Tuesday, August 5, 2014

Brand(ed) spanking new!

I give you...Honeymoon's Over...

Kelli Scott


Macy loves her new husband Bryan, but she’s discovered living with him is taking considerable adjustment. Towels on the bathroom floor, dropping clothes wherever, division of household chores…it isn’t long before the small annoyances threaten to become a big problem. Until Macy’s best friend offers some sage advice…

1. Pick your battles wisely.

2. When annoyed, have angry sex to blow off the small stuff.

Soon, Macy and Bryan are having sex several times a day, and while he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Bryan has gotten some advice of his own. Advice that will take them from angry sex to ecstasy before you can say “silk tie”.

All’s fair in love, war and the bid for marital bliss!

A Romantica® contemporary erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, please exit this site.
Copyright © KELLI SCOTT, 2014
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
“Hey there, gorgeous.”
“Hi, honey.” She shut off the faucet, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “How was work?”
“Excellent.” He tossed his suit jacket casually over the sofa back. She eyed him. Eyed the jacket. Eyed him again. He plucked the jacket up and hooked it on a peg by the front door to avoid her derision. “Boss gave me a couple new accounts today.”
He made it sound like a good thing instead of a pain in his ass. He added his tie to the peg by the door and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt. Flipping through the mail on a side table, he shook off the irritation of seeing her maiden name—Marshall. Not even a hyphen—Macy Marshall-Dade, which, by the way, sounded very cool. No acknowledgement whatsoever of their very expensive union. He decided not to push the subject—yet. But dropping hints hadn’t worked so far.
“That’s great, Bry.”
They met in the center of the living room where she looped her arms around his neck. He squeezed her tightly, letting go of more stress. Please don’t let this ever end. Macy was the eye of the storm called life. He thought of her as a beacon keeping him on course. With her red hair and freckles, he could spot her in a sea of people. Hell, he could smell her lavender scent in a crowd.
He playfully swatted her butt and she valiantly attempted to hide a delighted smile. “How was your day?”
She recounted her day at the preschool where she worked. Macy had her degree in education but couldn’t find a job in her desired field of teaching middle-grade English, settling instead at a preschool. It was good experience for her resume, a steady paycheck until something better shook loose and damn good parenting experience for the future. After a few minutes of listening to her recap, sounded to him like her day was filled with nose wiping, finger painting and nap taking.
She kissed him sweetly. “What were you going to make for dinner?”
Bryan groaned. It was his turn to cook. Her turn to clean. Although, she’d just finished cleaning the kitchen from last night when it had been his turn to clean. None of the other guys at work mentioned having to cook dinner. Were they too emasculated to admit it out loud? Or am I the only pussy-whipped man on the planet? “I completely forgot. How ’bout I run out and get something or order a pizza?”
She planted her hands on her waist. “We’re saving for a down payment on a house, Bryan. Every penny counts.”
The American dream of home ownership would dash his hopes of pepperoni pizza. He wanted to point out to her that he made three times more money, but that would make him a first-rate asshole who made three times more money. Besides, she’d agreed to cook four nights a week, he cooked only twice and they ate out or ordered in the seventh night. Usually on Friday or Saturday date night. Sometimes date night was a movie out. Other times it was a movie in, depending on the checkbook balance. She had a five-year, ten-year and twenty-year plan for their future and apparently pizza would throw a monkey wrench in the works.
“I’m sorry. You’re right.” He held his hands up in surrender. “You’re always right.”
She tilted her head. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” He unfastened the buttons at his wrists and began rolling up his sleeves. He’d rather cook than wash dishes anyhow, not that he’d washed the dishes the night before. Slipped his mind. He’d also rather cook than fight since he couldn’t have his first choice of numbing his mind with TV until bedtime. “You’re right, that’s all.”
Macy inclined her head to the other side. “Am…am I annoying you?”
“No.” He snorted a laugh. “Where did that come from? I’m just all about keeping the peace and spreading harmony.”
“Did you just say peace and harmony?”
He detected a hint of hostility, but without the telltale clues as to why. Dinner? Dishes? Anita? Of course. He should have known. Sometimes his wife’s best friend was his staunch ally, other times she completely threw him under the bus. Apparently it was bus day. “How is Anita?” He stopped himself from asking how much lunch cost. Probably more than a large pepperoni pizza.
“Forget about Anita. Do you want to have sex?”
“What?” Sounded like a trick question to him. Yes. Always. Why do you ask?
“Sex.” Macy yanked her shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor, which was very uncharacteristic of her tidy tendencies. “Do you want to—?”
“Yes.” He decided her trick question sounded more like a stupid question.

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