#funnypic23

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows of their hotel suite, Manhattan glitters before them and the air crackles with electricity when Margaret gives him a dazzling smile and holds out her hand. Returning her dazzling smile with one of his own, he takes her hand and lets her lead him out onto the penthouse’s wraparound terrace. As she stands admiring the incredible views of the city, he slips off his overcoat and wraps it around her, his hands taking a deliberate detour along their southbound journey from her shoulders to her waist in order to fondle her breasts, and he takes his time kissing his way up her neck. His tongue tickles the pulse point on her neck, and she softly moans his name as she leans back against his chest.

Pulling her soft earlobe between his lips and nibbling it gently, he tells her, “You know, we’re the very first guests this penthouse has ever had. Seems only right that we should give it a proper christening.”

Her hand slides up along the back of his neck to guide his mouth to hers. She kisses him deeply as she turns in his arms, pressing her body firmly against his as her tongue explores every corner of his mouth. Looking him straight in the eye, her eyes like onyx and burning with unmistakable lust, she tells him, “Grab the champagne and meet me in the bedroom, Mr. Addison.”

“Bossy,” he teases with a quirk of his brow.

“You like it when I’m bossy,” she ripostes, her voice and her gaze never once wavering in their intensity or in their seductive intent.

“Yes, ma'am,” he answers, his voice just above a low, rolling growl as he pulls her back into his arms.

Their hands and their mouths are roaming all over each other as they head back inside. She slips out of his arms, and keeping her dark eyes locked on his as she walks backwards towards the bedroom, she slowly strips off his coat and nonchalantly lets it fall to the floor. She unbuttons her blouse just enough to let him catch a glimpse of the black lace trim of her bra. Just enough to leave him desperately wanting more.

As she struts off to the bedroom, she looks over her shoulder at him with a self-satisfied smirk on her lips, and he doesn’t even try to disguise the fact that he’s shamelessly leering at her perfect ass the entire way.

He’s so physically aroused that, with his mind being bombarded by the most enticing visions of the night of torrid lovemaking that awaits him in the next room, it’s no small feat that he’s able to walk over to the wet bar and uncork the bottle of Moët Rosé Impérial without falling all over himself. He grabs the two champagne flutes and heads towards the bedroom with a huge grin on his face.

But when he gets there he finds Margaret still fully dressed and frantically pacing the room. Her hands are shaking, and she looks at him with a panicked expression in her eyes that freezes him in his tracks and causes his heart to plummet.

Suddenly, he finds it difficult to breathe. Did I unintentionally pressure her in any way? Or worse? Is she still too traumatized by memories of what happened the last time the two of us were in a luxurious hotel suite together?

“All my things are missing,” she blurts out. “Everything in my suitcase is gone—my clothes, my jewelry, the souvenirs I bought for Jacob. Oh my God, where is all of my underwear?”

He nearly bursts into laughter, but he restrains himself. Instead, he sets down the champagne flutes and takes Margaret’s hand in his to lead her towards the walk-in closet.

“I should have explained earlier that the penthouse comes with a butler service. They probably unpacked our things for us while we were out at dinner. Your undergarments are probably right here—”

His heart rate goes through the roof and he’s rendered utterly speechless when he opens the dresser’s top drawer and his eyes fall upon the black, all-lace chemise. She can’t bring her eyes to meet his, but he can see the apprehension and humiliation splashed across her pale face just before she turns away from him and walks out of the room.

As agonizing as it is for him not to go after her immediately, he knows that she needs a moment to herself. So he wills himself to stay put, to take a deep breath and count to ten before rejoining her in the bedroom. She’s standing at the foot of the bed with her back to him, and his heart sinks like it’s made of lead to hear her sniffling softly as she quickly wipes away her tears.

He gently places his hand on her back just between her shoulder blades and whispers her name with as much tenderness as he can muster, and after a few seconds of hesitation, she slowly turns around to face him. She places her hands on his chest, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt, and he holds her close as she summons the courage to bare her soul to him yet again.

“I bought the chemise last month when we were in Branson. It felt like things were getting back on track between us and it was our first weekend getaway together and I wanted to make it special for you. But that night didn’t go the way I’d hoped it would. I forgot that it was still in my suitcase until I was packing for this trip, and I thought to myself, ‘Maybe things will work out differently this time’. But now I just feel completely ridiculous because … I’ve never worn anything like that before, and …”

With a heavy, apologetic sigh, she slowly shakes her head and takes a seat on the bed. “I’m not confident like that, Brian. I’m never going to be,” she says meekly.

“I know,” he says gently.

She’s so small and so fragile in this moment, looking every inch the shy and heartbroken seventeen-year-old girl he’d seen in the photographs, as she looks down at her small, trembling hands and clasps them tightly in her lap.

“Do you wish that I was?” she asks in a strangled voice, nervously chewing her bottom lip when she gives him a furtive glance.

He sinks down to his knees before her, and he gives her a sympathetic smile as he slowly shakes his head. He feels like he’s had the wind knocked out of him, because he understands that what Margaret is really asking him right now is laced with such profound apprehension and vulnerability: Does our relationship leave you feeling unfulfilled in any way? Are you disappointed or unsatisfied with me?

“I only wish that you weren’t always so hard on yourself, and I wish that you could see yourself through my eyes,” he tells her, tucking her long hair back behind her ears before taking her hands in his. “I try to tell you at least once every day that you’re beautiful—not just because it’s true and because you deserve to hear it, but also because you’re so overwhelming at times that I can’t not say it. I’m just sorry that I don’t tell you enough how incredibly sexy you are.

She blushes at that, just like he knew she would, and it melts his heart.

“You are,” he insists, “and you have no idea just how sexy you are, and it only makes me want you even more. Margaret, you’re beautiful and intelligent and dynamic, and there’s never any doubt in my mind that you can do anything you set your mind to. I never knew that I could be constantly in awe of someone until I met you. You challenge me and you drive me absolutely crazy. In all the best possible ways. You really do take my breath away, sweetheart. You’re absolutely sublime, and I’m always on fire for you.”

When he presses a warm kiss to her blushing cheek, he can feel her take a deep breath, can feel her breathing him in. She rises to her feet and, sliding her arms around his shoulders, she kisses his forehead and whispers, “Thank you, Brian. Thank you for telling me all those things. It really does mean a lot to me.”

“It’s all true,” he promises, softly kissing her thumbs when she caresses his lips.

With a shy smile, she reaches for his hands, lacing their fingers together. “Come on,” she says, gently tugging at his hands to help him to his feet. “There’s something we’ve never done together before that I’d really like for us to do. And, um … it doesn’t require any clothing at all.”

“I’m intrigued,” he says with a devilish grin as he bends down to capture her lips. “Tell me more, Mrs. Langston.”