He sits up, tugging me with him, and the blanket slips. His eyes drop instantly. The hunger that tightens his features makes my breath stutter. I don’t think anyone has ever looked at me like this. Like I’m the only thing he’s ever wanted.
Before I can cover myself, his hand slides up my thigh, slow and claiming.
“You’re sore,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over the sensitive inside of my knee in a way that makes my thighs clench. “I like knowing I did that.”
My breath catches. Heat coils low in my belly.
He kisses my shoulder, my throat, the corner of my mouth, like he’s starving for me all over again. I taste him when his tongue slides against mine—possessive and warm and hungry.
“Grant…” My voice is already thin.
He chuckles darkly. “Sweetheart, we’re not even out of the hotel yet.”
But the way he scoops me up and carries me into the shower says differently.
The warm spray hits my back, and steam fills the air, but his hands are hotter. He presses me against the tile, mouth devouring mine.
“I can’t stop thinking about having you again.” His breath ghosts over my cheek. “Do you want me too?”
I nod helplessly.
That’s all it takes for him to lift my thigh around his hip and grind slowly, teasingly, against me. The friction steals my breath. I can feel him, hard, hot, thick, rubbing exactly where I’m already sensitive.
“Last night wasn’t enough,” he growls, taking my earlobe between his teeth. “I need you again, wife.”
The word hits me like a spark.
He drags his hand between my legs, finding me wet and ready for him. My whole body jolts.
“Grant—”
“I know,” he whispers, kissing me hard. “I know, baby. Let me make you feel good.”
He slides two fingers inside me, slow and deep, filling me until my knees go weak. His thumb strokes my clit in slow, precise circles that make sounds fall out of me I didn’t know I could make.
“God, listen to you,” he groans against my neck. “So pretty when you fall apart.”
My head hits the tile. My hips rock into his hand. Everything builds fast—too fast—pressure tightening low in my belly.
He pumps his fingers harder, curling them in a way that makes white sparks explode behind my eyes.
“Come for me,” he orders, voice rough. “Come on my fingers.”
I break with a cry, shaking against him, pleasure crashing through me in waves.
Before the aftershocks even fade, he lifts me, pinning me between the wall and his body. My legs wrap around him instinctively.
He lines himself up and pushes inside me in one slow, thick stretch that steals every ounce of air from my lungs.
“Oh—God?—”
He groans like he’s the one unraveling. “Fuck, Ro… you feel so damn good.”
He thrusts deep, slow at first, then harder, deeper, until my nails scrape down his shoulders. Water runs over us, mixing with my moans and his growls against my skin.
“Look at me,” he breathes.
I force my eyes open, and it ruins me. He looks wrecked, desperate, completely gone for me.
