Then I guided his cock into me, pulsing and so thick that I sighed against his lips. There was no pinch of discomfort now, no stretch to accommodate his size. He fit like a glove.
Last night, sex had been hungry, fast—grasping hands and greedy mouths everywhere.
This time, we melted into each other. I smoothed my hands down Tarzan’s chest—planes of muscles and hot skin, dark inkand coarse hair—then down to his ass, gripping him tight to hold him in place.
His tongue tangled with mine in a scorching, wet glide. He palmed at my breasts, teasing and pinching my nipples until they were stiff and tender to the touch.
Tarzan’s words echoed in my head with each slow, deep thrust.
I want you to be mine. My wife. The mother of our children.
When I closed my eyes, enveloped by his warm weight on top of me and his big hands worshiping every inch of my body, I could envision glimpses of our future like snapshots.
Tarzan with a tiny baby cradled in the crook of his arm while he ambled around the kitchen on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
Celebrating our tenth wedding anniversary on the back of his motorcycle, riding off to a romantic getaway for the weekend.
The way Tarzan’s chest would puff with pride every time I called himmy husband,even after we had been married for years.
My thighs trembled at the intensity of my rising orgasm. Tarzan buried his face in my neck, gripping my hips tight. He drove his cock into me like a piston, pumping with relentless power until I was limp with pleasure beneath him.
“Make me come, make me come, make me come,” I rambled mindlessly.
Tarzan lifted his head to look at me, smoothing my damp, tangled curls away from my face. With one final thrust, he pushed deep, grinding hard. I gasped, stuffed full with every throbbing inch.
“Say you’ll be my wife,” he said, low and rough. “Tell me I can call you mine.”
I pressed my forehead to his. Our breath mingled together, our muscles quivering on the edge of explosive release.
“Yes,” I exhaled, clenching around his cock with enough force that he grunted, surging even harder. “Call me wife. Call me sweetheart. Call me whatever you want as long as I’m yours.”
Tarzan gritted his teeth, caging me in with his arms. He wedged a hand between our sweat-slicked bodies and circled my clit with relentless pressure. My orgasm swelled and crashed through me. I gripped his shoulders, locking my legs around his waist.
Tarzan gave a few slow pulses of his hips, grinding so achingly deep that I didn’t think it was possible. He came with a roar, pulsing and hot.
After a minute or two, when the high faded, we sagged into each other, breathless and spent. I threaded my fingers into Tarzan’s hair with a sleepy smile and kissed his shoulder.
“Finally,” I whispered. “I found you.”
The love of my life.
Chapter nine
Tarzan
After Keely and I showered, we puttered around in her tiny kitchen, making breakfast. I hadn’t paid any attention to her apartment layout last night, but now I realized just how cramped it was. There wasn’t enough space in her bathroom for two people, and when we sat down to eat, we couldn’t open the refrigerator without moving our chairs aside.
“I swear it doesn’t feel this crowded when I’m here alone,” Keely said around a mouthful of toast and jam. She waved her jam-covered knife in the air. “It just seems like I live in a matchbox because of how big you are.”
I huffed with amusement and held out my arms, touching either side of her kitchen walls.
“Sweetheart, this place is practically a closet.”
“It’s charming,” she insisted.
“Hey, I’m not complaining,” I replied. “I’m bunking with my brother. At least you have a place of your own.”
Keely swallowed her food and brushed the crumbs off her hands.
