I’d be embarrassed by my moaned exclamation if I didn’t feel the vibration of his own sound of pleasure against my clit. My heels dig into his muscular back as he tastes me over andover and over again, and I wish he didn’t have me pinned so I could lift my hips and grind against his face. Even still, I writhe as he slips a finger into me, then another, crooking up to press on the spot that makes me clench around him. It’s so good that I can’t do much else but babbleyesanddo it againas he drives me to the brink.
I’m overheated and coming undone. It won’t be long before I’m fully unraveled, and when it happens, it’s with his name on my lips and a burst of light behind my eyes. I swear my soul has left my body, hovering somewhere above me as I spin my way back down.
Minutes or hours could have passed by the time I hear him murmur, “Sometimes I can’t believe you’re real.” The sensation of him pressing featherlight kisses against my thighs finally returns me to my body. “How can someone be so perfect?”
This orgasm already has me fighting not to confess that I’m obsessed with him, and the last thing I need is more praise. I bite my cheek to keep from admitting something I can’t take back—from myself or from him.
“I’m not real,” I say, gently pushing him back so I can sit up. My head is still swimming, dangerous things threatening to leave my lips. “I’m a figment of your imagination.”
I stop breathing when he lifts his wet fingers to his lips. “Then you’re the best-tasting hallucination I’ve ever had.”
“High praise.” The words nearly come out as a moan. But I need more of him and I need it now. “Come here. Let me touch you.”
I place my hands on his shoulders, then let them drag down his chest as he climbs to his feet. He tenses as my fingers dip between the hard planes of his abs, breaths stuttering when I reach the waistband of his pants. I pop the top button and makequick work of the zipper before slipping my fingers past the elastic of his boxer briefs, excited to feel the weight of him, wanting to know what my prize is.
When my palm wraps around his thick erection, I falter, my confidence drying up like a puddle in the desert sun. I’ve known since the night at the strip club he was packing something impressive, but fucking hell, he’s easily bigger than anyone I’ve ever been with.
“That,” I say, daring myself to run my hand up and down him, feeling every inch, “is a human rights violation.”
A shiver rolls through him, but he still manages to tease, “Come on, sweetheart. I know you can take it.”
I don’t know about that, but I’m no quitter, so I’ll certainly try.
But before I can do anything else, he pulls away from my hand and then moves to the dresser again, opening the top drawer. “Maybe it was presumptuous of me,” he says, pulling out a foil packet from a box, “but I did bring condoms this time.”
“Verypresumptuous,” I reply, sliding back on the bed. His heavy gaze tracks every move I make. “Also, is this a good time to tell you I have an IUD?”
Thomas freezes for a moment before stalking back over, tossing the condom to the bedside table as he climbs on top of me. His knees and forearms press into the mattress, and his thighs push mine open wide, the fabric of his undone pants brushing against my most sensitive skin. “Are you telling me we could have done this back in Vegas? That we could have avoided our condom run turned wedding?”
I scoff, pressing my hands to his chest. “Um, no. You were a stranger then, and I certainly do not fuck strangers without one.”
“And now?”
“You’re my husband.” I brush my nose against his, not tempted to addfaketo that sentence. “Whose health records I saw lying around in the office from your postseason exam and who I know hasn’t been with anyone else in months.”
“I could have been out shagging people,” he mumbles, eyes dipping to my mouth. “You don’t know.”
“Oh, I think I do.” I tilt my chin and kiss him gently, letting it linger. “You’ve been too busy thinking about me to want anyone else.”
I mean it as a taunt, but these are my own feelings for him coming to light. How could I have looked at another man when he was right in front of me? Why would I even bother? Who else could possibly match up?
“Guilty as charged,” he says with no hint of shame or regret. “I haven’t thought about anyone else since the moment I saw you.”
My heart twists. This is turning into a dangerous game. We keep pushing the limit, letting true feelings show in flashes and split seconds, then covering them up with searing touches and sharp humor. I should drop the act and let it all out. But I can’t. I can’t let this be anything more than we said it would be.
“Wish I could say the same,” I murmur, breathless and unserious, needing to lift us out of these depths. “I can’t stop thinking about Ed Sheeran.”
A burst of laughter escapes him as he pushes off of me to stand. “Please, not my nemesis.”
I grin along. “The heart wants what it wants.”
And right now, my heart only wants the man in front of me.
It’s a terrible realization, one I have to come to terms with some other time, because Thomas is taking off his pants and hisboxer briefs, and I have to press my lips together to keep my mouth from hanging open in awe.
“It’s impolite to stare,” he chides, giving himself a long stroke.
I swallow hard. “Show-off.”
