Marne was an attractive woman. And, what's more, unlike Melissa who had been conditioned not to recognize her own beauty, Marne was fully aware of her own good looks. And, she was proud of the way men looked at her. She was proud of the way Creagon looked at her now.
It was strange, but of all the men Marne had come in contact with in her life (and her beauty had drawn men like flies to molasses), Creagon Davenport had been the only one who had gotten Marne's interest and then held it. Passions which had usually peaked after bedding with a man one or two times had shown no signs of being anywhere near peaking after almost three years of marriage to Creagon Davenport.
Marne's friends had all been frankly surprised when Marne had tied the knot with Creagon Davenport. Oh, not because Creagon wasn't one of the best-looking studs around, because he was. And not because Creagon wasn't able to show a girl a good time in bed; because few, if any, women had ever complained of Creagon's performance. But Marne had been proposed to by some very wealthy men and had refused them all. Everyone had assumed she was just waiting for someone even richer. And, Creagon Davenport certainly hadn't fit that bill at the time Marne had met him. William Davenport, Creagon's father, would have been a more likely choice for Marne; especially since, it had been no secret that William Davenport had said publicly, on more than one occasion, that he "no longer had a son."
Well, Marne had never been one of those people who thought money was everything. Oh, it certainly helped grease the wheels; but, Marne had never had any intentions of wasting away as some rich old fart's plaything. She wanted more than an occasional fuck from a husband who was so far gone that he couldn't get his cock up except on holidays.
So, Creagon hadn't been wealthy when she had married him. So, Creagon had shown no prospects whatsoever of ever getting his daddy's millions. At the time, Marne had figured her brother was going to come into a nice piece of that financial pie by having married Melissa; so, Marne knew there was little chance of her being left destitute in her old age, even if she had married some derelict off the streets.
And, Creagon had been anything but a bum, He'd had a drive to succeed that had probably been spawned by the fact that his old man had thrown him out on his ear. Creagon had managed to support Marne quite well over the last three years.
And, Marne had to smile whenever she thought of how all her old friends would by now have read the papers, seeing that Creagon was now one of William Davenport's chief heirs. Oh, there would be chatter. More than one catty tongue would be sure to whisper that Marne had known something about this all along. Those gossips would be greatly relieved to think that their original suspicions of Marne had been quite true: that she was just too attractive not to have married into great wealth. Well, weren't they all jackasses! The money was a bonus. Money or no money, Marne had all she wanted in a man-all she had ever hoped for in a man-right here in this bed.
"Why is it that I still get a hard cock every time I'm in the same room with you?" Creagon asked.
And, Marne rewarded him with a delighted laugh that brought out the dimples in both of her cheeks. Marne wondered if Creagon could have possibly known the tangent Marne's mind had just taken. He did have the ability to intuitively sense her brain waves. Marne had noticed that from the beginning of their relationship. At first, it had somehow made her nervous. It was always a jarring sensation to realize that some of your thoughts weren't as private as you'd imagined them to be. But, Marne had since realized that it was a two-way street she and Creagon were on. If Creagon was able to sometimes read Marne's moods, she could also, on occasion, read his.
Right now, for instance, Marne knew that Creagon was still vaguely wondering what to do with his own small company now that he was thrust into dual-ownership of a bigger one. Creagon was a proud man-proud of the fact that he had survived on his own two feet, had gotten where he was in spite of William Davenport instead of because of William Davenport. Taking what he had long worked for and subjugating it to the colossal giant that was William Davenport's Davenport Electronic International was going to take some good deal of thinking.
"You'll make the right decision about the company," Marne told him, as if Creagon had been aware that she had been reading his thoughts all along.
"Yea, I guess so," Creagon replied, hardly surprised that his wife had known where he was at. He had ceased being surprised by Marne's exceptional insight as far as Creagon was concerned. "But, I called you over here to discuss your problem not mine."
"When are you going to realize that there is no such thing as a 'your problem,' or a 'my problem,' but only our problem."
"Okay," Creagon said, giving his wife a smile that made his blue eyes twinkle, "which of 'our' jointly-owned problems is now giving you trouble?"
"Oh, it's not really trouble," Marne said with a sigh. She scooted up on the bed beside her husband, shifting to a sitting position that was more 'against' him than beside him.
Creagon, in turn, leaned over his wife and dropped his business papers on the bedside stand. Whatever decision he made about his firm, he wasn't going to make it right now. When Marne was so close, it was hard to think about much of anything except the swollen cock at his crotch.
"Come on, let's hear it," Creagon encouraged.
"I was just thinking about John."
"Your brother John?"
"He's changed, you know?"
"Changed? How?"
"Don't play like you don't see it," Marne said, turning her face to her husband, giving him a perturbed little smirk. "I realize you haven't seen all that much of John between his marriage and now; but, I think he's changed enough so that even a casual acquaintance could see it, let alone a member of the family."
"So, he's changed," Creagon said, moving his fingers through his wife's red-brown hair, secretly marveling at the way the silky strands sensuously poured through his fingers. "Everybody changes, thank God! It prevents boredom. And, besides, as far as I'm concerned, your brother's change has been one hundred percent for the better. He's the proof of the pudding that the Army can still 'Make a man.' If I remember correctly-and don't get me wrong for a moment, since I always did like your brother-he was just a bit of a milksop when my dear sister married him."
"Yea, he was, wasn't he?" Marne said, certainly ready to agree. Marne had always been a bit worried about her brother in those early days. She had been so worried once that she had even tried to seduce him herself. And, hadn't poor John been horrified by that encounter? Marne smiled, wondering if John even remembered, or if he had filed that memory away in some convenient little cubbyhole of his subconscious.
"And, you agree he is certainly more of a man now than he used to be?" Creagon asked, already suspecting what his wife was getting at.
"I would agree, you would agree," Marne said. "I think even John would agree. Now if one, or all three of us, could only somehow convince Melissa, we'll have everything all tied up and secured with a neat little bow."
"John's said something to you about his marriage?"
"Only that they're having their problems. He hasn't gone into any specific detail, and I've been a bit loathe to pry. After all, is it really any of my business?"
"I suspect your brother has simply become a bit too much of a man to suit my sister," Creagon said, seeing first the look of confusion that came over Marne's face, second seeing a thin grin of amusement forming as Marne came to suspect that her husband was trying to pull her leg.
"Come on, Creagon, be serious."
"Oh, I am being serious," Creagon replied.
"Too much of a man?" Marne asked, stopping the playful movements of her hand around Creagon's hardening left nipple. "How in the hell can any man be too much of a man for any woman?"