Perfect Strangers

He says, “A rock star?”

“No, silly. I already did that.”

“Oh. Right. Okay, um…a race car driver?”

“Something hotter!”

“Hotter than a race car driver?” He sounds impressed. “I must be keeping my woman satisfied if she’s turning me into a fictional guy who’s hotter than a race car driver.”

Olivia rolls her eyes. “Just because you’re obsessed with Formula One racing doesn’t mean everyone else is, honey.”

He turns sideways to carry her through the bedroom door. “So you’ve already made me a rock star, a bodyguard, a Special-Ops badass, an Italian fashion tycoon, the head of a bourbon empire—”

“Oh, look who’s keeping track!”

He grins at her teasing tone. Stopping at the edge of the mattress, he sets her down on the bed, then stretches out on top of her. Smiling into her eyes, he says, “How ‘bout an astronaut? I’ve always wanted to be an astronaut. That’d be so cool.”

“Astronauts were cool in the fifties.”

“Brad Pitt’s gonna be an astronaut in his new movie.”

“Oh.” She can’t find fault in that logic. “Okay, maybe astronauts are cool. But what I made you this time is even cooler than that.”

He kisses her deeply, settling his weight between her spread things. She twines her fingers into his hair and melts into the mattress, sighing in pleasure.

“Tell me,” he commands, biting her lower lip.

She closes her eyes, reveling in the feeling of his warm mouth moving over her jaw and down her neck. He nuzzles her cleavage, inhaling her scent.

As he licks the upper curve of her breast, she whispers, “An assassin.”

James stills for a moment. “You made me a guy who kills people?”

She hurries to explain. “Only bad ones who deserve it. And no women or children. You have an iron-clad rule about that. And you’re also an artist who gives money to charities for victims of violence.”

That seems to satisfy him, because he unbuttons the top few buttons of her blouse and eases her bra aside so he can access her hardening nipple. “I’m so complex. Did I have any awesome tattoos?”

She gasps when he draws her nipple into the wet heat of his mouth, then giggles. In real life, he’d love to get a tattoo, but the man is deathly afraid of needles.

A nurse once told her that it’s always the biggest, baddest guys who get queasy at the sight of needles. Olivia finds the pairing of swaggering machismo and boyish vulnerability utterly irresistible.

It’s probably why she loves Hemingway so much.

“Yes, I gave you an awesome tattoo, honey.” She groans at the feel of his teeth scraping over her sensitive skin. “And a twelve-inch dick.”

Against her breasts, he bursts into laughter. “Twelve inches?”

“What? You’re almost that big.”

Incredulous, he looks up at her. “Uh, no. Thank you very much, I’m truly flattered, but I don’t have a foot-long cock.”

“Really?” Olivia frowns. “It feels like you do.”

He dissolves into laughter, resting his forehead against her chest and giving himself over to it for so long that Olivia starts to get irritated. “It’s not that funny!”

“Yes, it actually is.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re always griping about my huge ego, and then you go and say something like that.”

She says prissily, “Fine. From now on, I’m only giving you a tiny little Vienna sausage of a dick. Three inches at most. Satisfied?”

Alarmed, he raises his head. “Let’s not get carried away, now. A regular-sized dick will work fine.”

“If you think my audience is interested in reading about a hero’s ‘regular-sized’ dick, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Think.”

When Olivia only smiles at him, James says, “The correct phrase is, ‘you’ve got another think coming.’”

“So you’ve told me, honey,” she murmurs, her chest expanding with love.

He examines her expression. “Why do you have little red confetti hearts for eyes right now?”

She doesn’t tell him it’s because her real life is even better than fiction. His ego is already too big. She decides to distract him instead. “I was just wondering if we were going to try that beautiful sex jewelry you got me for our anniversary that we haven’t broken out yet.”

James’s smile comes on slow and heated. “The butterfly clamps? I thought you were worried they’d cut off circulation to your delicate lady parts.”

Drawing his head down, she whispers against his mouth, “I know you’ll take care of me.”

Their kiss is long and passionate. She writhes underneath him, rocking her hips into his erection, making small noises of need in the back of her throat. When they come up for air, James rasps, “Slow and sweet?”

“No,” replies his wife, reaching between them for his zipper. “Hard and fast first. We’ll save slow and sweet for the jewelry.”

His cock is hard and hot in her hand. She’s too eager to waste time removing her panties, so she simply pushes them aside and guides him inside her.

They share a groan then another kiss. Then, with his hands framing her face and his hips thrusting, James whispers into her ear, “Did you decide on a title for this new novel of yours?”

Olivia arches her back and closes her eyes. “Perfect Strangers.”