I smile and drag up his shirt, baring his chest. My palms skim over muscle, and the sound he makes against my neck turns me molten.
He lowers himself to the floor, onto his knees, my legs falling open as he tugs my sweatpants and panties down in one urgent motion, tossing them aside. His hands glide up my inner thighs, his mouth following, teeth grazing my skin and lighting something deep in my bones.
As he works his way up with peppered kisses, pushing my sweatshirt higher along my torso, I become suddenly aware of the shards of daylight cutting across the room. It’s bright—the first time we’ve had sex when it wasn’t dark or rushed beneath the covers with Gabrielle sleeping in the sidecar beside us.
My body is on display in a way it hasn’t been since having our baby.
I still. “It’s so bright. Let’s grab the curtains.”
“Why?” He glances up at me with those piercing blue eyes, a predator poised between my legs. “You don’t want me to see you?”
“I’m still not used to”—it’s hard to admit—“this body.”
His brows furrow, confusion flickering across his face.
I spell it out. “The stretch marks.”
His gaze shifts from hungry to reverent. “I don’t see marks, Freya. I see everything you gave me.” His voice drops. “Look at me, honey. I’m on my goddamn knees for you.”
He splays his hand warmly over my stomach. “You have no idea how hot you look.”
Then his mouth is on my core again, slow and deliberate, pulling every thought right out of my head. Tension drains as his tongue learns me, circles, lingers.
I open my legs wider and tug my sweatshirt over my head, giving him everything he asked for. I thread my fingers through his hair as heat builds fast and sharp, my legs already starting to tremble under his mouth.
“Mmm.” I writhe against the sheets behind me.
He slips a finger inside, lifting me higher.
“You taste so damn good. I could eat your pussy all day.”
And he does. Softly, quickly, he flicks and circles and fucks me with his tongue until I unravel, fluttering around his finger as he places kisses on my pulsing clit in perfect timing, keeping me there, pushing me further.
The aftershocks are still rolling through me when he finally lifts his head, mouth glistening.
But he doesn’t rush.
He rises slowly, shoves his sweatpants down, along with his boxers, in one quick motion. His hands slide up my thighs, grounding me as my legs tremble. One of them he hooks easily over his shoulder, and he stares between my legs with a wild intensity.
He swirls his dick around my entrance, wetting it with my cum, and then sinks in.
His huge cock stretches me slowly, deliberately, like he’s memorizing the way I fit around him.
The pressure is heavy, unyielding. My breath stutters, my body tightening around him before I can stop it.
He feels it.
“Relax,” he mutters, grip firm on my thigh, keeping it hooked over his shoulder. He drags in and out of me slowly, but he’s hard as fuck.
I shake my head, already wrecked. “Anton?—”
“That’s it,” he growls. “Just like that.”
Somehow, I manage to relax around his girth, and he senses it, so in tune with me. His jaw tightens, and he increases his pace, becoming more and more manic with pleasure.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel so good like this.”
I whimper; the pleasure is so overwhelming.
