He slowly pulls his cock out of me while bending down and kissing my back, my shoulders, and parting my hair to kiss my damp neck. He then bites my trapezius hard enough to leave a mark. Boy, we really need to find a way to communicate with each other, or we’ll leave one another bitten and bruised. I cry out and thrust back on him, chasing my orgasm, and he laughs.
“Little dancer,” he thrusts into me. “You’re a feral cat.”
“Golden cock, you’re an asshole.” My hips press back on him, but all he does is stroke my skin.
His touch is measured and practiced. He not only has the skill of a surgeon but the experience of years. His maturity and slow pace show the power he possesses. His restraint is as lethal as a gun because he waits for the moment it suits him to deliver. He moves back from my neck and kisses down my spine as his fingers dance over my clit, and he finally presses his hips in far enough to fill me with the size of him. He is enormous, but we fit—oh how we fit together. His cock and my cunt are the only things about us that do fit, but I don’t care. If it’s all I’ll ever have of him, I take it day and night.
“I love the feel of you,” I confess. My mouth definitely is going to get a time-out when this is all over.
In response, he pulls out and I groan, needing so much more, and then… I get it. Oh, boy do I. He thrusts back in, pistoning and pressing over and over, all while kneading and pulling on my turgid little clit, until I come so hard after holding it back. He keeps going, and I come again, and again, and by the time he calms down, my pussy is so sensitive you couldn’t blow on it without me coming. But finally, after all of that, he grunts and yelps, a very unmanly little cry as if he too has been holding back and his orgasm just seizes him by the balls.
Whatever the reason, he comes so hard and so much, it squeezes out and runs down my thighs, hot and warm, and for a perverse reason, I feel bathed in him, baptized by my husband, who isn’t a husband at all. I collapse, and before my body hits the mattress, he pulls out of me and drags my damp, over-heated, over-exerted, totally and completely fucked body to his chest and wraps his big man arms around me.
He kisses my hair and my cheek, and I am feeling everything and nothing at the same time. His hand makes lazy circles on my belly, which is flattening after giving birth to Rayne but will never be the same straight plane it had been. I am sort of glad. I carried her for nine months, and it wasn’t an easy pregnancy. It was hard both physically and emotionally, and so I love the tiny little cracked white lines and slight swell that remain. It reminds me that I was Rayne’s first home and will always be her safe space.
Beckett on the other hand… God only knows what he feels about it.
“I still hate you,” I breathe, though hate may be too harsh a word as postcoital tears drip down my face for no real reason I can discern.
“I hope you always do,” he says lovingly and kisses my tears away.
Chapter Thirteen
Beckett
The woman has twisted me into knots. God, she feels so good. I love her snarky little mouth and her inability to let me win. I’ll surely grow tired of it, but for the time being, I enjoy every second I am in her world. I've always had tons of money, and every woman—including eight-year-old Haley Green in my third-grade class with her lovely blonde pigtails—bowed to me because of my wealth and status.
But even adorable little Haley, who gave me the cookie from her lunch, had ulterior motives. Most women and some daring men want more from me than I am willing or able to give. I need space. I am not somebody who likes people very much.
I am interested in bodies. As a scientist in my role as a doctor, and in sex in my role as the dominant partner, I like a person’s body. Scarlett, of course, has the most beautiful body I’ve ever beheld, and it has become even more beautiful after Rayne’s birth. I love the little curves she now possesses and the lovely testimony to all she’d endured to create a human being.
On the whole, however, I think humans are despicable, horrific abominations.
The despicable, horrific abomination in my arms right now is fucked to hell and back. Her damp cheek is pressed against my bicep, and all I want to do is fuck her again and hold her forever. She is the only one who didn’t want me, and that is the wickedest game of all to play because suddenly, I am mad for her. She is an intoxicant, a feisty, strong, irresistible potion who is also the gorgeous mother of my child. There is absolute magic in that truth.
Lying there both thoroughly spent, we don't say anything to one another. She is facing away from me, but her perfect ass is melded to my still-erect cock. I have a lot of sexual stamina; however, Scarlett is wrung out. Just holding her is enough. Despite our differences, shestrokes the arm that holds her. I don’t think she even knows she is doing it; she seems a little lost and distant in a dreamy way. I am experiencing a rare moment of adoration.
“How are you feeling?” I whisper seductively into her ear. I am still pretty revved up, evidenced by my hard cock.
She turns and looks up at me with her sapphire-blue eyes and asks, with an edge of snark but not full scorpion mode, “Are you asking as a doctor, a husband, or a billionaire?”
I draw her closer by pulling her to me by her ass because I want to touch it. I could hold her ass forever. “All three.” I am not interested in engaging her in conversation. I just want to touch her and kiss… perhaps.
“I’m sore.” She slides her hand down the plane of my body and curls her fingers around my cock, then kisses my chest, which I find fascinating. “But I want you inside of me again. Maybe less piston engine and more bicycle built for two.” She strokes me, and I halt her hand.
“If you want me to take you slowly and not come all over your lovely fingers, don’t touch.” I glare down at her.
Just at that moment, my phone chimes. The sound is for CSS correspondence, and without acknowledging her, I check and see that it is Carl calling. We have a meeting the next day which I am dreading.
“Do you need to leave?” she asks, sounding disappointed.
“No.” I return to her. “I need to kiss you.” And there it is—a hint of a smile. I lean in and kiss her.
This is something she does well with her mouth. Sassing at me is entertaining, but our kissing levels the playing field. She is more vulnerable and honest when her tongue is tangling with mine. Since I am still so fucking hard, I check her and she is plenty wet, but as she flinches when I touch her, she is also still very sensitive. I draw back and peck her lips, then her nose.
“I’ll be gentle,” I say as I nudge her entrance with my piercing.
She undulates on me, and I look upon her—so fucking gorgeous. I love the way she grits through my invasion, and I don’t relent, but asshe requested, I do go slow. She caresses my hip and touches my ass, and I love the feeling of her hand. Holding her up with the arm that is under her side, I bring her leg over my hip and she removes her hand, but I put mine on her ass.
