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|Castle Hill(On Dublin Street #2.5)(7) by Samantha Young|
A look of distaste took the heat out of his eyes.
He took a swig of whiskey and eventually muttered, “Thanks.”
I looked down at his lap. The erection was gone.
Trying not to smile, I looked away casually and asked airily, “What do you want to talk about until the flight is called?”
“Cold wind. Sleet. The ugly doorman at Club 39. Porridge.”
I burst out laughing. “You mean anything that won’t give you an erection?”
He smiled at me, his eyes roaming my face lovingly. “Maybe we should just stop talking altogether. And put a bag over your head. And cover your legs.”
“Just don’t look at me.”
“I can still smell you.”
“I could move.”
“Dare move away from me and I’ll put you over my knee, Wife.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
Braden cut me a dirty look and I covered my mouth with my hand so he couldn’t see my grin.
We were silent for a few minutes and then I leaned my elbow on the bar, resting my chin on my palm as I told him softly. “I’m loving our honeymoon so far.”
He took my other hand in his. “I am too.”
I shifted closer to him, resting my knee against his. “Do you want to wait in the first-class lounge? I’m sure it’s filled with stuffy businessmen types who will certainly shatter the very sexual mood we’ve got going on here with all their stiff-upper-lippishness.”
Braden’s mouth twitched. “Stiff-upper-lippishness?”
He nodded, laughing softly now as he got up out of the stool and helped me down from mine. Wrapping an arm around my waist, he said as he walked us toward the lounge, “Maybe we should stop using the word ‘stiff’ since apparently being married to you means losing control over my body and any self-respect I might have.”
“Grounds for divorce?” I teased as we showed our boarding passes to an airline attendant at the lounge doors.
“Grounds for a marathon f**king,” he answered dryly, not caring that the airline attendant had turned purple at his reply. “You won’t be able to walk for a while when I’m done with you,” he continued, gently guiding me into the lounge, leaving the gasping attendant behind.
I determinedly tried not to show my embarrassment, as I was used to him sometimes saying hot, blush-inducing shit like that to me in public. The key was to not let him know he’d flustered me.
“I’m happy with that as long as we’re talking multiple orgasms.”
Three suits turned their heads toward me from the small bar in the lounge, their eyebrows raised.
Braden and I stopped and I felt his hand squeeze my hip. “We’re going to get thrown out of the first-class lounge.”
I smirked. “You started it.”
“Actually, you started it.”
I heaved a sigh and glanced at my watch. “Well, unfortunately we’ve got about ten hours before we can finish it.”
Not looking too happy about that, Braden’s eyes swept the room, a glint entering them when they stalled on the restroom door.
“No,” I said immediately.
He threw me that boyish grin that was very, very difficult to resist.
Shit, f**kity, shit, f**k.
“Braden, no,” I hissed. “There’s no way we can do that discreetly.”
He let go of my hand. “Follow me in after a minute.”
I grabbed his hand back. “No, we’re acting like teenagers.”
His grin widened as he leaned his head toward mine. “We’re on our f**king honeymoon, babe, that’s the whole point.” He glanced back at the restroom and squeezed my hand. “I’ll go and then you follow me after a minute. Pretend I’m ill or something and you’re just checking up on me.”
Before I could refuse again, Braden strolled away from me, disappearing into the restroom.
I looked around the lounge. There were only four men in it and one woman and not one of them was watching me. Still . . .
“I’ve never been in first class,” I muttered, “and I’m going to get thrown out before I even hit the plane.”
Frowning I waited what felt like a millennium but was only a few seconds and wandered over to the restroom door. Feeling like a total idiot I knocked on it and asked, “Baby, you feeling okay?”
When no answer came, I slipped inside like I was a concerned spouse and nothing more.
We so couldn’t be fooling anyone with that crap.
Once inside I discovered there were separate doors for men and women.
I knocked on the men’s, and my knuckles had barely left the door before it opened wide enough for Braden to haul me inside, slam it shut, lock it, and press my back against it.
I slid my arms around his shoulders as he pressed his hard body against mine. “We’re so getting kicked out of first class.”
His hand caressed my ass before coasting down my thigh and then back up under my dress. His talented fingers slipped beneath my panties and he whispered hoarsely, “Then let’s make it worth it.”
The Honeymoon—Part 2
From the moment we stepped into our plantation-style villa in the luxury resort Braden had booked for our honeymoon in the Pacific, I didn’t want to go home.
A few minutes’ walk from the main resort, up a landscaped, lamp-lit path, sat our villa. A huge deck with a plunge pool and a cabana overlooked the ocean. Inside was a huge airy, beautiful living room with white furniture I was almost afraid to touch and a gorgeous bedroom with a four-poster bed draped in white voile and a walk-in-closet. The final touch of beauty was the marble bathroom, which must have been bigger than Olivia’s entire flat.
Braden and I had been there for three days. We’d spent our days lazing by our private pool, enjoying spectacular views that filled you with the kind of contentment I wished every day would bring. At night we’d choose from one of the three amazing restaurants, head off to one of the bars to have a few drinks, and then we’d head back to the villa where we made love for hours.
Best. Honeymoon. Ever.
For a change of scenery, we’d left the villa on the third day and grabbed a couple of sun loungers under a cabana on the beach. Every now and then a courteous member of staff would approach us and ask us if we wanted anything to eat or drink while we both lay there, reading on our e-readers and soaking up the sun.
Just an hour before Braden had finally managed to coax me into the sea. I hadn’t been too keen on entering the water, but it was so beautiful its tranquility and Braden’s persistence finally got to me and I decided to wade in.
Lulled by Braden’s patience, I was completely taken off guard when he dunked me.
You did not dunk Jocelyn Butler Carmichael and get away with it.
Thus commenced a water wrestling match that had children swimming out of the way to avoid us while their parents shot us dirty looks. Braden was cracking up. He would be. He was winning. It was only after he lifted me and cannonballed me into the water so hard that I almost lost my bikini top in front of the entire resort that he decided the game had hit its peak. I spluttered and coughed as he swam up to me and retied the strings of the bikini around my neck.
“Happy now?” I’d slapped water at him, throwing him a mock-dirty look.
He’d kissed my neck and wrapped his arms around my waist under the water. “Always.”
There really was no way to be crabby at an answer like that, so I’d let him off the hook, letting him lead me back to our loungers where we were currently drying out. Braden was lying on his stomach, his tall body too big for the lounger, but he seemed comfortable enough. I had turned onto my side, watching him doze in the afternoon sun. Everything about the moment was perfect. From the sound of the water lapping gently to shore, the cries of happy kids, the soft chatter of couples, the smell of suntan lotion and seawater, the tiny flutter of my husband’s lashes as he dreamed beside me . . .
I should be terrified.
It was a lot to lose.
That fear niggled at me and I determinedly pushed it back out.
“Why are you staring at me?” Braden asked quietly, eyes still closed against the sun.
“I’ve never seen you relax for this long. It’s nice.”
“It’s actually nice to be relaxing.”
Raising an eyebrow, I teased, “You’re telling me you’re not missing keeping busy?”
His eyes opened slowly, blinking in the sunlight. He shifted up onto his elbows. “I have uninterrupted access to my wife for the next two weeks. Believe me, I’m not missing a thing.”
A delicious shiver rippled through me and I leaned over so my mouth was almost touching his. “Them be fighting words.” I brushed my lips against his. “I think someone is trying to get into my bikini bottoms.”
“What do you mean, ‘trying’?” Braden grunted as he cupped his hand around the nape of my neck so his next words were muffled against my lips. I got the gist of it, though. Some cocky comment about having unhindered access to what was beneath my bikini bottoms. I bit his lip gently in retaliation, which only made him groan into my mouth and deepen the kiss.
Like always the world disappeared and I found myself balancing precariously half on, half off my lounger, clinging to Braden’s biceps as he drugged me with kisses that still knocked me off-kilter.
The sound of a sharp, playful child’s scream broke us apart, and I smiled ruefully as Braden brushed my lower lip with his thumb. He glanced over in the direction of the scream and my gaze followed his. A young boy was chasing what appeared to be his little sister, his delighted laughter and her mock-screams annoying a young couple that lazed near the spot of their antics.
Braden looked back at me. “We can return to the villa, lie by the pool, if the kids are bothering you.”
Frowning, I shook my head. I didn’t mind the kids. Their excitement and joy only added to the overall atmosphere of the resort. “The villa seems a long way away right now and I honestly don’t mind the kids.”