“I’m going to fuck you later, tonight,” he said. “This is just a warm-up.”
“Yes. Yes.” I nodded and bucked my hips. “Oh…”
The heel of his hand caught on my clit as he fingered me deep. Wide and dense and firm. The sensation had my stomach clenching and my heart rate ramping up.
“Okay, you can come now,” he said. “I won’t stop until you do.”
I curled my toes and caught my breath. He worked me with sharp, fast movements that filled me and crushed over my clit the way his body did when we fucked.
The water splashed and sloshed. I clasped his forearm, aware of the tendons beneath the surface of his skin flexing and shifting as he brought me closer to climax with each movement.
“You know I’ll make you come,” he murmured. “So relax into it. It’s there.”
“Yes…yes…” I was quivering inside and shaking on the outside. The deliciousness of an orgasm was hovering in front of me. Every part of me was tense and taut.
“Come,” he demanded. “Come for me, beautiful girl. Show me how you do it.”
His hotly spoken words toppled me over the edge, and bliss unfolded. I cried out, gasped and writhed. He stayed with me, finger-fucking me with sheer determination. I arched and bowed, my pussy spasming over and over.
“That’s it, take it all, fuck yeah, take it all,” he said, excitement lacing his tone. “Fucking beautiful.”
A fresh wave of bliss held me hostage, and then I slumped, canting my hips and wriggling upward.
He withdrew from me and captured my chin, turned me to face him. “I fucking love hearing you orgasm.”
His lips caught mine, his kiss speaking a thousand words. Words that made my heart sing with the thought of a future with this man who fulfilled needs in me no one else ever had.
Chapter Eighteen
Mitch
Fuck, my woman was hot, and so damn receptive. I wanted to give her everything and more both in and out of the bedroom. She had my heart, my body…my future if she wanted it.
Not least because Amy never ceased to amaze me, she constantly surprised me.
I’d had to tell her the truth about the shooting. If she was going to love me, she needed to know…me.
And she’d understood, listened, questioned, moved on with that knowledge without judgment or criticism. I’d confessed to the dark depths of my soul, and she was okay with that.
She knew I’d never hurt her, never let anyone else hurt her. Maybe that was why she could tolerate my black shadows. I’d never hurt a woman in my life; it wasn’t how I was wired.
I couldn’t do it. Would never do it.
“You should rest,” she said, coming up behind me and wrapping her slender arms around my waist. She pressed her cheek onto my shoulder blade.
“I’ve had enough of resting, and besides, you’ve cooked every day for…goodness how long, I can manage some pasta.”
“Okay, I won’t complain then.” She poured a glass of white wine. “Want one?”
“I’ll take a beer.”
She took one from the fridge and popped the lid. It rattled across the counter.
I took a slug. The malty taste blissful on my tongue. Everything tasted and smelled and felt better since my brushwith death. I guessed that was a normal thing to happen. When you nearly lose something…life…and then get to keep it, you appreciate the small things more.
“Right then.” I turned and topped her wine up to the brim.
“What?” She frowned at me, clearly confused.
