Page 56 of Adrian

At that, my husband guides me out of the room, through the restaurant, and out of the front door. He hands over our ticket and a tip to a valet who rushes off to get our rental car. We never even had a glass of water in the restaurant, but we knew it might go that way. Neither of us is surprised.

While we wait, Adrian turns to me, cups my face, and kisses me soundly. He’s breathing heavily as he nibbles a path to my ear. “Do you have any idea how fucking hard I am right now? How damn sexy you were in there?”

I giggle and rise onto my toes to wrap my hands around my husband’s neck. “I love you.”

He kisses me again, keeping his hands on my waist. “This dress is a bit short to hold your arms up so high, naughty girl. If you don’t lower yourself, I’m going to spank your ass as soon as we get in the car.”

“Promises, promises.”

Twenty

Adrian

* * *

“I can’t believe we just did that,” my wife says, giggling.

“Which part?” I tease as we step into the hotel elevator.

She presses me against the wall and flattens her palms on my chest. “All of it, but especially dinner. I can’t believe you made reservations at a second restaurant and even managed to guess what time we would arrive.”

I chuckle and run my hands up her back. She calls this dress a “little black dress,” which she has informed me is a staple in every woman’s wardrobe. She even explained how the right sort of black dress could be used for anything from a casual evening to a formal night out at the theater.

When she was putting it on earlier, she demonstrated the possibilities while I sat on the hotel room sofa, grinning and rubbing my chin, watching my fucking sexy, animated wife as she strolled through the room first in sandals with a scarf in her hair and then in fuck-me heels and expensive jewelry. In the first demonstration, she had her hair in a ponytail. In the second, she had it stylishly arranged with ringlets around her face.

This second option is how we left the room, but she did manage to convince me that she was right about the little black dress concept.

I grab her waist and stroke her stomach with my thumbs. “Princess, I was pretty confident we would not be having dinner with your parents, and I can’t have my girls not eating. Thus, the second reservation.”

I’m just fucking glad she was able to brush off the encounter with her parents enough to be able to eat. That part concerned me. I wasn’t sure how sad she might be or how long it might last. Though I suspect she shed most of her sorrow in the car when I made good on my promise by making her face the window on her knees so I could lift her dress and swat her fantastic ass. That’s when I learned about the black lace thong. She’s always full of surprises.

The elevator opens on our floor, and I take Blair’s hand to lead her down the hallway.

She giggles. “You said girls… Does that mean you’re not only confident I’m pregnant, but you’ve already gendered our baby?”

“Yep.”

She rolls her eyes, but her grin is firmly in place.

I open our hotel room door and yank her inside. The second the door is closed, I press my wife against it and kiss her. While doing so, I grab the hem of her dress and lift it, eventually yanking it off between us, breaking the kiss just long enough to do so.

My wife is on fire, nearly climbing me. I think her hormones are already making her constantly horny because this isn’t the first time today she’s expressed such desperation to get in my pants.

After grabbing her hand, I back up, leading her toward the bedroom of our suite. She’s even sexier now that she’s wearing nothing but a matching black lace thong-and-bra set with her heels.

Fuck me.

I’m tugging on my tie as we shuffle backward. Why must men’s clothing be so difficult to get off? I have a lot of work to do, buttons to unfasten, zippers, cuff links, and socks… The list is long. I have to let go of my wife’s hand to remove all of that, but she enjoys the show, as evidenced by the way she circles me in those heels, eyeing me like a piece of meat.

I’ll gladly be my wife’s piece of meat any time.

“Your bra is tight, princess,” I point out, pulling the pregnancy test we just bought from my suit jacket pocket.

She cups her breasts and jiggles them. “Do you really think so, Mr. Fancy Jeans?”

I chuckle at her nickname. “I know so. You’re spilling out of the cups.”

“I don’t think that’s really possible at ten days, even if I am pregnant.” She continues teasing me by pulling the cups down so that her fucking hot breasts pop free, her nipples hard points that make me lick my lips.