Slow was the only way to fix what had been broken, to find their way forward. That didn’t explain why she kicked off her panties, toeing them into her open bedroom before continuing down the hall to find him in the kitchen, already having located storage containers for the stew, washing the heavy enamel pot in the sink.
It didn’t explain why she pressed against him at the sink, her cheek against the middle of his back, breathing him in, slidingher arms around his narrow waist. Didn’t explain why, when he turned, his hands still wet, she had her palms against his chest, running down the length of his long body, his arms, his thighs. She remembered that very first night in the Plundered Pixie when she had been a mouse. She hadn’t been able to stop herself from touching himthen, either.
That didn’t explain why she tugged on his shirt, forcing him down to meet her lips, until he yelped in pain.Too far.He was still healing.We both are.
He lifted her to perch on the counter, instead, putting her at nearly equal height to him, tugging his shirt until she’d captured his lips with her own. His tongue was a hot glide against hers, the heat of his mouth at once familiar and brand-new, his teeth at her lips making her gasp against him until they broke apart. He’d desired her once. She didn’t need to climb into him anymore . . . but she needed to know that he still did.
“I thought we were taking things slow, Silva.” His voice was a low hum at her temple, nosing into her hair.
“We are,” she assured him, pushing him away, raising her toes to alight on his shoulder, pressing until he slowly dropped to his knees before her.
His laughter was a dark chuckle against the inside of her thigh as he pushed her legs open easily, finding her wet and ready. “Very slow, clearly.”
Her head dropped back at the first touch of his tongue, just the tip of it, ghosting up her slick folds, lips and tongue kissing the lips of her sex exactly the way he’d done to her mouth just a few minutes earlier. Silva closed her eyes, sinking her fingers into his silky hair as he began to lick her, setting a rhythm he already knew she liked.When the sex is so good, you let him get away with anything. She remembered thinking that forever ago, remembered castigating herself for being so weak, for letting his poor behavior slide when he licked her clit so well.
She was willing to let it slide again, she realized, moaning weakly. He had been gone for five years, and it had beenfive yearssince anyone had gone down on her with this much skill and enthusiasm.
Remaining quiet was the challenge. Her finger traced over the stitches at the back of his head, her hips canting upward against his mouth, holding him in place when he sucked just the right spot. His lips puckered, giving her the suction she craved as his tongue continued to move. Did her husband make her scream as well as he had once?Not even close.When she came against his tongue, Silva pressed her arm to her mouth, swallowing her cry of pleasure.
Her stomach muscles jumped, her whole body jerking as if she was touching an electric current as he continued to lick her, slower then, his tongue moving precisely, and she jerked again, uncertain if she wanted to pull away or press closer. When his lips closed over her clit once more, the choice was taken from her. She was panting, gripping his head tightly, thrusting up against his mouth as best she could without sliding off the counter, rubbing herself against his tongue until her muscles tightened and she came again, squeezing her hand in his hair as she surged upward, crying out as her clit pulsed against his tongue.
Her fingers were covered in blood when she pulled her hand away, realizing she had pulled too tightly against his stitches.
She used the blood on her hand to stroke his cock when he pushed to his feet, after pulling his belt open with her other hand.
“Did your husband lick your cunt like that, Silva?” His voice was a harsh whisper into her hair, his breath coming hard as she tightened her grip around his shaft. When his mouth crashed into hers, a violent collision of scraping teeth, she tasted herself on his lips, biting him.
“No,” she wheezed. “Never once.”
It had been five years but her fingertips hadn’t forgotten the shape of him, rubbing over his already leaking tip, pre-come smearing with the blood on her hand, stroking down his shaft, pushing his foreskin back completely. Tate groaned against her shoulder. They were taking things slow, she reminded herself as she pumped him, thick steel in her hand, too long since she’d gripped him. He thrust up into the snug ring of her fingers, and she considered that if her hands remembered the shape of him this easily, there was no reason to assume her heart would have forgotten how to love him. They just needed to take things slow.
That’s what she told herself as she led his cockhead to the mouth of her sex, rubbing him against her slick, coating him before the first press into her, no magically produced condom to be found, pushing in slowly, letting her re-acclimate his girth. Silva had her arms around him, her face slack against his chest, mouth dropped open as she gasped, feeling him spread her walls open. Her body hadn’t forgotten the shape of him either, despite all the time that had passed.
They were taking things slow, as he thrust into her carefully several times, letting her feel his full length, ensuring she could do so without pain, before he hooked her knees over his elbows, pulling her to the very edge of the counter, fucking into her with a solid thump.
It had been five years since she had been fucked so well.
The noise that came from her throat was a high-pitched whine, punctuating each thrust within her, and she dropped her head against him again to muffle it. Silva dragged her nails over his hips, stretching her arms until she could cup the top swell of his ass, digging her nails into him. It had been five years, and they were taking things slow. When Tate groaned against her, Silva tightened her thighs, digging her nails a little harder, daring him to pull out.
He didn’t. She felt the hot flood of him, a pressure that made her quiver, all she had ever wanted from him five years earlier. His forehead dropped against hers, their breath labored together.
They were taking things slow.
That was why she pulled him to follow her down the hall, pushed him to join her in her bed, pressing him flat on his back while she straddled his hips. Reminded herself when the tip of his tongue moved over her erect nipple, catching it between his teeth, biting just hard enough to make her see stars, to make her grind a bit harder against him, her muscles tightening around his cock.
They were taking things slow when he pressed her face down against the mattress, her ass up in the air, the rhythmic slap of his scrotum against her mons crashing through her head like a cymbal.
“Did your husband make you scream, Silva?”
Never. Not once.
Too long without him, as he moved on top of her, her legs wrapped tight around his waist, her arms around his neck, hands in his hair again and her eyes screwed tightly shut, as he hit that spot at the corner of her cervix, that spot only he had ever been able to reach, over and over again until she moaned, her muscles milking him until he was slack atop her.
They were taking things slow, she reminded herself, waking up hours later with her nose bumping his, her head finding its way to his pillow as it had always done before, soaking it with her tears until his arms had tightened around her, relocating her to lie against his chest.
It had been five years, and she didn’t know how to get that time back.
She was someone brand-new, and they needed to figure out how to move forward before they splintered and broke again,but Silva didn’t know how much time she was willing to sacrificetaking it slowwhen they had already lost so much.
