Her chin is high, and her eyes are blazing. “I so don’t like you right now!”

I smirk. “I’m sensing that.”

She twists and pulls but can’t get free. Like some beautiful, exotic fish caught in a net.

“You’re an insensitive prick.”

I lean in, pressing the lower half of our bodies together. “I resent that. My prick happens to be extremely sensitive. Wanna see?”

Kate catches on to what’s coming and opens her mouth to protest. Which works well for me. I swoop in and cover her lips with mine. She tries to turn her head away, but I grab her chin and hold it tight. Which allows her to take one newly freed hand and bury it in my hair.

Before yanking with all of her motherfucking might.

I lift my mouth from hers. “Feisty. I appreciate you trying to make things more interesting, but it’s really not necessary.”

And then I’m at her neck, nipping and sucking, working my way down to her cleavage. Kate slaps at my shoulder, but there’s no real effort behind it. Which means I’m wearing her down.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I’m sure you are.”

I rest my nose against her skin, inhaling deeply. Then I take one nipple in my mouth—over her dress—and suckle it hard.

See, Kate’s breasts are kind of like start buttons. No matter how tired or moody she may be, a little attention to those bad boys switches things around real quick.

Her head slams back against the wall. And she moans, holding my head in place.

We have ignition.

I grip her knee and hoist it up around my waist, lining us up, and grind against her. And despite my soaked clothes, I can feel how hot she is.

Turned on.

“You’re a bastard.”

I chuckle. “So you’ve said.”

I kiss her again, our tongues tangling in their own sensuous battle. Then I slide my hand between us, down her panties. She’s slick and smooth. Velvet wetness. When I push two fingers inside her, her voice changes. It’s all breathy and moaning—not a trace of pissed-offness to be heard.

“God…Drew…”

And then she’s pulling me against her and kissing me back with all she’s got. Telling me without words what I’ve known all along: horny and angry are a fabulous combination.

I push my shorts down and drag both of her legs up around me. Pressing her into the wall.

But just as I’m about to slide into home, Kate puts her palm against my forehead and pushes it back.

“Wait…no…wait…”

What? Wait? I hate waiting.

“What?”

Even though she’s panting, her eyes are round and dark with…worry.

“We have to talk about this. We can’t just cover all our problems with sex. I have some valid issues here, and if this is going to work, we need to figure this out.”

I press my forehead to hers. Thinking. Or trying to, anyway.

With my cock so close to Mecca, it’s difficult to remember my own name at the moment.

And then it all becomes clear. And I look at Kate’s face. “So, in a nutshell…you want me to stop being a dickhead?”

She mulls it over. And then she nods.

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

I nod too. “Got it. That’s really all you needed to say, baby.”

And then those lips that I love break into a big happy bang-me-up-against-the-wall smile. “Okay, then.” She scrapes my bottom lip between her teeth before moving down my jaw and nibbling my neck.

Then she whispers, “You’re going to miss the game.”

I shred her underwear and get what’s left of her dress out of my way.

“Fuck the game.” That’s why God gave us DVR, right?

She giggles wickedly. And looks me straight in the eyes.

“I’d rather you fuck me.”

Have I mentioned how much I absolutely adore this woman?

I lean back just long enough to rip my sopping shirt over my head. “God, I love you.”

Kate giggles again. And in her best Han Solo impression, tells me, “I know.”

***

Okay, ladies—what have we learned from this example? Keep it simple. Be broad but don’t bog us down with specifics. It’ll only confuse us.

You’re an asshole.

You’re a slob.

Stop being that way.

Any of the above should work just fine.

As for Kate and me? We had our first living-together-in-sin fight. A milestone. Go us. Overall, I think it went pretty well. In fact, if all of our arguments end like this? I won’t complain at all.

No. Wait. I take that back.

If all of our arguments end like this?

I plan on complaining a whole hell of a lot.

What A Difference A Year Makes

Dates are important to women. Particularly to women in relationships.

There’s all the major holidays: Christmas, Valentine’s, Easter. There’s the birthday—obviously. Then there’s the day you met, the day you went out, the day you dropped the L-bomb, the day you got engaged, the day you got married…

I could go on, but I really don’t want to.

Because here’s the thing—guys don’t give a shit about any of that stuff. When we pretend to care? It’s only to avoid the verbal ass-whipping that’s sure to follow if we act like we don’t. For us, there’s only one day worth commemorating. One moment that deserves recognition. The ultimate holy day of obligation.

I like to call it—the Fuckiversary.

It’s the day you first sealed the deal. Bumped uglies. Hit the homerun.

Or in my case—the grand slam.

I mean, seriously, you meet new people every day; it’s a common occurrence. But unless you have a stellar record like yours truly, you don’t screw a new person every day. So for guys, the first time you did the deed is definitely a day to celebrate.

And for me and Kate? That day is today, kiddies. It’s huge. One year ago, the course of my life was altered forever. The foundation of my existence was shaken.

And my bed frame.

That’s why I’m in the kitchen right now. See me? Whistling, slicing fruit, and squaring a variety of cheeses? They’re for later. We’re going to need them—gotta keep the energy up. Because, in my book, you don’t just memorialize a fuckiversary. You top it. And considering the Olympic-worthy high bar that was set that night? I’ve got my work cut out for me.

But I’m always up for a challenge. Pun intended.

I don’t want you to think that fuckiversaries are just about humping like dogs either. Although, that position is always fun.

But no, it’s also about tradition. Sentiment.

Presents.

For a first wedding anniversary, gifts are supposed to be made of paper or some kind of useless crap like that. My gift is so much better—Santa’s elves can eat their hearts out. Kate is going to lose it when she sees it. Her jaw’s gonna hit the floor. And her panties will be right behind it.

The front door opens.

That would be the lucky lady herself.

I left work at noon—had preparations to make—so I haven’t seen her since lunch. I walk into the living room. And there she is—bag in hand, a mid-length trench coat wrapped around her scrumptious little body. Her hair is down and shiny. Spiked black heels encase the tasty toes I like to suck on like a hard candy.

She smiles.

And as with every other time—it hits me like a punch to the gut.

“Hello, Boyfriend.”

“Girlfriend.”

Sickening, aren’t we? There’s a garbage can in the corner if you feel the need to puke.

I stalk towards her. “How was your day, dear?”

She puts her bag down, but leaves the coat on. “It was…distracting.”

I’m about to ask her what that means, but she cuts me off.

“What are these?” She’s referring to the lighted candles and rose petals strewn about the place.

Depending on your lifestyle, there are different definitions of romance. For some it’s classical music, a foot massage, or satin sheets. Personally, I happen to think a blow job during a Yankee game is ideal. But Kate is a more frilly, girly, kind of romantic. So these are for her.

“Candles.”

She smirks. “Thank you, Captain Obvious. I mean what are they for?”

I walk around her, my eyes caressing every curve slowly—like my hands will be doing shortly. Then I lean in and whisper next to her ear, “They’re part of your surprise. Because today is a very, very special day.”

She shivers—in the good kind of way. And her voice drops low. “I know. One year ago today, I rocked your world.”

“You rocked my world?”

She nods, and her eyes sparkle. “Yep. Right off its axis.”

“I’m pretty sure it was the other way around.”

Her tongue peeks out and wets her lips. “You’re sadly mistaken, Mr. Evans.”

I move in closer. “Maybe you need a refresher, Miss Brooks.”

She tilts her head, looking up into my eyes. Daring me.

“I think a refresher is exactly what I need.”

My hand snakes around her neck, pulling her against me. And our lips mold together. A year ago, I didn’t appreciate the value of kissing. Then it was just a teaser—like the never-ending stream of previews you have to sit through in the movie theater until you get to the main attraction.

But with Kate, kissing is a whole fucking event in and of itself. The way she tastes. The way she moans. The way her tongue slides against mine. It’s goddamn dizzying.

My hands come up to remove her coat, but she grabs them. And she pulls back, a little out of breath. “Wait. Not yet. I left work early today—to pick some things up. For you.”

“I got you something too. Can I go first?”

I like being first. It’s just how I am.

“Okay.”

I stand in front of her. Then I slowly unbutton my shirt, keeping eye contact the whole time.

Kate tries to guess. “Did you take strip-tease lessons?”

I smile. “No. But I’ll keep that in mind for next year.” My dress shirt hits the floor. I lift my white T-shirt over my head. And Kate’s hand rises to my chest and trails down my stomach. I back away and wag my finger. “Patience, Kate.”

She stomps her foot and pouts. And I want to tell her just where she can put those pouty lips. But I don’t. Gifts come first.

Then it’s our turn.

Ha—did you get that?

I turn to the side and remove the gauze bandage that covers my upper right bicep. And then she sees it. Her eyes glaze over, and her jaw goes slack.

And she whispers, “You got a tattoo…of my name?”

It’s a black whip—that spells out KATE.

I hope you weren’t thinking it was going to be an engagement ring or something. Screw that. In today’s day and age, rings don’t mean much. Ask any married man who frequents the titty bars—rings can be removed.

But a tattoo? That’s forever. Permanent—unless you like the idea of having several layers of skin scraped off.

Kate’s fingers slide around it disbelievingly. “I love it, Drew. It’s the most…amazing thing anyone’s ever done for me. I love you.”

I cup her cheek with my hand. “Not like I love you.”

She smiles for a moment. But then her expression changes. And she looks…disappointed.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing…it’s just…you branded my name on your flesh. I guess I just feel a little stupid. All I got you were toys.”

My ears perk up. Like a dog hearing the rustle of his food bag.

“Toys? Would these toys be…naughty…in nature?”

Kate bites her lip. And nods.

Sweet Jesus. My mouth goes dry. “Can I…see them?”


Tags: Emma Chase Tangled Erotic
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