#spa

When the sunlight hit your face you turned, grumbling, the other way — toward your husband — and, without opening your eyes, you reached for him with one arm. Half-asleep, you didn’t really know what you were doing; maybe you were checking if he was still there, maybe trying to pull him closer. The place you’d chosen for your honeymoon was so hot that even the erotic things you’d done the night before had made things complicated. Luckily, you’d both thought to take a shower afterward.

As you slowly opened your eyes you noticed him hugging the pillow face down and you let out a little chuckle. Even though you were used to him like this, there was still that new-married kind of happiness inside you. You sighed and melted into his pull. Snuggling closer, you draped your arm over the exposed muscle of his back and threw your leg over his—settling into a different position.

You spent a few minutes rubbing his back. Finally Leon did that ridiculously masculine, perfect murmur and turned his head toward you with a grin. You were surprised. Wait—was he awake?

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he said. Damn.

“Uhmm… were you awake?” you whispered, trying to pull your leg back, but he wouldn’t let you—he made a fast move and hauled you into his lap, pressing your waist and lower body against him. You forced yourself not to make a sound. When you looked down you saw he was fully hard and, most likely, still wanting you.

When your lower body was pressed completely against him your breath knotted in your chest and an involuntary shiver ran up your spine. A small, nagging pride inside you was shouting “don’t make a sound,” but when you looked down that pride vanished. The man’s morning greeting was bold as hell—hard, heavy, hot. As if last night hadn’t been enough, he still wanted you.

Leon cocked his head with that infuriatingly sexy smile that clearly enjoyed your surprise. “I wasn’t awake. But the moment you threw that cute little leg over me…” he said, increasing the pressure of his fingers against your hip, and your breath hitched, “…I saw no reason to keep sleeping.”

The tiny breath you let out made him smile. “You’re blushing,” he said, with the smug confidence of a brand-new husband advantage.

You were about to say “Shut up,” but he silenced you by brushing his lips against your neck.

You couldn’t figure out how your body heated up so fast. Honeymoon bed, sunlight, bare skin, being held in his lap… all of it rewrote you.

“Last night wasn’t enough for me,” he murmured into your throat. “Not even close.”

He began to shift you, lifting your hips slightly to change position—just as the door knocked… knock… knock…

Leon’s morning grin turned into that “you know who’s at the door” look. He glanced quickly at the door and said, “Don’t. Move.”

But all you could think was: this man is actually dangerous at any hour. Not even eight in the morning stops him.

The door knocked again… knock… knock…

Leon didn’t take his eyes off you for a second. He even smiled, quietly angry, before his lips touched yours. “Whoever that is… they’re not more important than my wife.”

The way he said “my wife” was slow, deliberate, emphasized. The fact that you were newly married—just two syllables—melted you all over again.

A voice came through the door: “Sir? Breakfast service—”

Leon answered without pulling his mouth an inch from your neck: “We don’t need breakfast.” Then he paused for a beat and his voice dropped another notch. “I already have mine.”

Hearing it said that way doubled the heat radiating from your hips. The staff at the door were probably bright red as they walked away; Leon couldn’t have cared less. As the footsteps faded he gently laid you back onto the bed. His warm hands slid under your legs and tucked you under him comfortably.

He chuckled softly with his breath just above your lips. “Now… where were we?”

Your hands were on his shoulders; your breathing matched your heart’s quickening. “Leon, it’s morning,” you tried to say, though your voice shook and the sentence felt a little lie—because the morning light highlighted everything on your skin, your hair, your lips.

“Exactly,” he said. “Perfect timing.”

With one arm he pulled you by the waist toward him and placed your leg beside his hip. When his morning hardness pressed against your bare skin you made an involuntary sound.

He heard it.

His eyes darkened dangerously. “There it is,” he whispered. “Don’t hide it from me.”

As he began to kiss you slowly, his tongue had none of the tenderness of a sleepy morning; it moved with the leftover passion of last night. His hand slid from your ankle up to your hip in a way that melted you. Your body moved in time with him without missing a beat.

Just as he tried to pull you closer—phone started ringing.

Leon’s head buried in your neck and he let out a long sigh. “…You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Your laughing against his shoulder made him go crazier. The phone kept ringing.

“Don’t. Answer. It.” His voice was less a request than a threat.

Still, the phone kept insisting. Leon scowled up at the ceiling for a moment before finally giving in and answering; his voice was still thick from sleep and from that “unfinished business” irritation. “Hello?”

From the other end came a chirpy, professional receptionist voice: “Good morning, Mr. Kennedy! We wanted to inform you that, since you’re on your honeymoon, our exclusive couple spa package is free today. If you’d like to—”

The moment you heard that word—SPA. Free. Honeymoon—your ears perked up. Even pressed flat under Leon, your thoughts were: I must go. Right now.

Leon answered, utterly indifferent: “We’re busy.”

“Busy?” the receptionist repeated, a little unsure.

Leon pressed you tighter: “Very. Busy.”

You whispered urgently, “Leon! They’re offering a free spa!”

He gave you a sideways glance without hanging up. “Sweetheart, I don’t need a spa. I can relax right here.”

Then he pulled your leg back up over his hip. But you? The idea of a spa had wormed into your head like a virus—bubbles, massage, hot stones, aromatic oils… breakfast or free spa? You tried to shift your legs to get up, but Leon had you plastered to his chest.

“Leon, I wanna go—”

“Nope.”

“Let me go!”

“Not happening.”

There was a few seconds’ struggle. The more you wriggled, the more he pressed.

Then a mischievous idea popped into your head. Keeping that innocent look, you moved your hips a little—then again—then more deliberately.

Leon’s breath stuttered on your chest. “Don’t you dare.”

You went beyond “dare.” When you ground your hips a bit harder his control slipped for two seconds.

That two seconds was your golden moment.

You twisted your leg and, in one quick move, flipped him beneath you. Leon blinked, trying to register what had just happened as you sat triumphantly over him like a victorious general.

“What the—” he started.

“SPA. I’m going. Goodbye.”

You were up in a heartbeat, hair a mess, sheet dragged like a cape, and you bolted for the door.

Leon collapsed onto the bed, a mix of stunned laughter and furious irritation. “Did you just—did you REALLY flip me to run to the spa!?”

You opened the door, still wrapped in the sheet, and laughed in triumph. “Yes. And I’d do it again!”