missed the spare pin.
When he turned and shot her an accusing look, she sighed dramatically. “Better luck next time.”
Stan scowled.
Smothering a triumphant grin, Prissy got up and started toward him, hips swaying as she sucked the Tootsie Pop. Stan’s dark eyes glittered with hunger as he stared at her mouth and the plump swell of her cleavage.
As they approached each other, she slid the lollipop out of her mouth and gave it one last flick of her tongue, then held it out to Stan. “Could you hold this for me?”
“With pleasure.” As he eased the glistening lollipop between his lips, her nipples hardened. Ignoring her body’s traitorous reaction, she gave him a sultry smile and swatted him on the backside as she strolled past.
After picking up her ball, she took her sweet time perfecting her stance at the line and targeting her desired arrow. Stealing a glance over her shoulder, she saw that Stan was staring fixedly at her ass.
Hiding a satisfied smile, Prissy turned back, leaned forward and wiggled her butt before releasing the ball. It traveled down the middle of the lane and struck eight pins with a satisfying thwack!
Prissy cheered and pumped her fist. Her luck was changing already.
Or so she thought.
The next time she rolled the ball, she came up empty.
“Damn,” she grumbled.
As Stan sauntered past her, he leaned down and taunted softly, “Better luck next time.”
Prissy sucked her teeth, glaring at him. “Can I have my lollipop back?”
“Nah,” he drawled. “It’s mine now.”
She couldn’t help but laugh.
As he prepared to take his turn, she sidled over to him in flagrant disregard of bowling etiquette. Just as he was about to release the ball, she leaned close and whispered in his ear, “That’s okay. I’ll find something better to suck on later.”
He jerked and lost his aim, pitching the ball down the gutter.
Prissy threw back her head and laughed.
Stan scowled, snatching the lollipop out of his mouth and jabbing it at her. “That was real dirty.”
She shrugged, grinning impenitently as she sashayed back to her chair. “It’s not my fault you have lousy concentration.”
“Lousy concentration?”
“Yup.”
Chuckling and shaking his head, Stan picked up his ball and returned to his starting position on the lane. “I got your lousy concentration right here.”
Of course he retaliated with—what else?—a strike.
Prissy glared at him as he made an exaggerated show of buffing his nails on his shirtfront as he swaggered over to her and sat down.
“You know,” she said imperiously, “it’s rather ungentlemanly of you to gloat while beating me with absolutely no regard for my feelings.”
“Oh?” His eyes glinted with amused challenge. “And is it unladylike of you to gloat for days whenever you beat me at tennis?”
That shut her up.
“That’s what I thought,” Stan said with a laugh, polishing off the lollipop and discarding the stick. “Your turn, woman.”
When Prissy’s next roll resulted in a split, she groaned loudly with frustration. “Aw, man, I can never get those.”
Stan tsk-tsked. “Not with that attitude,” he chided, recording her score on the card.
Prissy eyed him plaintively. “Can you help me, baby?”
“What?” He laughed. “Hell, nah, I can’t help you.”
She pouted. “Why not?”
“Because you’re my opponent. Why would I help you improve your score and cut into my lead, especially after you just tried to sabotage me?” He shook his head, a broad grin sweeping across his handsome face. “Sorry. No can do.”
“Come on, Stanny,” she wheedled, using her pet nickname for him. “Just show me how to pick up the spare.”
Leaning back against his chair, Stan deliberately folded his arms across his broad chest, stretched out his long legs and crossed his booted feet at the ankles. “Nope.”
Prissy batted her lashes and pouted her lips, doing her best impersonation of a temptress in distress. “Pretty please?” she cooed. “With lots of sugar and chocolate drizzled on top?”
Stan looked at her, lips quirking as he valiantly fought the tug of a grin.
“Please, baby? Pleeeaaase?”
Heaving an exaggerated sigh of exasperation, he stood and sauntered over to her.
Prissy smiled at him as he positioned himself behind her, the heat of his big body instantly penetrating hers.
“Okay, wife,” he drawled, the deep, velvety timbre of his voice making her shiver. “You wanna hit the number three pin so your ball will deflect into the number ten pin. So you need to aim for the seventh arrow to your right.”
Prissy nodded, heat sizzling through her veins as he adjusted her feet on the floor and gently guided her arm through the swinging motion.
“Like that,” he murmured. “See?”
“Mmm.” Some naughty impulse made her lean back, pressing her backside into his groin. His breath quickened and his hand tightened on her hip, pulling her closer. Her clit pulsed and tingled at the feel of his hard, heavy shaft nestled between her butt cheeks.
A wicked smile curved her mouth. “How do I get my ball to hook like yours does?”
“It’s all in the wrist and follow through.” Stan’s voice was rough with arousal as he nuzzled the sensitive skin behind her ear, sending delicious shivers through her. “If you don’t hold and release the ball properly, you won’t get enough spin on it.”
“Hmm.” Prissy turned, holding out her nine-pounder to him. “Show me.”
“I can’t, babe. My fingers won’t fit inside your holes.”
They looked at each other, then burst out laughing like a couple of dirty-minded adolescents.
When their mirth subsided, Stan pointedly cleared his throat before continuing, “Anyway, you only wanna hook the ball on your first throw. To pick up the spare, it’s best to throw a straight ball ’cause if you spin it too much you won’t hit the pins.” He guided Prissy through the swinging motion again, then stepped back with obvious reluctance. “Now try it.”
She took a deep breath, then moved into position, aimed for the seventh arrow and released the ball. She and Stan watched as it rolled down the lane and knocked over the spare pins.
“YES!” Squealing triumphantly, Prissy jumped up and down, then turned and leaped into Stan’s arms. He laughed, lifting her off the floor as she threw her legs around his waist and smooched him on the lips.
When Stan sank his hands into her hair and deepened the kiss, Prissy purred softly. Their tongues met, doing a sensual tango inside each other’s mouths until they were interrupted by a series of wolf whistles.
They broke apart and glanced around, encountering the amused stares of a group of senior citizens watching them from several lanes away. One of the old men winked at Stan and growled, “Go get ’em, tiger.”
Prissy blushed as Stan laughed. Kissing the tip of her nose, he murmured, “Let’s go home.”
She smiled shyly. “Good idea.”
After returning their rented shoes and paying for their games, they raced back to the truck, hopped inside, and began kissing and necking like a pair of horny teenagers.
As the windows fogged up, Stan grabbed Prissy and dragged her across the console and onto his lap. The steely ridge of his erection against her belly jolted her back to sanity.
Stan groaned protestingly as she broke their fevered kiss and scuttled back to her seat, giggling breathlessly as she glanced around the near-empty parking lot.
“We’re gonna mess around and get ourselves arrested,” she panted.
Stan grinned wolfishly. “I can’t think of a better reason to go to jail, can you?”
She laughed. “The kids will be let out of school soon, so we’d better get going.”
“Good idea,” Stan agreed, twisting the key in the ignition. “If we hurry back, we’ll have time for a quickie before they get home.”
Again Prissy laughed, shivering with arousal.
As they rode home holding hands and exchanging heated looks, she almost convinced herself that nothing could ever come between them.