Page 53 of Vicious Secrets
By the time Siro responds, the answer is obvious. I’m in my pajamas and wrapping his Christmas present in the guestroom in case he comes home.
Sorry, babe. Tomorrow. I promise.
I nibble on my bottom lip and decide to take the advice I should have acted on weeks ago.
Make it up to me with a date tomorrow night. Just the two of us.
The three dots signaling he’s typing a response pop up and disappear countless times. I can’t help but cackle. Poor Siro, I broke his brain on what’s already a rough night.
When the wrapped present is under the tree, I head to bed.
We’ve discussed the Holidays several times. Siro won’t work this Christmas, and we won’t go to either of our family’s houses for festivities. But Siro hasn’t celebrated in so long that he can’t remember the last time he exchanged gifts with anyone, hung a decoration, or watched a Christmas movie.
As someone who’s participated in twenty-eight of them and is practically an expert at celebrating Christmas, I know how overwhelming the season can feel. So, I chose not to drown him in Holiday traditions and spirit. Yet. For this year, we agree to exchange one gift each and buy a tree. Fabi and I gleefully decorate it together, but not without bickering. Siro finds our arguments amusing.
Once I’m under the covers, my phone pings. I frown. Something tells me he won’t be home soon.
Dinner at six. VIP at eight.
Ah, he made reservations. But where?
On a scale from my cocktail party attire to your strippers, what’s the dress code?
Once again, the three dots dance on my screen. Or maybe they’re having a seizure.
Robyn, I need blood in my brain to drive home.
Siro made an ultimate mistake by admitting I have him flustered. All I want to do is drive him insane while he’s unable to touch me. By the time he gets home, I’ll be asleep, and he’ll have to paint the shower walls instead of my tits.
But, if you’re going to fuck me at the club, it’d be in your office and not VIP, right?
The response is almost instantaneous.
Yes. No. Maybe.
Alright, now he’s turning the tables and getting sassy. He knows what fate awaits him tonight.
I set my phone aside and kill the lights. It’s not long before I drift asleep, dreaming of all the dirty things my husband might be up for at the club.
I wake to heat pressing against the back of my body, from the top of my shoulders to the tips of my toes. Which are curling against Siro’s calf. What, wait—
Fingers stroke between my labia in a lazy pattern. Sliding up, going over the hood of my clit, then down to my entrance, and pressing just a sliver of their tips inside of me before moving away to repeat the pattern.
I whimper and arch my back, but the arm pressing against my waist and stomach prevents me from writhing against Siro’s hand. I become acutely aware of just how aroused I am. The movements of his fingers are leisurely, but they’re audible over my panting breaths.
“What the fuck, you fucking asshole,” I snarl when his fingertips skirt over my entrance again. I push my feet flat against his legs and try to push him away.
“Do you want me to stop?” Siro’s breath skirts along my neck.
A shiver runs down my spine and knocks another whimper free of my mouth. I lick my lips. Do I? Not really. I’m not the least bit mad that he touched me in my sleep. The opposite; in fact, this is insanely hot. But I want to shift to different, equally sexy activities.
“Yes!” I hiss.
His fingers pause on my clit. “Are you going to roll over and try to sit on my face? Or ride my fingers? Or fuck me? Because I won’t let you.”
Our bedroom comes into focus as my horny brain and sleepy brain compete to make sense of Siro’s words. Faint light peeks through the curtains, and I swear I smell toothpaste on Siro’s breath. It can’t be later than six am.
“What the fuck, Siro?” I gasp after giving up making heads or tails of this situation.
