I lift my hips. “There.”
He chuckles and then presses his face into the apex of my thighs. Part of me wonders how he knows how to do this so expertly. It can’t be his subconscious. He never did it like this, feasting on me like he’s a starving man and I’m an all-you-can-eat buffet. The other part of me—the part that was fantasizing about him the moment he walked in the room—is just happy it’s happening. Because he’s playing me like a finely tuned piano, his fingers hitting just the right keys, his tongue playing the perfect notes, and I can’t get enough. He brings me to a crescendo so quickly, it’s beyond surprising.
It’s exhilarating.
With my insides still pulsing, he enters me. “Fuck, Ava, that was… Jesus…”
He thrusts into me a few times, then pulls my right leg up over his shoulder, skimming a finger along my inner knee as desire flames in his eyes.
After a few more thrusts, he pulls out, flips me onto my stomach, lifts my hips and enters me from behind.
It feels divine. Animalistic. Him inside me this way. I’m barely recovering from my first orgasm, when I can already feel myself building up to a second.
With one hand gripping my hip, his other reaches around and cups a breast. All thoughts escape from my brain except for what he’s doing to me. Because what he’s doing is something I’ve only read about in books. Something I thought wasn’t even seeded in reality. But here I am...
Building.
He pinches a nipple.
Flying.
He goes lower and rubs circles on my clit.
Falling.
“Oh god… yes… Trev…” I’m eating the pillow and fisting the bed sheets.
“Fuuuuuuuuuck,” he shouts behind me as we fall into synchronous bliss.
A few minutes later, after catching our breath, he’s lying beside me on his back, staring at the ceiling. I’m still on my stomach trying to recover.
Then suddenly, he jumps out of bed, and I have déjà vu. Is he leaving? Again?
But then I hear water running in the bathroom. And he’s back on the bed, using a warm washcloth between my legs.
I swallow tears, because, yes, there’s still a little bit of the old Trevor in there.
“You don’t have to go back to the other room,” I say softly.
“Good, because I wasn’t planning on it.”
I smile at the mercurial man lying next to me, loving this mixture of my two husbands—the old and the new.
“Ava?”
“Mmmm?” I mumble lazily, running a finger along his largest scar that spans well over six inches from the side of his left nipple until it disappears beneath his arm.
“Will you go on a date with me?”
I chuckle. “What is it exactly that you think we’ve been doing?”
“I mean an actual date. Dinner. Flowers. Me holding the door open for you. Shit like that.” He pinches his chin in thought. “I’m thinking bowling.”
Now I’m full-on laughing. “You want to take me bowling?”
“Sure. Why not? Did we never used to?”
“About a million years ago.”
