Stitches

I lie on the couch between Sebastian’s legs, enjoying the peace of this evening while he plays with my hair and responds to emails on his phone.

I love our life. I love this man. I love this pocket of peace, just the two of us.

It’s been just the two of us a lot this week. Right on the heels of Sebastian nudging me to open up more with Griff, Griff stopped coming around as much. I guess there have been some complications with his divorce; Ashley’s trying to stop it and since Griff has no interest, she’s trying to take as much with her as she possibly can.

Griff still comes over for dinner on nights he isn’t working, but then he leaves. I haven’t done more than kiss him since the night they double-teamed me.

As content as I am with my husband, I do miss Griff. I don’t just miss him for me; I miss the casual interaction between Griff and Sebastian when we’re all here in the evening. And, sure, I miss them both playing with me.

I’ve been getting lots of one-on-one time with my husband this week, but I can’t help wondering if Griff is lonely. He should be here with us, not trapped in a big, lonely house full of memories that can only hurt him.

I twist back now and look up at the gorgeous man I married. He’s dressed all in black today, his dress shirt unbuttoned at the top to show me a swatch of tanned skin. He’s still wearing his black suit jacket, but that’s unbuttoned, too.

His intense gaze is still on his phone, even though he must have felt me turn. Now he runs his hand over my shoulder and settles it on my back as I switch positions. He still doesn’t look at me. I wrinkle up my nose, wanting his attention more since he isn’t volunteering it.

I run my hand down his chest and shoot him a devilish smile that goes unnoticed as I unbutton the next two buttons on his shirt. Now I know he’s ignoring me to get a rise out of me.

“I know your game, Mr. St. Clair,” I tell him, narrowing my eyes.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mrs. St. Clair,” he says, innocently.

I push my hand up under his shirt and run my hand over his pec, circling his nipple with my index finger and watching his face. Still ignoring me, damn him. I try harder, crawling up his body and trailing my lips along his collar bone, then kissing his neck. When I get near his ear, I murmur, “Your wife needs your attention.”

“Then she should earn it,” he states.

I narrow my eyes and bite down on his earlobe. “She’s trying.”

“She should try harder.”

I want to be

annoyed at him, but I fail. He knows just how to tease me and make me crazy. I was only checking on him when I turned—I was actually going to tell him he should invite Griff over, since apparently I’m discouraged from texting him for the moment—but now he’s pushing all my buttons and I want to shake him.

He may be able to ignore my kisses on his neck, but I know where he can’t ignore them. Sliding lower, I open the rest of his shirt and kiss my way down his toned abdomen, my fingers unbuckling his belt.

“How’s this?” I ask, peering up at him.

“Better,” he says, like he could still take it or leave it.

I narrow my eyes at him and unbutton his pants, unzipping them and shoving my hand down the front. He still manages to keep his eyes trained on his phone, but I can see the corners of his mouth trying to tug up in a smile. He stifles it as fast as I see it, but then I wrap my fingers around his dick and stroke him. His gaze shifts to me.

“Little minx.”

“Your little minx,” I agree, watching his face for signs of pleasure. I see faint traces and I think I have his attention, but after a moment he goes back to his phone.

“Really?” I demand.

“Hey, if you’re out of ideas…” He trails off, raising his eyebrows.

“You’re a wicked man,” I inform him, yanking his pants down his hips. My blood stirs with desire when I see the bulge in his black boxer briefs. I run my hand over it, cupping him, then I tug those down, too.

His cock springs free and it feels like Christmas. I never get used to this man. I grasp his thick shaft and run my tongue along it from base to tip. I steal a glance up at him to see if I’ve won.

Now he’s watching me. Now I have his attention. I’m feeling lightly vengeful, so I toy with him, running my tongue over it but not taking him into my mouth. Then I stroke him with my hand and ask, “Do I have your attention now, Mr. St. Clair?”

“You do. What are you going to do with it?”

I narrow my eyes at him and release his cock, pulling away from his body and retreating to my own side of the couch. “Absolutely nothing,” I say, with relish.