The Hooker and the Hermit
Page 68
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“Hey, hey, what are the tears for?” I said, brushing away some of the wetness beneath her eyes with my thumb.
She sniffled and spoke so quietly. “I’m sorry. I’m being an emotional idiot. It’s just that I love you. I’ve always been alone, and the idea of having a proper home with you is a little overwhelming. I feel like I’m going to wake up in a minute, and it’ll all have been a dream.”
I took her hand in mine and placed it over my heart. “That’s not going to happen. This is real. You’re my home now, and I’m yours. Nothing can change that. I won’t let it.”
The look she gave me took my breath away, like I was all she ever wanted and she couldn’t believe she actually had me. That went for both us because I felt exactly the same way. I returned her look, and then my lids grew hooded. Being alone in a bedroom with my beautiful fiancée did that to me. My eyes trailed to her chest, where her breasts rose and fell with her breathing, and I slid my arm beneath her body, pushing her to the top of the bed. A tiny sigh escaped her when I climbed between her legs and captured her wrists in mine, pinning them over her head.
“So, love, silk rope or cuffs today, what will it be?” I purred and thrust my hips into her.
Her eyes glazed over, and a fiery expression came over her as she met my stare. “Or I could touch you.”
A grin shaped my lips slowly as I thought of all the ways I was about to make her scream. “Why, Annie dearest, that’s the correct answer.”
***
New York’s Finest
Blogging as *The Socialmedialite*
February 14
I don’t care what anyone says to the contrary, Lumbersexuals are here to stay.
They’re too delicious to be a fleeting fad. It’s like everything you want in an actual lumberjack—the beard, the smoldering eyes, the well-muscled torso, the big hands, the flannel, the boots—but without the dangling food in the mustache, dirt on the floor, or any actual lumber (but don’t worry, there’s still plenty of wood *nudge nudge* *wink wink*).
Although, I admit that some of these Lumbersexuals take things a bit too far. For instance, my husband and his teammates. As you see from these stealthy pictures taken two nights ago, none of them have shaved for almost four months, not even a trim! They all look like wild beasts or Neanderthals.
Well, everyone but poor Sean Cassidy. Sadly, as you can see from the third picture down, his beard is uneven and splotchy, like a prepubescent with peach fuzz. It resembles some kind of Rogaine accident or beard Hair Club for Men subscription gone terribly wrong.
Aside from Sean’s valiant (but failed) effort, these guys are all growing beards for a good cause, and I can’t fault them for that.
Check out the link to the highlighted charity below to learn why Irish rugby players aren’t shaving and maybe donate some cash to this worthy cause.
Till next time!
(Wedded in bearded bliss) The Socialmedialite
THE END
She sniffled and spoke so quietly. “I’m sorry. I’m being an emotional idiot. It’s just that I love you. I’ve always been alone, and the idea of having a proper home with you is a little overwhelming. I feel like I’m going to wake up in a minute, and it’ll all have been a dream.”
I took her hand in mine and placed it over my heart. “That’s not going to happen. This is real. You’re my home now, and I’m yours. Nothing can change that. I won’t let it.”
The look she gave me took my breath away, like I was all she ever wanted and she couldn’t believe she actually had me. That went for both us because I felt exactly the same way. I returned her look, and then my lids grew hooded. Being alone in a bedroom with my beautiful fiancée did that to me. My eyes trailed to her chest, where her breasts rose and fell with her breathing, and I slid my arm beneath her body, pushing her to the top of the bed. A tiny sigh escaped her when I climbed between her legs and captured her wrists in mine, pinning them over her head.
“So, love, silk rope or cuffs today, what will it be?” I purred and thrust my hips into her.
Her eyes glazed over, and a fiery expression came over her as she met my stare. “Or I could touch you.”
A grin shaped my lips slowly as I thought of all the ways I was about to make her scream. “Why, Annie dearest, that’s the correct answer.”
***
New York’s Finest
Blogging as *The Socialmedialite*
February 14
I don’t care what anyone says to the contrary, Lumbersexuals are here to stay.
They’re too delicious to be a fleeting fad. It’s like everything you want in an actual lumberjack—the beard, the smoldering eyes, the well-muscled torso, the big hands, the flannel, the boots—but without the dangling food in the mustache, dirt on the floor, or any actual lumber (but don’t worry, there’s still plenty of wood *nudge nudge* *wink wink*).
Although, I admit that some of these Lumbersexuals take things a bit too far. For instance, my husband and his teammates. As you see from these stealthy pictures taken two nights ago, none of them have shaved for almost four months, not even a trim! They all look like wild beasts or Neanderthals.
Well, everyone but poor Sean Cassidy. Sadly, as you can see from the third picture down, his beard is uneven and splotchy, like a prepubescent with peach fuzz. It resembles some kind of Rogaine accident or beard Hair Club for Men subscription gone terribly wrong.
Aside from Sean’s valiant (but failed) effort, these guys are all growing beards for a good cause, and I can’t fault them for that.
Check out the link to the highlighted charity below to learn why Irish rugby players aren’t shaving and maybe donate some cash to this worthy cause.
Till next time!
(Wedded in bearded bliss) The Socialmedialite
THE END
