Brothers in Blue A Bryson Family Christmas - Jeanne St. James Page 0,2
their Christmas present to us. A whole day and a whole night alone.”
“Oh. My. God. Just the word alone makes me want to orgasm.” Her hand slipped beneath the sheet.
“I already did,” he said, wiggling his brows.
“Ohhh.” Her brow furrowed. “Wait. The parade later…”
“Yeah, well, I’ll be in it and you can hide from them. I’m sure we can find you some costume to wear so they don’t recognize you.”
Amanda laughed. “You know I’m using that for future blackmail.”
“I’ll deny it.” He slipped his hand under the covers and ran it down her arm until he found where hers was. It was exactly where he thought. “But you can’t deny me,” he whispered.
“Well, I can. But before I trade you in on a new model myself, I’d like a ride in the old one.”
“You may have to grease the rusty parts first.”
Her lips twitched. “Same here.”
For fuck’s sake, he loved his wife. When he first encountered her by giving her a citation in the municipal parking lot, he never, ever thought over a decade later, they’d have two kids and a dog. She had been a spoiled rich brat—even she’d admit it—whose life had been turned upside down when she got guardianship of her special needs adult brother.
Worse, she had frustrated the hell out of him. But as she matured right before his eyes, he fell deeply in love with her and realized he couldn’t live without her. Even though she pushed every one of his damn buttons. On purpose.
But now, she was a great mother, a successful small business owner and the perfect partner for him. Nobody could put up with his hardheadedness of being a cop and a retired Marine quite like her. Thank fuck she could.
He had been teasing when he said he wanted a third kid, but when he thought about it, Amanda being pregnant with his babies had been the most beautiful thing in the world.
Now those babies were no longer babies and were quickly developing into clones of their stubborn parents. At least they got it honestly.
Even so, life was good, and he was a lucky son of a bitch.
He was also about to get lucky with the woman who was pushing his hand between her legs. As if he needed encouragement. His finger slipped between her folds, finding her already wet.
He smiled.
“Do you want me to shower first?”
“Do you need to?” He hadn’t yet. He’d been too busy getting the kids and Greg packed up and ready to head to his parents’.
“Well, you know… It’s been a while since you’ve used your mouth and I just want to make sure you didn’t forget your technique.”
“It hasn’t been that long,” he scoffed.
She lifted a perfectly plucked brow. It should be perfectly plucked. She practically lived in one of the chairs at Manes on Main. Teddy probably put a bronze name plaque on one just for her.
“When was the last time?” she quizzed him.
He pursed his lips.
“Exactly,” she said on a Hannah huff.
“Welllllll… We could do it in the shower, come back to the bed to do it again, and then do it in the shower a third time before the parade.”
“And after the parade?”
“After the parade we are doing it on every surface on and in this fucking house.”
She laughed and patted his cheek. “Look at you. Such confidence you can do it that many times in twenty-four hours. Such lofty aspirations.”
“You’ll be asleep after number two.”
“I will not,” she insisted.
“Then you’ll have to forego any wine so you can make it to number three before you start snoring.”
“Oh no. Sex pairs perfectly with a nice red.”
He smiled. “Yes. A nice red, freshly spanked ass.” He licked the tip of an invisible pencil. “I’ll be putting that on the agenda.”
“Oh my God. Are we now those fuddy-duddy type people who have to make an agenda for sex? Did we turn into them? Whatever happened to spontaneity?”
“Well. Greg happened. Then Hannah. And finally, Oliver,” he reminded her.
“Mmm.”
He leaned close and whispered, “But none of them are here. So, why are we wasting time?”
“Good point.” She turned her head and gave him a quick kiss. “So, shower?”
“Remember the first time we were in that shower together?”
She pressed a fingertip to her lips. “You mean the night you purposely didn’t tell me I was eating Bambi’s dad?”
“That’s the one,” he answered. “We could recreate that. Minus the dinner.”
“As long as we don’t recreate the next morning. I was pretty pissed at you.”