“Joel, I can’t—” The pressure was already peaking. No way would she last.
“You can,” he intoned against her flesh. “And you will.” He slid his hand up her torso, over achingly sensitive breasts, where he found hers clawing desperately at her neck, as if she might be able to open her throat for more air.
Like a life preserver, she grasped his offered hand, clinging to it, lacing her fingers through his, as she held on for dear life, trying not to drown in the ecstasy. Holding off was taking every ounce of her concentration, sweat beading at her brow with the effort, but she did it, because he told her to and she’d learned long ago that doing what Joel asked of her in bed never failed to benefit her.
And then fingers found the inside of her, pressingupward to her belly and stroking. “Now,” he commanded, and she let the giant wave take her under.
A loud shout filled the air. Sweet relief, heat and pleasure, a sensation that boarded on the right side of pain, flooded her.
Clamping a hand over her mouth, she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stifle the tail end of her shout. When the sensations ebbed, fingers around her wrist tugged her hand away from her lips, and she willed one eye open. Joel leaned over her, his lips glistening with what he’d just feasted on, eyes lit with lust.
“I like it when you’re loud.” He dipped his head to her neck and his tongue stroked the spot he’d bitten before. “I want you to be louder next time. So loud that the people in the bar downstairs will know my name. Understand?”
There were a lot of delicious things in that statement, but she focused on one. “Next time?”
Joel responded with a grunt as he shifted his body, the movement bringing his massive erection flush with her thigh. “And it might come sooner rather than later.”
“Oh,” she gasped, and he moved again, settling between her legs. “Oh?—”
“Breathe, Luciana. If I remember correctly, it fits just fine.”
Yes, she had the same memory. She had fit him like a glove, tight and snug, but warm and comfortable. Her hips wiggled in anticipation, and he dropped his head to her collarbone with a moan.
“Please,” she whispered, remembering the word that drove him the wildest. When she begged for it, there was no holding him back. Wrapping her knees around either side of his hips, she locked herself in, not letting him move anywhere but into her.
The hard length of his flesh inched forward, and it was like a memory coming to life. The first time he’d done this flashed through her mind. She’d been inebriated then. They both were, but this moment was crystal clear. A homecoming, a welcoming that was ingrained in her mind forever.
“No one has been here since me,” he told her, as he continued to ease his length in. “I can feel it. You’re so fucking tight. There hasn’t been anyone since me, has there?”
Her response was a low moan. What more could she say? Yes, he was right.
“Tell me,” he growled, pausing in his movement. “Look at me and tell me.”
Lucy opened her eyes, locked them on his, and was surprised when she found apprehension there. A very uncharacteristic uncertainty. The great Joel Morgan wasn’t sure.
“What would have been the point, Joel? No one would ever erase the memory of you.”
The force with which he slammed into her shoved her up to the headboard, her breath catching in her throat.
“Right answer. Only me for you, and no one but you for me. This is the last pussy I ever want to be inside, and the only one that matters.” He moved, driving her into the mattress, rough but quiet sounds emerging from deep within his throat, his skin slick with exertion and need. Everything telling her that he was close to snapping.
Her body responded like an orchestra to its conductor, moving to the rhythm of his dictation, her world building to a final crescendo.
And then he stopped. Stopped thrusting, stopped moving, stopped breathing, just stopped.
“Joel?”
“Fuck.” His body vibrated with the effort to resist continuing.
“What’s wrong?” She felt his hardness against her, the tip of his shaft already pulsing inside her. What happened? Panic started to list the worst-case scenarios in her mind, but when Joel raised his head, the eyes that met hers were deep with regret, and—sadness?
“I’m not wearing a condom.”
The sentence hung there between them, like a ghost in the room. And maybe there was one, because her heart started beating a bit faster.
They’d never once made love with a condom on. That first night of their wedding, they were drunk, beyond thinking. The next morning, they’d gone at it again, sober but still not thinking, as if they’d never had a freaking sex ed class between them. They’d had wild, unprotected sex multiple times and never had it occurred to them to discuss contraception. After they discovered she was pregnant (surprise, surprise), there hadn’t been much of a point. Then they’d lost the baby, and the sex had stopped altogether.
Until now.
