Taste of Lacey (25 page)

But even as good as it was, she wanted more. “Baby, hurry…”

“Hold on. I’ll be there,” he muttered. He snagged an afghan from the bed she’d had since she was a college freshman and threw it on the carpeted floor. Then, moving carefully but with haste, he lowered her until she lay prone on the soft cover.

“What? You scared of getting some in the bed?” she managed to goad through her heaving breaths.

His lids narrowed as he situated himself between her legs. Her breath hitched as she anticipated the storm he was about to unleash. More than a year had passed, yet her addiction to his suntanned skin had only grown, but instead of being crippling, it was exhilarating. Since the Thymes now stayed booked months in advance and Monica was operating her own art gallery, Lacey had increased her staff to make sure her evenings and weekends were spent at home. Thank goodness her role had evolved to more of a manager and less of a service provider. Rye’s similar schedule without all the travel made their time idyllic, and getting a daily dose of his love was just gravy on top.

She shivered when she saw him gripping the base of his large cock in his hand, letting the swollen head rest shallowly in her slit.

“First, I’m not getting ‘some’; I’m getting
mine
. And second, my cock is about to have a conversation with your spine no one in your mother’s backyard needs to hear. So no squeaking bedsprings.”

He slammed his way home, filling her so thoroughly it shocked her system. Over and over he powered into her, and she accommodated every stroke by widening her legs and throwing his pussy right back at him.

“That’s it, baby. Give it to me,” Rye growled. She latched on to his shoulders and rode a mountain-high wave of pleasure. When his rod massaged the spongy center of her womanhood, she splintered into pieces with her orgasm.

Rye followed, heaving a tortured moan as he filled her copiously with his release. “I love you,” he whispered as he lathered soft kisses against her lips.

“I love you too.” Then she started laughing.

Rye scowled. “What in the hell is wrong with you, woman?”

“I won,” came her smug reply.

“What?”

“You wrote on my list ‘make love to your husband in your old bedroom at your parents’ house,’ and I did it, so I won the dare. Now what do I get?” she asked, turning to look at him. She swiped the sweat off his brow and pushed his damp hair away from his eyes.

He pulled her into his arms. “Me. You get me for the rest of my life.”

Her heart expanded until it practically burst. “I’ll take it.”

An hour later, startled by the boom of fireworks, Lacey roused from a sound sleep and shook Rye awake. They cleaned up in the attached bathroom before making their way to the swing on the back porch. For a while, they watched the display and rocked slowly back and forth. It was a peaceful setting until her mother appeared.

A frown marred her mother’s otherwise unwrinkled brow. “You two sure did disappear for a long time. You weren’t acting mannish with my daughter, were you, Ryder McKay?”

Laughing, Rye held up his left hand and wiggled his ring finger with the platinum band wrapped around it. “Not your daughter. My wife.”

Her mother’s eyes grew wide, and then her face softened. “I guess you’ve got a point.”

Without saying a word, Lacey snuggled against Rye’s muscular side and returned her gaze to the colorful sparks lighting the sky. It was a very good point.

Loose Id Titles by Linden Hughes

Taste of Lacey

Linden Hughes

Linden Hughes first fell in love with the written word to escape the noise and chaos of having ten siblings in her childhood home. Now, countless hot scenarios and spicy characters and fight to get out of her head and she has finally given a few of them a voice--on paper. A career in the construction industry is her reality, but her dream is to share sensual, witty, emotional novels with others who need get away while staying right at home. Linden, an avid scrap booker, lives on the shores of the beautiful Gulf Coast with her husband and daughter.