*Beta'd by sendtherain
...
19. He's Supposed to Help Me with a Citizen Story Deadline
The man is a sweet talker. That much I know for sure. He gets me resources, prompts certain stories, tells me all he can find out as the Flash, and gushes over every article the Central Citizen produces.
So, when he offers to help me with my next story, of course I say yes. I'm only to happy to.
I don't realize that when the story is not wrapped up in under two hours, my resourceful husband will lose his patience. I don't predict that his libido will rise, and his goal for the evening will turn into seducing me by whatever means possible.
I'm typing diligently away on my laptop, but my typing slows when he goes from standing beside me to standing behind me to standing over me to lowering his head, and then out of nowhere, MY HUSBAND IS KISSING MY NECK. HE IS KISSING MY SWEET SPOT. HE IS DRIVING ME INSANE.
"Baaarry," I purr, making a feeble attempt to push him off me. "You're supposed to be helping me."
"I am helping you," he murmurs against my skin, and I make the mistake of turning my face towards his ministrations.
"By doing wha-"
He seals my lips with a kiss, and I'm reciprocating before I can stop myself. In fact, I might've let the night go in the direction he's hoping sooner rather than later if he hadn't been so daring as to pull my spaghetti strap off one shoulder and start reaching for the other as we continue to make out.
"Mm- Mm-" I shake my head, pulling away. I brace my hand on his chest, which is probably a mistake, as I declare, "I have to finish this, Barry! And you're supposed to be helping me! Not…seducing me!" I point an angry finger at him with a pout, and I know exactly what he's thinking.
How I'm so cute when I'm mad.
Well, he better not say it.
He doesn't, but that smirk on his lips and twinkle in his eyes are almost just as bad.
"I thought I was helping," he says smoothly. Before I can respond, he points to all the sources he brought with him strewn out on the table. "Are these not good enough for you, Mrs. West-Allen?" he teases, and I must admit, hearing him call me that always turns me to goo.
"That's not what I was talking about, and you know it!"
He laughs. "So, what are you-"
I push my chair back and stand as tall as I can with my short height. He looks so amused that I want to kick him, but I yank his head down and kiss him instead, and there go my priorities for the night. Sex on the table takes precedence.
