But that release was just out of reach, I couldn’t quite reach it. I grasped with the hand that wasn’t fisted in his hair, clutching his unoccupied hand in mine. I needed him with me when I fell, to catch me. He slotted our fingers together, sucked hard and crooked his fingers in just the right way and that was it. I was lost, falling from the impossible height he had dragged me to.
I was dimly aware of him moving me farther up the bed, arranging pillows around me, beneath me. He was saying something in a honey warm tone that was soothing and thick. Words of love, words of adoration, words of desire. He slid up the bed alongside me, wrapping an arm around my waist. I kept waiting for the embarrassment to return but I was too wrung out to care.
Finally opening my eyes, I was met with the sight of my husband, propped on one elbow, an unbearably smug quality to his smile. Even though he absolutely deserved to wear it, I could not allow it.
I tugged his lips down to mine, intending to kiss it off him. There was an unusual tang to his lips, and it took a moment to understand its origin, me. There was something unbearably erotic of the evidence of our activities spread across his lips and stubbled chin.
Moments ago, I would have sworn that I could not move for the rest of the night, possibly well into tomorrow. Now my tongue was chasing his, claiming him. “Kate…” Hugh pulled away, cupping my cheek in his hand where he was propped above me. “I adore you.”
Emboldened by the honesty, the love, in his gaze, I pushed him back to seated. His back and shoulders rested against pillows propped up by the headboard. He went willingly; he was too strong, too broad for me to move without his compliance.
“What are you doing, Kate?”
“Exploring. It’s my turn now.”
* * *
Hugh
I could hardly be blamed for the groan that escaped me at the idea of her turn. That groan morphed into an exceptionally manly whimper when mynakedwife threw a leg over my lap, and made herself comfortable astride me.
“What are you going to do with your turn?” I breathed.
She leaned forward, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, trailing a delicate finger along my jaw during her retreat.
“Do you know what I thought the first time I saw you?” I shook my head. “I thought you were the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.”
“You did not. I was an arse.”
She hummed thoughtfully. “I did. In spite of the stern scowl.” She drew a thumb over my lips, there was no scowl there now, I was certain of it. “And the angry eyes.” She leaned forward, pressing her lips to my closed lids, first one, then the other.
“And now?” I was fishing, I knew, but her free appreciation was nice.
She pressed her lips together, scanning me thoughtfully. “Even more handsome. Your attractions are far more affecting when you’re not being an arse.”
A full belly laugh burst from me. Still grinning, I brought her mouth back toward mine, “I am glad to hear it,” I murmured in the breath between us before catching her lips in a kiss.
“Now, take your breeches off,” she demanded when we broke apart. Well, that was the single most erotic sentence in the English language, likely every other language as well. Particularly when coming from her full, kiss-swollen lips.
I helped her to her knees before following instructions. I could only hope she missed my fumbling eagerness. Once the offending breeches had been kicked to the end of the bed, she settled herself against that part of me I had been valiantly trying to ignore. The part of me that was desperate and aching for her. All of me was, but my manhood is particularly enthusiastic.
“Kate…” She was staring at me thoughtfully again, but it was less scheming and more nervous. I wanted her out of her head again, confident and wanton. “What is your plan for me?”
“I thought, perhaps, like this?” She gestured to our current positions.
“Anything, everything.”
“Stay still,” she replied, as if that was not a herculean task. She pressed up with one hand branding my chest. Her firm hot grasp on my member, aligning me as she liked. The sensations almost distracted me from the moment my goddess sank down on me.
“Kate.” That seemed to be the only word I was capable of at the moment.
I pressed myself farther upright, chest to chest while she rocked, once, twice, into a rhythm that suited her.
She was unbearably beautiful, with her eyes darkened and so unbelievably captivating. Every night before this moment was a pale imitation of intimacy. Never before had I felt so connected, so cherished. Her hands were restless on my person, dragging pleasurable trails up my back and down my chest. Eventually she broke eye contact in favor of drugging kisses, to my lips, to my jaw, to my neck, my chest. I responded in kind.
She was tightening around me, her rhythm faltering. And she was making those damn sounds again. Sweet, silky whimpers and husky moans against my chest and lips. I knew now what to expect from her crest, and I found her hips, helping to facilitate the rhythm.
I was hanging by a thread, pleasure overtaking thought, leaving nothing but instinct and desperate, drugging desire. Wracking half-moans ripped from my chest with every breath.
