“Yeah, baby girl. That’s one hell of a present.” My fingers lace into her sopping strands, coiling it around my fist to guide her head.
And, Jesus, does she commit to her charitable donation. With one hand pumping the base of my shaft and the other kneading my balls, she bobs her head with little guidance in a ravenous cadence. Frothy and determined, wild and free. Opening her throat to consume every inch she can fit and warbling enthusiasm through each choking swipe.
“Christ, baby, that mouth. So pretty, choking on my cock,” I praise as a pressure builds at the base of my spine, a tingle seizing my balls, urging me to drive into her. “That’s my good fucking girl.”
And when her eyes flit up to mine, even in the midst of my delirium and punishing thrusts, I realize my mistake.
“Such a filthy slut for me,” I correct, and her hips wiggle in eagerness while she trills her approval. My breaths become labored,my knees quake, and silver streaks my vision. “I’m gonna come, Little Moon.”
She pops off my raging dick, her hand maintaining the tempo. “Make me messy, sailor. Paint me.” With that, she opens her mouth, sticks out her tongue, and docks those hazel pools on me.
Ravishing.
While still fisting her sopping strands, I take over her work on my cock with my other hand and growl, “A goddamn dream, Rena,” as my orgasm blasts through me like a jolting tidal wave. Jets of my cum shoot onto her tongue and chin and phenomenal tits. “A masterpiece.”
Her tongue darts out to collect the remnants on her lips and chin as she rubs the rest into her skin. “Mmm,” she moans. “Heaven.”
“You are my heaven. I love you so damn much.” My mouth crashes into hers as I sweep her into my arms, consumingus—the taste of me, the silk of her, the melody of the past and present and future harmonizing to our divine tune.
I had no idea it could be like this—life, sex, love. She changed everything. I nailed it long ago when I told her she was an angel-demon hybrid. Who else could transform the depths of Hell into celestial awe?
Grabbing a towel, I clean her up and secure her around me, storming into our walk-in closet. “That deserves another surprise.”
“Ty,” she groans.
“Get used to it.” I dust her sticky hair off her forehead. “You’re the one who taught me to embrace moments, and I can’t imagine anything I want more than to spoil you, so as a gift to me, let me.”
Wells and Ivy picked this house because it had an ideal setup for the four of us guys to each have a family here. We all get four bedrooms—several are guest suites now. Some will be nurseries or kids’ rooms. But another draw was that the original owner was as paranoid as Wells. So, while it has sixteen official bedrooms, we have several safe rooms in between. One happens to be accessible through our master closet.
As the wall behind Rena’s shoe rack slides open, she beams. “Is there a hiding spot in the walls?”
She’s told me about her little escapes at La Lune Noire, so I knew she’d appreciate this.
“Yeah, we have a few in the house, but this one is basically ours,” I tell her as we trek between two of our rooms to dip into a small room—it’s not much, but it’s got that secret passageway feel. “There’s another one near Liam and Celeste, so we’ll have some fun with that some other time.”
She claps her hands in a whoop. “Oh my God, yes. That’s perfect. Sex sounds or ghost noises?”
“Maybe we combine the two,” I suggest as I twist on the gas wall lantern to drench the room in golden candlelight.
“Erotica from beyond. I can’t wait.” She giggles, surveying the space, her gaze dropping to the wide massage table. “This is quite the swanky setup, Mr. Reynolds. What did you have in mind?”
I lay her down on the table, my fingers waltzing over her pert nipples, flat stomach, and sopping cunt with a tease. “Rubbing you down with oil and making you come all night, like we talked about outside.”
“What about you?” she asks. “That blow job wasn’t all I’ve got. I’m the gift that keeps on giving.”
“Yes, you are.” I chuckle and snatch the oil from the dresser. “No massage for me. My wounds and tattoo are still healing.”
When we were planning the wedding at La Lune Noire, I had one of the tattoo artists add a moon above the tree on my back—illuminating the life that bloomed from all that was lost. That tree sprouting out of the skulls was initially a depiction of my penance—the sorrow I felt in building a life on the tombs of those I’d left behind. But Rena gave me an entirely new vision, so shedding light on those branches with the symbol of my favorite girl was fitting. And the thought of someday adding branches for the family we grow together is a dream I never expected to permit myself to entertain, but one that overjoys me in the brilliance of my Little Moon.
After helping her flip onto her stomach, I lather her up with oil, kneading all the stress out of her aching muscles—from her neck to the balls of her feet and everything in between—her smooth skin shimmering in the dim light. She moans her delight so vehemently that my cock bobs in exultation. Full-body contact is in order.
I perch behind her, turning her over and hauling her up between my legs to finish the massage, her back to my front as I glide soothing fingertips slowly over every breathtaking inch within reach—perky breasts, taut stomach, and toned thighs, concluding with a scream-worthy stopover on her pretty pussy. Whirling her clit and plunging inside her until she’s a boneless mess, quivering in my arms.
Her purrs of ecstasy are intoxicating. I need more. I always crave more of her.
I twist her slippery, limp body around so she’s straddling my lap and flopping against my chest, sufficiently relaxed. “I need those beautiful sounds to be sung when my cock is inside you. Are you too spent to ride me, baby?”
“Slow?” she whispers, pressing her pillowy lips to mine.
