Her jaw flexes, a tell I pressed into memory when my life was still measured by which doorways I could and couldn’t use. “There’s a very thick line between polite and dry humping, Vasso,” she says.
Heat slices straight through me. “I’m aware. I can show you if you like?”
She inhales sharply. “Show me?” She laughs like a blade leaving a sheath. “What are you, a sex tour guide?”
“No,” I say, and I mean it like a promise, “I’m your husband.”
The word slows her for half a heartbeat. I take it and keep going.
“And you’re pissed off. Fair,” I say, closing the last inch between us. “So I’ll make amends the only way that matters to me and, I suspect, to you.”
Her breath stutters, then she glances around, a lady always poised for decorum even then every cell in her body wants to bevery bad. “Vasso, if you think you can distract me with?—”
“Not a distraction.” I slide a hand to the small of her back and feel her shiver despite herself. “A correction. Brownie points very much wanted and eager to be earned.”
Her mouth opens to argue but when she pauses to lick her bottom lip in greedy hunger, I don’t give her the chance. I back her against the fig’s rough trunk and sink to my knees on warm grass like devotion isn’t a language I’m fluent in.
Her eyes flare, pupils spilling wide; her fingers fly to my shoulders as if to steady herself against something she tells herself she shouldn’t want.
“I’m going to wreck you, baby. Up to you whether you want to leave your mark on me or not,” I say, looking up at her. “But I hope you do.”
Something feral flickers in her gaze—satisfaction, possession, a recognition that she doesn’t have to be civilized for me. As I slide my hands up her warm, supple thighs, she glides her hands down my jaw and neck to rest them on my shoulders.
Watching. Waiting. Breath bated and her magnificent body rousing and ripening for me.
Her breath catches when my fingers whisper over the heat at her satin-covered apex. I watch her eyes darken, her breaths pant as I caress her pussy through her panties.
She nails dig into the skin on my neck and I let a growl loose. I stroke her, back and forth, back and forth and watch, fucking ravenous, her nipples push against her dress.
Her pussy’s wetness increases the friction and she whimpers in her throat.
She tangles her fingers in my hair, not gentle, and tugs my shirt open with unrepentant hands until the linen rumples like we wrestled the tree and won. Good. Iwantto be wrecked by her. Out here, in someone else’s kingdom, I want the evidence of her possession on my body, in my clothes, under my nails.
“Vasso—” Her voice is already different. Lower. Less defended.
“Shh,” I murmur against her thigh, tasting sun and salt and the faint ghost of her perfume. “It feels like forever since I tasted you. Let me make amends. Let me please you.”
Still watching her every shiver and devouring her every gasp, I reach beneath her dress and drag down her panties. The second she steps out of them, I lift the scrap to my nose, inhaling deeply.
“Fuck, you smell incredible. Need a taste, baby.”
At her shaky nod, I dive in, rough and uncouth as the insult once leveled on me, but I don’t even care.
This is supposed to be for her, but I’m not entirely selfless. Hell, I’m downright elated to be pleasuring her for my own purposes.
Because right this second, I need Naomi like I need air.
Yesterday and last night on the plane have only revealed that I’m addicted to my temporary wife. That avoiding that truth is as useless as shouting at the sun not to shine.
And so as I lift one thigh and drape it over my shoulder to open her wide to my hungry mouth, my goal is specific, that of a man reacquainting himself with the only altar he ever prayed at without lying to himself about why.
She braces one hand on the tree, the fingers of the other still knotted in my hair as if the roots can somehow anchor both of us, and I take my time learning the new map the years have written on her body.
I lick and suck on her clit and she cries out, blissfully owning her pleasure, uncaring that she’s vocal—God, she always was and I pray always will—and I take every sound and pocket it like cash. Like the way I’m hoarding her soaked panties.
When she tries to hold back I remind her who she is with my mouth, then my fingers, fucking one, then two into her and stroking, searching until I find her sweet spot.
Then with intent that makes my cock scream for deliverance…a petition I ignore because this is for Naomi, I thrust in and out of her pussy while I polish her clit with my tongue. And I’m rewarded with the most beautiful sound in the world when she tips over.
