I'm glad none of those were roses. I could put someone's eye out.
Aiden
I wish I could see Lilah's face as I weave in the air, banking and turning. This low, only five hundred feet, there's no need to file a flight plan so I don't need to keep her level. The old girl can stretch her legs a bit for me.
It's also fun as hell. We're low enough for a real sense of speed. I'm tempted to do a roll and really scare the hell out of her, but I restrain myself. It takes us barely an hour to arrive at the airfield where I have a car waiting us to take us the rest of the way to the airport.
When Lilah steps down to the hard ground again she throws herself at me, panting with the joyful exhilaration of a roller-coaster ride. She mock-punches my arm and rips her helmet off, shaking her thick tresses free. I grab my wife and kiss her hard before we climb into the car.
"That was incredible," she breathes, clinging to my side.
"Wait until you learn to fly it," I offer, grinning.
Lilah looks at me as if I am completely, certifiably insane.
Ah, the perks of a private plane. There's no security, and I sent bags ahead, so all we have to do is walk across the tarmac and climb on board. We'll fly by private jet to New York and from there to Paris.
Once we're in the cabin, Lilah goes pale. "I still hate flying," she says.
"Oh, the biplane is fine but the private jet isn't?"
She looks at me earnestly and says, "You're not flying it."
A warm feeling spreads in my chest, and I kiss her.
Once we're alone, I lean back and wait.
We finally get clearance and take off. I give the pilot explicit instructions not to disturb us.
"So," she says.
"So," I say.
"Can we take our seat belts off yet?"
"Why do you ask, Lilah?"
She grins. "Because it's a seven-hour flight, and I'm not wearing anything under this dress."
The plane starts to level off. I pop her seat belt off and pull her to me. Lilah hungrily grabs between my legs, gripping me through the soft cotton of my shorts. I rise up off the seat in reflex as her hands grip my cock and balls. When she finds the tip and sucks through the cotton, I spring to full hardness immediately.
We writhe on the seat, wrestling into position.
"Isn't there a bed?"
I pull her up and, bent under the arched roof of the plane cabin, lead her around to the fold-out sleeper behind the passenger seats.
Lilah does the sexiest thing I have ever seen, and leaves me momentarily speechless. She sheds her dress so fast it's like it evaporates, leaving her bare, tan-lined body naked before me. There's a little hint of nervousness, still, in the way she stands and the way she gnaws her bottom lip that drives me wild.
I undress casually, every part of me itching to touch her. I stalk forward, my cock jutting out, hard and needy. Lilah falls back onto the bed—almost. I grab her and pull her forward to me, and she instinctively takes me in her mouth. A moan bubbles out of my chest as her hot, wet mouth closes around me and sucks. My legs shake from raw anticipation as she takes almost all of me in her mouth, her body shuddering.
She looks up at me, holding my shaft in both hands, and strokes the head with her lips, and I have to fuck her brains out right now.
Pushing her back as I dive on top of her, I savor her giggles and excited little squeaks as she rakes my flanks with her nails and wraps her legs around me, drawing me inside her. The damn plane jolts, she cries out, and I shudder at the shocking, hot grip of her body, slick around my cock as I slide into her to the root.
"Oh, my God," she whimpers.
Lilah curls up around me, clenching her legs around her hips as her fingers drive into my back, her body arching under me. She licks her lips, and I lie still with her, savoring the way her entire body pulses around my shaft, the little twitches and contractions, and the way I throb and pulse and response, like our bodies are becoming one.
I roll, lifting her on top of me. Lilah sits up, and I savor the sight of her straddling my body. I trace my hands up her sides and over her flawless breasts, gathering a fine coat of sweat from her soft, silky skin. She brings her finger to my mouth and sucks, and I pull her down to kiss me.
She rides, working her hips forward and back in slow, savoring motions. It's torture already. I want to explode, to fill her, but not until she screams for me. I lick my lips and taste hers, explore her with my hands, experience every square inch of her skin every way I can.
"I love you, Lilah."
"I love you, Aiden," she murmurs.
She sits up and takes my wrists, bringing my hands to her breasts. "Do I feel different?"
"Why?"
"I think I'm pregnant," she says softly. "I still need to confirm it but—"
She cries out as I surge up from the bed, whooping with joy. I shower her with kisses, and then I'm on top of her and we're writhing together in wild, aggressive, animal lust. I turn her around and lay her on the bed, mount her from behind, and fuck her senseless.
Rolling into my side, I curl up with her, thrusting slowly as I come too close to finishing. I want to draw it out. Lilah is a quivering, sweaty mess in my arms. I draw out of her and lay her on her back. I want to look into her eyes as we come together.
She arches beneath me and I let go, no longer holding back. The release cascades through my body in shocking waves and an almost painful clenching of muscles. She rises to meet me, hips lifting from the bed before she crashes back down and pulls me with her.
Lilah is an adorable, precious, lovely mess when she comes, flushed bright red all over. She never makes a sound. I'm sure she think she's shockingly loud, but only pained squeaks escape her as she shivers through her peak, her body gripping me like a vise.
When she finishes, she starts to gather up on herself, trembling and breathing hard. I pull her to me and run my fingers through her damp hair, taste the slick sheen of sweat from the hollow between her shoulder and neck. Her eyes open at last, and she snuggles close to me, tucked against my side. I slip my arm around her and touch her belly with my other hand. She smiles a sloppy, sleepy half-smile.
"A baby," she murmurs.
"You're not sure."
"Medically, no, but I'm sure." She pats her own stomach. "I just know."
"Is this what you want? What about your condition?”
“Doctors say I’ll be fine. It’s worth the risk.”
She sits up a little and looks at me, angrily, then smacks my chest playfully.
"Of course it is. It's not like I'm going to be working two jobs to put myself through school. I can handle a baby." She lies back down and sounds a little nervous. "How do you think the boys will handle it?"
"I think they'll be just fine. Do you think it'll be a boy or a girl?"
"Girl," she says. "I think, anyway. I hope? I'm not sure. I don't know. I just feel like it'll be a girl."
"We should come up with a name," I tell her.
"Isn't that a little premature? We should make sure first."
"Of course, but think about it. What would you like to name your daughter?"
She looks past me, into something distant. "I'm not sure."
Yawning, I close my eyes.
"You know, we need to put on clothes before we land."
She laughs. "Right, but you said seven hours, didn't you? I think we have time for a round two."
"Maybe we should try for a record."
Lilah
The sea breezes whip around me, pulling at the airy cotton tied around my waist, throwing my growing hair over my shoulder. I still feel a little self-conscious traipsing around on the deck of the boat topless, but Aiden assures me there's no one this far out to see. Or to sea. I'm not sure which one he actually said.
It doesn't matter. I draw back from the rail and splay back in a chaise lounge, rubbing my stomach.
Yes, I'm pregnant. Of course I'm not showing yet, but I can't stop thinking about it, about a bab
y, a little person Aiden and I made together, growing inside me. The boat rocks gently in the Mediterranean waves, and the warm humid air lulls me to sleep.
Aiden steps out carrying a tray and offers me some food and iced tea. He stands at the stern, watching the waves. When the breeze hits him and throws back his loose cotton shirt he looks like half like a model and half like a god. He knocks back a cold beer and looks at the empty bottle.
"Should I put a message in it?"
"Don't litter," I say, yawning. "Some poor fish might get stuck in it."
"Fair enough," he says, tossing it in the cooler.
One of the liabilities of being topless is that Aiden can't keep his hands off me. I wriggle as he tickles my sides and his mouth closes hot and warm on my breast, sucking as his lips draw back on my nipple, sending a flood of desire through my body.
I turn over. "I'm working on my tan."
Aiden doesn't miss any opportunity to apply sunscreen. I think we've gone through a whole jug today. He slicks up his hands and runs them down my back, drawing long moans of satisfaction.
"I thought you liked my tan lines," I tease as he bares my ass to the sun and starts rubbing the sunscreen into my skin.
"Variety is the spice of life. Come here, damn it."
He pulls me into the other chair, onto his lap, and I curl up against his chest, let my eyes drift closed, and savor the warm salt air.
This is good, right here. This is life, love, and peace.
Benched
Thanks for reading Man of the House!
As a gift to you, I’ve included my hit romantic comedy Benched. Enjoy!
Chapter One
Alex
“Listen to me, Broadside. I need you to be contrite, here. The picture of humility and restraint. You need to be so utterly abashed that you make a puppy look arrogant by comparison. I want you so, so apologetic that your mom would let you off for putting your dick in the cookie jar. Which is not far from what you did.”
I look down at my agent, Louis Montgomery. Lou has represented me since the beginning when I was drafted straight out of college into the Philadelphia Corsairs. He handles the legal and financial shit. I handle the ball.
“This is chicken shit,” I tell him.
“Maybe it is, but you can’t go blasting through these podunk towns in your goddamn Ferrari. How can you even fit in that car?”
I grunt in reply.
Lou sits next to me in the gallery as I wait my turn to stand before the judge in Sylvester, Pennsylvania. I’ve never heard of it either. They have a cop and a cop car and they tagged me going 110 in a thirty-five zone.
The cop that caught me is here.
She is not my picture of a small town cop. My idea of a small town cop is a fat tub of guts in a Sam Browne Belt that pinches his waist like a tourniquet, chewing a stalk of grass or whatever it is, and glaring through mirror shades.
The day Officer Maguire hopped out of her liveried up Tahoe and glared at me for my horrific crime of speeding in the middle of nowhere on Saturday is still etched into my mind.
Her strawberry-blond hair is in a tight ponytail, just like then, though she doesn’t have to wear her hat in the courtroom. When she was writing me up, I caught a glimpse of sky-blue eyes hiding behind aviator shades. She’s not wearing them now. They leave a funny tan line on her freckled face.
Officer Maguire stares me down with severe, cold anger and it makes her cuter. She’s not really my type, being all skinny with boy hips and a modest chest that’s not at all flattered by the body armor she wears under her uniform shirt. She has a great ass, though. She must squat.
There’s something else about her, though. I’m used to classically beautiful but extremely dull women who’ve never had to develop anything interesting about themselves besides high cheekbones, a perfect complexion, an a designer evening gown draped over the best chest money can buy.
Officer Maguire is the exact opposite of that. It’s like she wants to completely hide that she’s a woman and her only concession to femininity is long hair.
Her eyes lock on me when she catches me looking, and I keep on looking. Her glare turns into a sneer and then she looks straight ahead, as if I no longer exist.
I sit in stone silence.
I have a talent for that.
When my name is called, I walk to the front of the room. It’s not much bigger than my living room and there’s no jury box. Looking at the judge, I wonder what he did to get this shitty job. The guy before me was fined a total of five dollars and a year’s probation for illegal frog gigging. Whatever that is.
I tower over my lawyer, one of Lou’s people whose name I don’t bother to remember. He shifts next to me, holding a file folder in his hands. I can’t imagine what could be in it. There isn’t much I can do here. I was speeding, and they caught me cold.
Oh, well.
The judge reads over some case file and looks at me with narrowed eyes under big bushy eyebrows. Half-rim reading glasses perch on his booze-reddened nose, always looking like they’re about to fall off as he mouths the words to himself while he scans the page.
“Mister Wright,” he says, “let me get this perfectly straight. You were doing over a hundred miles an hour in a thirty-five mile an hour zone. Do you have any explanation for this?”
I glance down at my lawyer. He gives me a little head shake. “No, Your Honor.”
“Are you aware that there was a school zone on this road?”
“It was Saturday, Your Honor.”
The judge visibly bristles. I can almost see coarse hairs standing on his wrinkly hands. His jaw sets. He looks a little like a wild boar in a black robe.
“Did you happen to note whether the yellow school zone lights were flashing?”
“No, Your Honor. It was--”
“Saturday, yes. We’ve established that.”
My lawyer shifts nervously.
“The law is that a school zone is in effect when children are present, Mr. Wright. Not when school is in session. As it happens, there was a peewee football game that day.”
I grind my teeth.
“So you blasted through this school zone, with a set speed limit of twenty, going over a hundred miles an hour in that silly car we impounded.”
“It’s not--” My lawyer elbows me to shut me up.
“Are you going to enter a plea?” the judge says.
I look down at my lawyer. He nods. We went over this with Lou before we came in. “Guilty with explanation, Your Honor.”
He sits back in his chair. It creaks loudly, the only sound in the dusty room. “Go on then, explain.”
“I was in a hurry, sir. I was on my way to visit my sick aunt.”
“May I ask where she was?”
“Back in Philadelphia, Your Honor.”
He nods. “I see. According to your driver license, you reside in Philadelphia. May I ask how is it that your route to see your sick relative went fifty miles out of your way?”
“I was in the Amish country, sir. Antiquing.”
“Antiquing.”
“Yeah, shopping for antiques.”
He rocks in his seat. “May I ask what kind of antiques.”
“A settee.”
“A set-tee,” he says, over pronouncing the word. “Do you take me for an idiot, Mr. Wright?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Well, your lawyer does if that’s the story he concocted for you to sell me. I’ve heard your explanation and it’s not acceptable. I know your type, Wright. You think you’re hot to trot because you get paid a lot of money to run around in your underwear. Well, the law is the law, and it doesn’t care how many passing yards you have this year--”
“Your Honor, I’m a linebacker—”
“Shut up. This is how it’s going to work. I’m giving you an option. Considering your financial resources, I don’t think you’re going to learn much of a lesson from a five hundred dollar fine. To start, that car is staying impounded until your sente
nce is served. I’m fining you the maximum of six thousand eight hundred dollars, plus court costs, and a percentage contribution to the Victim’s Compensation Fund. Your speed here crosses from civil into criminal territory, so there’s a question of your sentencing.”
I look at my lawyer and he shifts nervously on his feet.
“You’re fucking fired,” I growl at him.
“You can spend six months in the county jail followed by two years probation, or you can do community service for one year, here in town. As it so happens, I know the head of the peewee league. They could use a new coach. I’m sure we can find something else to occupy your time once the season is over.”
I blink a few times. “Are you fucking crazy?”
The judge smiles. “Watch your mouth, or I’ll throw your silver spoon ass in county for contempt.”
I turn around to Lou. “What the fuck?” I mouth.
He runs to me. “Alex, you have to take the community service thing.”
“What? Are you out of your mind? I can’t do that.”
“What, you’d rather go to jail?”
“I hate kids.”
“You hate kids more than you hate incarceration? Alex, see reason.”
“I don’t deal with kids.”
“Alex, for the love of God…”
He walks past me. “Your Honor, my client will take the community service.”
“Are you an attorney?”
“I’m an agent.”
“So, no. Shut up or I’ll have you escorted out of the courtroom.”
Lou turns to my lawyer and motions at him. “My client will take the community service,” he says, in a squeaky voice.
“I thought I fired you,” I growl.
“You can’t in the middle of proceedings,” the judge corrects. “These are the terms.”
I stand, listening in a daze.
I have to reside in the town for the entire duration of my community service.
I have to wear a GPS ankle monitor.
Man of the House Page 20
