“Fucking hell,” he breathed and she lifted up, pressed her front to his groin and placed her hands on his chest.
“You didn’t play with me this morning,” she accused quietly, her expression no longer unreadable but greedy.
Always in heat, his Sonia.
Clearly, the night before hadn’t been that vigorous.
Callum marked that knowledge in his mind and his fingers slid into her hair at the side to cup her head.
“No,” was all he had the capacity to say.
Her hand dropped to his crotch to palm it softly and she whispered, “Can I play with you?”
“Fuck yes,” he gritted through his teeth and she smiled.
Then she dropped her head and he watched as she pulled his sweater up, exposing his stomach, and put her mouth there, then it slid down while she undid his pants and freed him.
Without leading into it, she gripped his rock-hard shaft with her hand and took him in her mouth, stroking and sucking simultaneously. Often, she’d lick while she stroked, her eyes would rise to catch his as she did so and each time hers were hungrier, like she couldn’t get enough of him.
For his part, Callum didn’t take his eyes away from her for a second.
And what he saw was fucking beautiful.
It wasn’t much later when he’d had enough and roughly maneuvered her body so it was bent over his desk, pulled her jeans and underwear down her thighs, that he found she was so aroused by sucking him off that the minute he buried himself in her abundantly wet silkiness, she slammed back to receive him and cried out her instant release.
Callum didn’t long follow.
Allowing them both time to recover, Callum eventually righted their clothes. But it was Sonia that curled herself fully in his lap, pulling her legs up and bent to rest them against his front, her forehead tucked in his neck, her arm around him.
“Is that what you wanted me to do to you in your chair?” she asked softly.
It was.
But it was also far better because she did it of her own accord rather than because he told her to.
“Yes.”
“Mm,” she replied and snuggled closer.
Callum held his queen for a while then he resumed work.
Sonia didn’t move, just stayed cuddled close in his lap.
As he worked with his wife held close, Callum decided that day wasn’t the day to tell her his secret.
* * * * *
The next day, Callum didn’t have time to tell her because Caleb returned.
Regan had taken Sonia away for a more in-depth perusal of town, something which it was obvious Sonia wanted to do by the look of excitement on her face when Regan suggested it. So Callum allowed it.
While she was gone, he was holed up in his study with Caleb and Ryon discussing the aftermath of the rebellion, the cleanup of the Western Territories, the sweep across the various regions to locate and neutralize all remaining rebels that Calder was leading and he’d lost track of time.
Regan had called explaining that she and Sonia were having dinner with Maraleena and Drogan in town and by the time Callum and his brethren emerged from his study it was late. It wasn’t only late, it was time for bed and Sonia hadn’t had her injection.
He went in search of her and found her alone in the knitting room. The fire obviously Regan had laid and started was burning for Sonia had no clue how to start a fire. This was something Callum learned days earlier when he walked into their bedroom in the middle of her adorably frustrated attempts and she made him promise he’d teach her to do it. He had lied (not exactly a betrayal in his mind) and promised he would when he had no intention of doing it because if she didn’t ever learn, she’d have to find him to do it for her and he liked that idea.
She was standing at the window but she wasn’t looking out.
Her head was bent and she was watching the fingers of one hand at the other twisting the wedding bands he’d given her around and around.
Something struck him then and he stopped in the door, leaning a shoulder against the jamb, crossing his arms on his chest and he studied her.
During their fight she had said that when she gave him his ring, she didn’t know if it meant anything to her.
He’d not called her on that. He was satisfied with the outcome of their altercation. There was no reason to dredge it up, process every word she said in anger when, from her behavior since then, she’d given every indication that she wasn’t only settling into her life with him splendidly but enjoying it thoroughly.
But now, watching her, her face thoughtful and far away, twisting those bands which had meant nothing to him when he’d given them to her but an hour later when he’d heard her call him “husband”, they meant everything, he felt a definite and acute unease. An unease akin to that unpleasant feeling that felt like fear.