Her words are like a gauntlet thrown down between us. She’s going to take them back before the end of the night.
“Really?” I ask. I lightly grip her jaw in one hand and tilt her chin upwards. “Was it your name on the marriage license next to mine, Winsome Grant?” I lean in, hovering a hair’s breath away from her neck and inhaling her scent. Her perfume is subtle and floral, and it’s mixed with her hair products and sweat. I want to run my tongue along her skin and taste.
So I do. Winnie inhales sharply as my tongue darts out and licks a line from her throat up to her chin, ending in a kiss.
“Don’t call me Winsome. I hate that name. I’m tired of being Winsome. I’m Winnie now.” Her fierceness makes me smile.
“Fine, Winnie Grant, was it your name on that license next to mine?”
“Yes.” Her eyes flash to mine and I see her need written across her face—my wife wants me just as much as I want her.
I cradle the back of her head in one hand, my fingers threading through her soft hair, and brace myself over her on the couch with my other.
“Is it my ring, the one that I made you, on your finger?”
“Yes,” she breathes. “It is.”
“And who kissed you in the courthouse, wife?”
“You.”
“That’s right, me.” I claim her mouth with mine, and she opens for me in an instant, parting her lips and letting me have her. The taste and feel of her fills my senses, and desire surges through me. My hands shake with need for her and I grip the couch harder to keep steady.
Winnie fists my shirt and drags me closer. Our lips meld together, and as my tongue strokes into her mouth she lets out a ragged moan. I kiss a line down her throat and to her collarbone, pausing at the buttons on her blouse.
“Winnie,” I rasp out. “Can I…?”
“God, yes, Jonah.”
She undoes the top button for me, and I take care of the rest, baring her lace clad breasts. It makes sense that this woman, who has more clothes than I knew it was possible to own, would also have fancy lingerie.
“Do your panties match?” I ask, sweeping a thumb under one cup, back and forth. I brush over her nipple and she lets out a sigh of contentment.
“Why don’t you find out?” Her voice is coy, and I can tell that she wants me to take her up on the offer. But I’m not going to make things that easy for her.
“Were you hoping someone might see you in this tonight?” I ask, and then lean down and kiss her breast through the delicate material.
“No! I mean, no one but you.”
“That’s right. No one but me. I’m the only person who gets to see you like this.” I lift one of her breasts out of the cups, feeling the weight and the softness of her skin, and my cock surges in my pants. She’s exquisite. “Why is that, Winnie?”
I want to hear her say it—that she’s my wife. That she’s mine. And I’m not giving her what she wants until she does.
“Um,” she says, and then moans again as my hand cups her through her jeans. I massage her there once, twice, and then stop.
“Should I take these off and see if you’re wearing pretty lace panties that match your pretty lace bra?”
Winnie just nods, and her fingers tangle with mine as together we slide her pants down her hips. I tug them off the rest of the way and then toss them to the side. I kneel in front of her.
“Just as I thought,” I murmur, running a finger along the edge of the matching pink lace.
I part Winnie’s thighs with my hands, spreading her wide and open. Her chest is heaving, and she’s completely disheveled: hair wild around her face, makeup smudged, her shirt unbuttoned, breasts spilling out. No woman has ever looked more beautiful. It turns out that I like making a mess of Winnie Grant. A lot.
I drag one finger down her center, and then lightly massage her through the lace. Just once. A thrill goes through me as she whimpers—as I see how much she wants this. I kiss the inside of her thigh and then up and on top of her pussy, and then make my way to the other side. Her thighs shake under my hands, and she lets out a small moan.
“You want my hands and my tongue on you, don’t you?”
“Jonah,” she hisses. “Please.”
