Page 73 of Precious Hazard

Not that there’s even a remote chance I’ll be able to fully get the image of her flushed face out of my mind. For days, I’ve been walking around with the biggest hard-on, constantly thinking of how she looked as she orgasmed on my hand. Shit, this past week, running into her around the house was fucking torture. Every time I saw her, I was instantly back in that bathroom with her. So I’ve stayed away. Worked as much as possible. Hell, I’ve put a hundred miles on the treadmill at the gym just so I wouldn’t go sniffing her strawberry shampoo. But every time I close my eyes, there she is. Beautiful. Aroused. Euphoric.

And there goes my dick again.

Every.

Fucking.

Time.

***

It’s almost midnight when I arrive home. As I drive up to the house, heading for the garage out back, I catch a glimpse of a huge shadow in the middle of the backyard lawn.

What in the world…?

I hit the brakes and get out of the SUV.

Not possible.

Not evenshewould be this insane. Right?

“Um… I tried to tell you, sir,” Tony mumbles as he comes up beside me.

“How the fuck did that thing get here?”

“It was dropped off by a flatbed truck, courtesy of the seller. The delivery guys apologized for ruining the grounds, but this was the only space large enough to leave it.”

I take a step closer, still unable to believe what I’m seeing.

My impertinent wife bought a damn helicopter!

That audacious… ballsy… recklessly clever, crafty woman!

An explosive laugh builds in my throat. I press my fist over my mouth, trying to swallow it down.

“Sir?” Tony gives me a concerned look. “Are… are you okay?”

The deep, guttural guffaw bursts out of me and explodes into the night. My throat and lungs scream in protest, and another coughing fit overcomes me. None of that is enough to make me stop fucking laughing.

“Um… sir? Should I try to return it?”

Finally, I manage to get my breathing under control. “No. Just leave it where it is.”

Shaking my head, I head toward the house.

“Greta,” I call, stepping through the front door. “Where’s my wife?”

My housekeeper peeks around the corner. “She’s upstairs, asleep. You saw the helicopter, I take it?”

“Hard to miss it.”

“Are you angry with Mrs. DeVille?”

I’m not sure why, but I’m not. I can’t bring myself to be even a little mad at Tara. Actually, she just made my day, completely wiping the last few shitty hours from my mind. Fuck me, I don’t even remember the last time I laughed this hard.

“Nope. Not mad at all, Greta.”

Two graying eyebrows hit her likewise gray hairline. “Huh. Well, I’m glad. But, I get it, Mr. DeVille. It’s difficult to stay mad at the person you’re in love with.”