My cheeks heat. His words make me feel like the most beautiful woman in the entire world. They confirm to me that I’m desirable.
As confident as I am in my professional life, I’m as insecure in my personal. My ex’s cheating hurt me. His telling Brody that I wasn’t good in bed eroded my shaky confidence in myself.
And my husband’s words praising me seem to quieten the churning emotions in me. They make me feel seen in a way that’s almost overwhelming.
Hoping to conceal my emotions from him, I dip my chin. "We’re tracking water all over the house."
"It’ll dry." He reaches the landing and walks down the hallway.Entering the bedroom, he makes for the bed. "Oh no, we need to dry off first." I struggle in his grasp. "Please, we can’t make the bed wet."
"You’re right, I’d rather make you wet."
I flush. And chuckle. "Your dirty talking might be one of your more standout traits."
"What are the others?" He lowers me to my feet but keeps a hold of my hips.
More like, what aren’t?"It might be the orgasm you gave me. Or how you agreed to Christmas decorations in the office. Or how you trusted me enough to chair the board meeting."
He eyes me with curiosity. "You want to talk about work now?" He cups my breast, then squeezes my nipple.
I shiver.
"Not particularly."
"Good. Because I need to taste you again." He picks me up bodily and throws me on the bed.
I bounce once. And when he grabs my ankles and pulls me to the edge of the bed, I yelp. "We didn’t dry… Oh!" All thoughts empty from my head. For he’s on his knees, between my legs, with his hands holding my thighs apart.
"Look at that pretty pussy," he growls.
I look down to find him staring at the triangle of flesh.
Instantly, I flush from my toes to the tips of my hair. My nipples tighten. My core throbs. It’s like all my attention is centered on the space he’s staring at.
"Brody," I whine.
"You going to be a good girl and come for me again?"
The curl of his lips, the challenge in his eyes, the hard edge in his voice… All of it pushes me to the edge. I ache to reach out and touch him. Ache to do anything to please him.
"Yesss," I hiss.
He stuffs two fingers inside my melting channel, and my eyes roll back in my head. He adds a third finger, stretching me, and the pressure on my inner walls feels so good. Incoherent sounds emerge from my mouth.
He circles my clit with his fingers.
I squirm, pushing up my pelvis, trying to get him to touch me there. Needing more, so much more. That emptiness, once again, yawns in my core. My fingertips twitch.
I dig them into the fabric of the duvet, trying to hold on while he touches me like I'm a blank sheet of paper, and his fingers are the pen he’s using to write a poem into my skin.
He inspires me to be creative. He makes me dare to hope that anything is possible. Being with him sets me free in a way I could never have dreamed of.
Sparks shiver up my spine. My entire body seems to be on fire. He continues to relentlessly finger fuck me, curling his fingers inside so they brush up against that hidden part deep inside of me. That’s when I stop breathing.I’m going to come. I’m going to come.
I only realize I’ve said it aloud when he suddenly pulls away from me. Cool air flows over my exposed center.What the—?I sit up and my gaze clashes with his.
It’s like sticking my finger into an electrical socket. As much as his touch arouses me, it’s the connection when our eyes meet, when I can’t look away, and neither can he. When the very air between us spikes with chemistry, and static buzzes over my skin, lifting the hair at the nape of my neck. It’s a euphoric feeling. One that sinks into my blood and ratchets up the anticipation in every cell in my body. I read the intent in the way he tips up one side of his mouth. Then, without any other forewarning, he slaps my pussy.
32
