Married To The Mafia: Book II

5 - Slam-Bam-Thank-You-Ma'am.

"I will thank you, but you can expect my gratitude to be extended in a vertical position."

"Save that for the pope. This is how I want my gratitude."

"I'm not giving it to you that way."

"Why not?" He asked, exasperated.

"I'm not – well, ready." She had to do a lot of things; like shave her pubic hair which she'd left to grow into a Bahamas and do some cleaning in case oral came into play. She didn't want her husband to be repulsed by her stinking honey pot. She also needed a bath. And other things women do in preparation for lovemaking.

"Ready? But we –"

"Yes, I know, in the van, but that's different. This time, it's not going to be in a hurry. I just need to do some things. Please."

"Fine." He growled with a husky voice, laden with desire and want. "Be quick about it."

"Okay, but you need to leave. I'll call you when I'm ready."

"No way in hell."

"Please!"

He raised his hands in surrender and stood to leave. Pamela swallowed when she saw the bulge in his trousers and quickly averted her eyes, more for her own safety than any other thing. The moment the door shut with a click, she rushed to the bathroom but drew up short, and it was not only how magnificent the queen-sized bathroom was that made her stop, it was also the fact that her things were still outside. How would she get her cream and soap?

She walked further in, considering calling Devlin back to help get her things from the car, when she saw that on a shelf, a vast lineup of beauty lotions and soap lined the seats of the shelf and she couldn't help but smile. She couldn't help but love her husband the more.

One hour of shaving her legs, armpit, pubis and taking a thorough scrub of her body and hair with a lavender scented soap and shampoo later, Pamela emerged from the bathroom in a beautiful sky blue bathrobe which was one of many that had been hung on a rack in the bathroom. She tied her wet hair in a towel and stepped, barefoot, out of the bathroom into the bedroom.

Devlin was waiting, leaning lazily on the wall, hands akimbo, stark naked, except the boxer briefs he was wearing.

Her heart gave an excited lurch. Why was she feeling nervous? Was it because he'd not seen her naked for three years? Was it because she hadn't seen him naked either? Whatever it was, Pamela was as nervous as a whore sanding in front of a priest.

Devlin straightened and skimmed his eyes over her, making her feel like the robe had slipped off her. He took a step closer and Pamela shifted back without meaning to.

He raised a brow at her. "What now?"

She swallowed. "I'm sorry, I – I don't know."

"It's okay, babe." He said gently and stretched his hands towards her. "Come here."

She stayed put, then smiled brightly. Way too brightly. "I think I'm hungry. What's for dinner?"

"Me."

With that he lunged for her and pressing her against the wall, let his lips descend on her. The moment their lips touched, a colossal amount of desire swirled in her, from her toes up to her taut nipples, pulsing in a profound and melodious manner, like the drum beats of passion itself.

She let him draw her into his arms and she marveled at his supple strength and lean body, with just the right amount of biceps and triceps. She opened her mouth, letting his tongue slide into hers as if searching for something, like a treasure hunt, for a treasure she could not name.