“Later.”
“Count on it.”
I warm the lotion in my hands before applying it to his back, spreading it outward, digging my thumbs deep into the muscles, eliciting a groan from between Cage’s weary lips.
I work his shoulders, and downward to his lower back, working out the knots along the way.
“Fee,” he murmurs.
“Cage?”
“That was perfect, but I’ve got other aches now.”
I smirk. “Is that so?”
“Don’t you ache?” he asks. “For me? Having had your hands all over my body for the last thirty minutes?”
“I ache for you when you walk into a room.”
“Your turn. As much as I love your silk, you need to remove it, then lay on your front,” he commands. His tone—it’s that tone. The dominant one. The one he saves for me in the bedroom. The one he knows I crave.
I obey—naturally. When he commands me, it’s instinctual for me to immediately do as he says. We are a fluid pair.
He rubs the lotion between his hands as he straddles my ass, holding his weight on his knees, before lowering those large masculine hands to my back and gently kneading my tired muscles.
I moan. “That feels incredible.”
“Mmm, yes you do.”
His hands glide over my skin like the silk I just removed. Never too hard, even when he finds tension.
“Let’s remove these, shall we,” Cage murmurs when those talented fingers reach my panties.
“Yes, I do think we shall,” I agree, lifting my hips in hopes he won’t rip them. I really like this pair. He rips them anyway, a rare display of impatience from the calm, cool, and controlled man I love.
He touches between my legs, his fingers running through my wet feminine folds, rubbing lightly on my clit, sensitive and ready for more.
“I love how wet you are.”
“Only for you.”
He lowers himself over me, his arms on either side of my shoulders, his mouth at my ear when he whispers, “Are you ready for me, wife?”
“Always. I’m always ready for you.” And I am. Anytime, anywhere. It only takes his presence, a word, a look, and I’m drenched and longing for him.
He moves down then spreads my legs. When I move to go up on my knees, he merely holds his hand on my lower back to stay the motion.
“No. Like this.”
His large frame covers mine, his elbows and knees taking most of his weight. Within seconds he’s pushing his hard cock inside me, slowly, steadily, and I can’t hold back the moan. It feels too good. Every single time he’s inside me, I unravel.
He threads his fingers through mine, raising them above my head, his breath wafting over a sensitive spot on my neck—not by chance either. No. My husband knows everything about my body and he uses it to his advantage. I appreciate it. I admire it. I love it.
He begins to move at a quicker pace, just as I knew he would. He needs this. He needs me. He needsusto help clear out the weight of the world and find some peace.
“Tell me how it feels,” he demands.
“Fabulous. Decadent. So damn good.”
