“Kline Brooks! Put me down!”
“Oh, don’t worry, baby. I’ll put you down,” I answered and headed for the stairs. “Once we make it to the bedroom.”
“But our dinner!” she half shouted, half giggled. “It will get cold!”
“That’s what microwaves are for.”
Once I reached our bedroom, I kicked the door shut behind me and tossed her onto the bed.
It didn’t take long before her panties were on the floor and her skirt was pushed up past her waist, revealing the gorgeous spot between her thighs.
Like a dog on a bone, I fell on her pussy and feasted until her squeals and giggles turned to moans and whimpers.
Fuck yes. This, right here, was my favorite thing in the whole damn world.
Déjà vu of the blissful days of our honeymoon filled my mind while the sweet taste of her arousal coated my tongue, and a plan took shape in my mind.
My first order of business would be making Georgia come.
But the next priority on my agenda? Setting up a fantastic fucking surprise.
New York, Wednesday, May 24th
Two days of scheming later, and my week was finally looking up. Thanks to Meryl and Dean putting in a full day at the office, my insane workload was somewhat manageable, and Leslie’s always-infuriating presence was presenting itself somewhere far away from my office doors.
In fact, if I’d decoded all the office gossip correctly, Dean had spent the better part of last night coming up with a never-ending scavenger hunt that would keep her away and occupied until the end of the week. Granted, when an employee’s greatest strength was being sent away from the office on pointless errands, it was probably time for them to go.
But for now, I could ignore the looming need to fire her.
Though, that didn’t stop outside distractions from seeping in. I was deep in the trenches of planning a huge fuck-you to my wife’s history with the holiday of love, and apparently, sabotaging the plans of the devil took a good amount of energy and dedication.
An iMessage notification flashed on the screen of my laptop, and I clicked it open to find a text.
Wes: Is this how it’s going to be now that you’re married? I mean, thank fuck you made Brooks Media so successful before you met her. If you hadn’t, TapNext would be swirling around in the shitter by now.
I laughed.
We had spent the better part of this morning in email negotiations that he didn’t like, and Wes’s mood was deteriorating by the minute. Considering his baseline hovered just outside ofbroody bastardninety percent of the time, that was really saying something.
The target deal? Ensuring that Georgia would be off work starting tomorrow for the awesome surprise I had planned. All of which, thanks to Meryl’s quick work, had been officially booked as of this morning.
Obviously, Wes hadn’t technically officially agreed, but I knew if I booked the trip anyway—nonrefundable, of course—even if he got salty, he’d never be able to turn me down.
Me: Come on, Wes. It’s four days. And it’s important.
Wes: Important? You take trips to the tropics more often than I take shits at this point, dude. Why should your wife’s fucked relationship with Valentine’s Day be my problem?
Obviously, I’d filled him in on the essential details to pull at his heartstrings. Too bad I’d forgotten he didn’t have any organs in his cold, dead chest.
Me: Who hurt you, Mr. Grinch? And why do you have to take it out on poor little Cindy Lou Who?
Wes: You know what? It’s a shame I don’t have the authority to fire my Director of Marketing’s husband. Because he’s a pain in my fucking ass.
Me: You act like I’m stealing my wife away for a getaway during the play-offs. It’s the OFF-SEASON. Truthfully, you should be thanking me that I had the foresight to celebrate Valentine’s Day now. You’re welcome, by the way.
His text rebuttal was instant and brutal, as expected.
Wes: HA. Don’t play the martyr, Brooks. You’d fuck over your dying grandma if it meant taking your new, hot wife on some sort of fuckfest at the beach. Even if we were in the middle of a championship bid with media and sponsors crawling out my asshole, you’d still be requesting this time off—play-offs be damned.