INDY
There’snothing better thanfirst thing in the morningsex.
Waking up to feel Bea’s sweet ass pressed against me, her belly the softest silk beneath my hand. Her hair tickles my nose as she curls on her side, the little spoon to my big, as she likes to say.
Even after a full-night’s sleep, she still smells like vanilla and honey and this indescribable fragrance that’s only her.
I love the feeling of coming awake with Bea tucked in my arms, hearing the tiny humming sound she makes while she sleeps, which might be the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.
When I spot her charger on the bedside table, a surge of overwhelming protectiveness sweeps through me. Yes, I know she’s been sleeping on her own just fine for years. But I hate the idea that someone could sneak up on her. That she wouldn’t know danger was coming until it’s too late.
Not anymore. Not with me.
I stay between her and the door, for one. So anyone who’s stupid enough to break in will have to deal with me first. Andafter decades of relying on my senses to stay alive, the slightest sound in the middle of the night always jerks me awake.
So priority one is taken care of. Protect Bea. Make sure no one ever hurts her again.
But in the morning, with the sun casting a golden glow across Bea’s gorgeous body, I can focus on priority number two—making her happy.
And in a win for both of us, morning sex makes her happy.
Like now.
Stretched out beneath me, her legs hooked over my shoulders and her wrists held carefully in my hand, her expression is nothing but pleasure.
Her mouth is parted in a small O, tiny moans and whimpers andOh, Indy, mores spilling from it.
Her eyes are heavy-lidded and glazed with desire.
With every thrust inside her, she clenches around me, her inner walls slick and quivering.
As I bend my head to her breast, taking her rosy-tipped nipple into my mouth, she arches towards me and hums her pleasure deep in her throat.
Her body tells me she loves what I’m doing. That it makes her happy.
“Indy,” Bea groans as I lightly graze my teeth across her sensitive skin.
I swirl my tongue around her nipple to soothe the slight sting before releasing it with a little pop. “What, Bea?”
She wriggles beneath me. “I want?—”
“Shit.” I release her wrists quickly. “Am I hurting you? Is my hold too tight?”
“No.” A slow smile curves her lips. “You weren’t hurting me. At all. You know I like it when you…” Trailing off, her cheeks go pink. Which is just about the cutest damn thing ever.
Bea likes it when I restrain her. We’ve tried my hands, satin scarves, and just yesterday, I caught her looking at velvet-lined cuffs online. But she still gets all flustered whenever we talk about it.
I don’t mind. It’s new for her, doing something like this in bed. And I’m more than happy to take things as slow or fast as she wants me to.
“You like it when I hold your wrists,” I state.
“Yes.” She bites her lip. “I like it a lot.”
“So what’s wrong? If it’s not that? Are you sore?”
“No…” Her cheeks go even redder. In a rush, she adds, “But I was just thinking. What if I roll over? And you take me from behind?”
I didn’t think it was possible to be any harder than I already was.
