Her fingertips dig into my back with as much pressure as her tiny hands are capable of. “I’m okay. Do it again.”
Is she? Or is she just trying to be brave?
Her hands slide up to my neck, and she pulls me down. “Show me what it’s like,” she says against my lips.
Easing partway out, I never take my gaze off hers. I’m shaking. My nerves are frayed. This is my wife. My job is to protect her.
She threads her fingers at the back of my head. “Adam…” she pleads.
I thrust deeper.
Thank fuck, this time she moans.
On the next thrust, a soft smile spreads across her lips.
She’s tight, very tight, but I’m inside her. Not all the way, but almost. I don’t know if my cock will fit any farther. Maybe her channel isn’t deep enough.
Rebekah lifts her hips, causing me to impale her deeper. Apparently, it is possible.
This time, I’m the one who moans. She feels so good. This isn’t like any sex I’ve ever had. It’s not because of the lack of condom—though that does give me a friction I’ve never experienced—but also because this is my wife. Rebekah. My woman. My life.
As I pump harder, I ease in even deeper. I’m so close to coming. I want her to come before me, though. I want her to experience an orgasm with me filling her, so I lower one hand and reach between us, finding her clit and pressing my fingers against the swollen nub.
My wife bucks her hips and writhes around my cock. “Oh… God…”
She’s right there. It makes my heart swell. I rub her clit hard as I pump faster. “Come for me, sweetheart,” I pant. I have no idea if she’s capable of reaching an orgasm simply because I demanded it, considering the sum total of her sexual history happened in the last half hour.
“Come for me, Rebekah. Grip my cock with that amazing pussy.”
She sucks in a breath and holds it. A few seconds later, the waves of her release pulse around my shaft. There is no better feeling in the world than my woman milking my cock.
I’ve died and gone to heaven.
Eleven
Rebekah
* * *
My husband’s expression as he empties himself deep inside me is beautiful. I’m still gasping for air from my own wonderment, but I don’t miss the ecstasy on his face.
I feel so close to him, closer than I’ve ever felt to another human being. I didn’t even know it was possible to care about someone as much as I care about the man crushing me. I don’t even mind that his enormous body is weighing down on me. He can stay there for the rest of eternity as far as I’m concerned.
His touch is something I didn’t know I was missing in my life. It’s been so long since anyone touched me. Not since my mother died—until this morning when Asher snuck up on me, tossed me over his shoulder, and carried me into the kitchen of the main house. His touch wasn’t welcome.
When Mama was very ill, I used to snuggle up with her and listen to her ragged breathing. It both frightened and soothed me. The sound of her heart reminded me she was still alive.
Until she was not.
I thought I would die when Hannah left. We were close—at least I thought we were. She just disappeared. One morning, I woke up and she wasn’t in the twin bed on the other side of our room. For a long time, I was angry with her for leaving me. For leaving me alone with Dad. But eventually, I softened. I envied her for getting away and grew jealous of her freedom. I miss her. I hope she’s happy wherever she is.
I find myself smiling because I’m so happy right now, my heart is full.
Adam kisses all over my face. His enormous shaft is still buried inside me. I like it. It makes me feel like we’re connected. Like I’m home. Suddenly, it seems like home is with Adam, like I’ve been hovering barely alive for twenty years, and I’m finally where I belong.
It’s sappy. I won’t tell him about my silly thoughts. He would think me daft. I need to be a grown-up now. I’m married. I don’t want him to regret this. I will make him proud. I will work hard every day to keep his house clean and learn to cook all the foods he likes to eat.
Once I get pregnant, we’ll be even more connected. We’ll have a baby who will be part of both of us. I promise myself I won’t complain about the aches in my back or my swollen ankles or how tired I am—all things I remember hearing from other pregnant women when I was a child.
