Briar Rose thought she knew her husband fairly well. Certainly she had a grasp on his favorite side dishes, and sports teams; understood his stance on the homeless situation in the city, and his spiritual groundwork for worship. She knew Frank liked three piece suits; teaching catechism and punctuality.
What she hadn't realized was that he also liked . . . playing games. Not Parcheesi or Monopoly either, but intimate little games just like the one they were currently enjoying as she straightened up in front of him and lifted her chin high, ready for inspection.
"Is everything to Monsieur's . . . satisfaction?" Briar Rose murmured, fighting a smirk. The French Maid costume had been a whim sparked by his off-hand remark, but one that seemed to be paying off given them heated stare he was giving her.
"That . . . remains to be seen," he rumbled, sending a little shiver up her spine.
It was hard not to giggle; Frank was extremely good at keeping a stern face and Briar Rose wanted to squirm. He sat up and rose off the bed, slowly walking around her, close but not touching, leaving her feeling very self-conscious. It dawned on her that most of the young policemen under his jurisdiction probably felt the same way . . . minus the sexual undertone.
Or maybe not, she mentally snickered to herself. Frank's masculine appeal undoubtedly extended to more than a few officers' fantasies out there.
A warm breath against her left ear caught her by surprise. "Your apron bow is crooked and your seams are off of standard vertical, Miss. Not. Acceptable."
She gave a little gasp when Frank tugged the satin sashes of her bow, undoing it. He stepped behind her, re-cinching the sashes tightly, forming a perfectly taut butterfly of a bow at the base of her spine. "Better."
"Oui . . . Monsieur," Briar Rose murmured a little breathlessly.
Then one big warm hand slid under her skirt and up the back of her stocking-covered thigh, the heat enough to make her fight a shudder. He really is good at this, she thought dizzily.
Frank's fingers hooked under the top of the fishnet stocking where it connected to the garter belt, tugging it up. "We pull like so, and the stocking straightens." His fingers lingered on her skin before he shifted his touch to the other stocking.
She felt her heart race a little; to have him standing so close behind her, hands at the edge of her oh so short skirt . . .
Another tug and Briar Rose felt her other stocking straighten. She fought the urge to shift and stayed balanced on her three inch black velvet heels. Frank's breath was on the back of her neck now, just under where she'd piled her hair up and it was all she could do not to sway a little.
"Any further infractions will be dealt with accordingly," he warned her in a little rumble. "Understood, Miss?"
"Oui, Monsieur," she managed in a little squeak.
Frank came around to stand in front of her, still not smiling, but the gleam of his gaze through his spectacles left Briar Rose feeling quivery again. He looked her over carefully before he spoke. "Better. I have extremely high standards that you will meet. Now I help me disrobe."
It was a reasonable request, something Briar Rose would have done without thinking at any other time, but the way Frank said now made it clear it was part of the game. Briar Rose took a breath and gave a quick nod, bending forward enough to flaunt her cleavage a bit. "Of course. First, the tie."
Lightly Briar Rose reached up to loosen the Windsor knot, letting her hands graze his shirt as she did so, unbuttoning Frank's collar and pulling the heavy silk from around his neck. With a flourish, she draped it on her forearm and carried it to the dresser, laying it down and folding it into thirds.
He gave an approving nod and waited until Briar Rose had returned to speak. "Well done. Next?"
Next would be his jacket, and Briar Rose moved behind him, reaching up to help him out of it, draping it neatly on one arm before taking it to one of the hangars in the closet. She felt his gaze on her legs as she did so, and made it a point to sashay.
"Bring my robe," Frank ordered, forgoing his usual 'please.'
Briar Rose did, laying it on the bed before turning back to him and working loose the buttons on his vest. The slow methodical disrobing made her hyperaware of Frank; of his size, and aftershave; of the very intimacy of the moment.
When she undid the buttons of his shirt, it startled her to realize he'd forgone an undershirt—not his usual practice. Her fingers touched skin and soft grey curls under the Van Heusen he wore, feeling heat there.
"Are we distracted?" Frank asked her with a merciless glance.
She blushed. "No Monsieur," came her lie; it was damned difficult to concentrate as she began to uncover that broad chest of his. Briar Rose nearly missed undoing the cuff links, but caught herself, neatly straightening the hinges and letting each heavy gold button drop into her hand before helping Frank out of his shirt. With care she hung it up and set the cuff links on top of his tie, the way he preferred.
When Briar Rose turned back to him, Frank had pulled on his dressing gown, leaving it open. She always liked the dark satin lapels contrasting with burgundy quilting on the rest of it and how her husband wore it without looking the least bit self-conscious.
She hesitated, but he gazed down in unspoken command and Briar Rose took a breath. Oh yes . . . the trousers.
It took work not to giggle at the heavy ridge now visible against the fabric, not to feel flattered by it. Briar Rose shifted her fingers to Frank's belt, undoing it slowly by touch, keeping her gaze on his face. Pulling it free, Briar Rose was about to carry it to the dresser, but Frank reached down, gripping her hand.
-0o0-
He was delighted. Out of all the new and surprising aspects of this new love, this new relationship was this capacity to be playful. Frank had never considered himself to be particularly playful; raising a family and focusing on a career took most of his time and energy. But the capacity was there, nurtured by the occasional fantasy for years. Fantasy now made a sweet little version of reality in the form of Briar Rose before him, on the verge of a giggle, done up in lace and tulle and oh Lord, those black fishnet stockings.
She shifted a little, looking up at him. "Monsieur?"
"Set it somewhere . . ..nearby," he told her. "For now. The rest of the suit . . ."
It was fun to see her glance at the belt and look nervous. Frank had no intention of using it in any way; pain had no part of his particular interests but the uncertainty it put in Briar Rose was amusing. She fumbled with his fly, fingers brushing him as she pulled down the trousers, leaving him in his good silk boxers.
Frank took a breath, marveling that he hadn't lost it right then and there. He stepped out of the pooled slacks and let her carry them away as he dealt with his socks.
Socks were the most unglamorous part of disrobing, he knew.
Still, slipping out of them was simple enough, as was moving to the big leather wingback chair near the balcony. He settled into it, watching Briar Rose saunter his way, her hands full with glittering glass of bourbon. Carefully she set it down on the side table and stepped back, awaiting direction.
Frank beckoned her forward with a crooked finger, and patted his lap.
Briar Rose slithered closer and perched herself on his thighs; by the feel of it, whatever she had on under the fluffy skirt wasn't much, and Frank heartily approved of that.
He looked over the top of his glasses at her and gave a sigh. "You are too damned adorable in that thing. Right now you could ask me for my entire pension fund and I'd give it to you."
"Oh really?" came her purr.
"Really," Frank confirmed reaching for the glass, "which is a secret that must never leave this room." He offered the glass to her and Briar Rose let him hold it as she sipped the drink lightly.
She took it and in turn held it to his lips, slipping her free arm around his shoulders to steady herself. "Yes well it's fun to see you so . . . strict," Briar Rose murmured. "I can understand now why some of the officers under you get so nervous."
Frank shifted to slide his own arm around her, fingers gliding around her ass lingeringly. "What are you wearing under this?"
"Maybe you ought to find out," she taunted, wriggling a little as she bent to set the glass down.
"I intend to," came his baleful reply before Frank kissed her, savoring the taste of Maker's Mark on her warm lips. Briar Rose returned the kiss, shifting herself to straddle his lap, her expression sweet and wicked at the same time.
"Is Monsieur ready for the full tuck-in service?" she asked, arching so he could kiss her cleavage.
"Is 'tuck' really the word you meant?" Frank snickered, burrowing his hands under the back of her fluffy skirt to cup her nearly bare bottom. She giggled again at that, working to shift clothing and weight with him until he was able to thrust into her, groaning with pleasure as he did so.
Briar Rose gripped the wings of the headrest, bouncing happily, feeling kisses and mustache scrapes along her exposed cleavage, delighted by the sweet sensations. Being on top was always fun, mostly because it gave her a chance to set the pace and to watch Frank as they made love, to see her husband at his most hungry and vulnerable. The heat of his gaze and feel of his kisses left her giddy above and beyond the fire between her thighs. After a while she slid a hand down to touch herself, feeling him groan in happy reaction.
The soft flick of her fingers in syncopation with Frank's thrusts did it, and a few minutes later Briar Rose tensed, her free hand raking the leather wing of the chair. Frank's big hands tightened on her ass and a moment later he grunted, thrusting hard enough to nearly buck her off of him.
Catching her breath Briar Rose weakly laughed, kissing his widow's peak and trailing down to his temple, sagging in his grip. "Ooof! Monsieur has a LOT to tuck in, there!"
"Monsieur's brains have left the hotel," Frank mumbled, lolling his head back, flashing his dimpled grin at her. "Along with a few liters of other fluids. We're keeping the outfit, right?"
"Consider it," Briar Rose giggled, "Your birthday suit."