To be taken.
He read her signals, was fluent in her body language, and he grasped her wrists, pinning her tight, controlling her pleasure with the restraint of his strong body, his hands keeping her immobile.
Like that, she wrapped her legs tightly around his hips, hooking her ankles together, bound to him. She was tied to his pleasure, to his body, to his love. And he gave her all that she wanted, because he knew what she needed.
Him. Every night.
Tonight, he took her, making love like he was fucking her, and fucking her like it was making love. What it was . . . was a gift. A gift of sex, of connection, of the rarest physical delight.
They couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and there was nothing at all routine about how her husband sent her into a wild frenzy that night, bringing her the most wondrous pleasure as she climaxed, and he joined her in the sweet oblivion of their hot bliss.
12
“Do you want peanut butter?”
His daughter stared at him with wide hazel eyes as he made her lunch for gymnastics camp a few days later.
“Well? Is that a yes? Do you want peanut butter today for your lunch?” he asked, holding the jar of organic peanut butter in one hand as he stood by the open fridge door.
“Someone does,” Carly whispered.
Her eyes drifted right, then down, as if she had a secret. He followed her gaze, and a smile tugged at his lips.
Ace thumped his black and white tail against the tiled floor of the kitchen. His head was cocked, his ears were floppy, and he was rocking his best rendition of “I’m so good, please feed me now.”
“He loves peanut butter.”
“Who doesn’t love peanut butter? It’s pretty much one of the greatest foods ever made,” Clay said, gesturing to his black and white pooch, eagerly awaiting a dollop of canine crack.
“Can I give it to him?” Carly asked eagerly.
Clay closed the fridge, opened a drawer, and handed a spoon to his daughter. “Just a small amount. But ask him to do something first. Have him shake.”
“He loves to shake paws,” Carly said, excitement threaded in her tone as she took the jar. Studying her serving carefully, she scooped out a small amount then kneeled on the floor in front of the dog. “Shake, Ace,” she said to him in her most serious dog-trainer voice. The border collie mix held out a furry paw. Carly shook it, then let him lick the peanut butter from the spoon, his long tongue working overtime on the mission.
“Daddy, who invented peanut butter?” she asked, as she dropped the spoon in the sink.
Grabbing a knife, Clay spread the peanut butter on a slice of bread. “The smartest person ever. Can you imagine if I invented peanut butter? I’d never have to work again. I’d be hailed as the Greatest Inventor of All Time.”
She flung her arms around his waist. “I think you’re the greatest dad of all time instead,” she declared, and if that didn’t make his heart go pitter-patter, he wasn’t sure anything ever would. He set the food down on the counter and picked up his girl, wrapping her in a big hug.
“And you are the sweetest, smartest, kindest, most amazing girl of all time. And your dad loves you like crazy,” he said, then peppered her cheeks with tiny kisses.
She giggled and yanked her head back. “You’re not scratchy today.”
He ran a free hand over his jaw, clean-shaven since it was morning. “I’m a working man today. Heading to the office, so I have to look presentable.”
“You look handsome,” she declared, and he scanned his attire quickly—charcoal gray slacks, a striped button-down shirt, and a red tie.
“Why thank you very much,” he said with a little bow as he plopped her on the floor.
“Can I have honey on my peanut butter sandwich?”
He laughed lightly at the innocent way she asked. Six years old and she already knew how to work him. A compliment, a sweet word, a hug, and he melted in her little hand.
“Of course you can have honey, honey,” he told her, then proceeded to make her what he declared would be the tastiest sandwich she’d ever had, before he packed it in her bag, along with two tangerines and a yogurt.
“Ready?”
Carly nodded and took the lunch bag. Her hazel eyes sparked, and she grabbed the cuff of his shirt. “Daddy! I had an idea. Since peanut butter is so good, why don’t we tell Mommy to make a drink with it? That way she can beat that guy.”
“A peanut butter drink?”
“Yes. I bet that would win easily.”
“I’ll have to pass that on when she wakes up,” he said, since Julia was sleeping in after a late night at Speakeasy, and an even later night playing mad scientist, working on a new concoction. She wasn’t there yet, and she’d gone to bed frustrated. Clay had done his best to un-frustrate her under the covers.