He still wants me, knowing the baggage I carry, knowing my deep-rooted insecurities. And I want him. I want him so badly. The draw between us pulls more intensely than ever, even after all these years the fire burns bright, gathering traction and power, consuming everything obstructing its path, everything that’s between us.
Despite it all, despite our problems, my body reacts to his instinctively as it always has done. The scent of his skin, the warmth from his chest, the power in his grip, everything I’ve ever loved about him entices me to surrender to him. To trust him.
In one single silent exchange, we’ve expressed more than we’ve managed in the past month. We’re finally back on the same page. Instinctively, he knows it.
Yanking me possessively to his hot, full lips, he slips his tongue into my mouth and I’ve died and gone to heaven. Every single nerve sparks in my body, and a burning longing rips through me. The need to claim each inch of him is overwhelming. I need to feel his tongue all over me; I want him to scald every bit of my skin with his hot touch, to reclaim his territory.
Our mouths mesh together, the sound of my erratic heartbeat pounds through my ears as my hands roam across the only man that’s ever made me feel this way. He grips my hair, running his fingers through it before tracing the length of my spine, pressing me further against his huge physique.
‘You two are gross.’ Emily’s high-pitched statement cuts through the moment, and we jump apart like teenagers caught in the act. Marcus swiftly turns back to the cooker to hide his arousal and I pat my hair back into place.
‘It’s late, girls, time for bed. I’ll do the stories tonight.’ I take another sip from my champagne flute as Marcus winks over his shoulder at me.
‘What? You’ve only got in the door!’ Emily complains.
‘Yes, and I’m late. But if you go up quietly now, I’ll make waffles in the morning.’
Erin dashes into the kitchen at the mention of waffles. ‘With maple syrup?’
‘Yep’ I’d pretty much agree to anything – the need to reconnect with my husband is furious and feral.
As the girls turn the TV off and gather their belongings to bring upstairs, I slip my arms around Marcus’s waist, a happy sigh of relief slipping from my lips.
‘I got you an early anniversary present. Several actually...’ His face drops to mine again, his mouth over my earlobe
‘Hmm. By any chance is it eight inches long and hard as hell?’ I snort, but my eyes gleam at the prospect.
‘That too.’ He eyes the clock on the wall. ‘Seriously, I left the gifts on the bed. Dinner won’t be ready for another hour. I’ll be up in fifteen minutes.’
When the girls are settled, I tiptoe up the stairs to our bedroom which occupies the entire top floor of the house. In daylight, it boasts spectacular views of the Irish Sea, but tonight, the best view is the sight of the three hot-pink boxes piled one on top of each other in the centre of our four-poster bed, each tied with an exquisite ivory lace bow. I’d recognise that packaging anywhere. Like a child loose in a sweet shop, I kick off my clothes and rip into the boxes, tissue paper flying everywhere.
Fingering the ivory silk and lace, a smile curls onto my lips. Everything’s going to be okay. What Marcus and I have is real. Everything else is just rumour. Nothing outside of these four walls matter. He loves me. I love him. We have a bond that’s utterly unbreakable, a history so deep it’s rooted within both of us.
I shower and try on the contents of the first box, an ivory satin corset set, which looks positively virginal, apart from the split running through the centre of the silk thong. A suspender belt supports lace-topped ivory hold-ups. The silver stilettos I slip on elongate my legs in a way I know drives Marcus wild.
His heavy footsteps pad up the stairs. Standing propped against the bedpost, I wait, my heart hammering in my chest, a sexually charged anticipation pulsating through my blood. When he finally walks through the door, his eyes rake over me, swirling with an urgency I can relate to.
Pouncing on me, he fingers the silk scraps of material while his tongue reacquaints itself with my neck, before dropping to my chest. Skimming lower, with an increasing sense of obvious desire, his wandering hand seeks the gap he knows too well is there. A gasp slips from my mouth directly into his, as he strokes the most sensitive part of me. The external relief is phenomenal, but it’s nothing compared to the internal relief of knowing I have my husband back. That we are one again.
Frantic hands claw each at each other, scratching, scraping, unable to get enough. When he drops to his knees before me, the sight alone is almost enough to send me soaring into delicious oblivion. Within minutes, he has me writhing and wriggling with his expert tongue, until a million white stars explode in front of my eyes. It’s too much, yet it’s nowhere near enough.
Pushing him onto the bed, I straddle him, tugging at his jeans until they’re low enough for me to gain access. There’s no time for teasing. A sense of urgency weighs heavily on both of us. We have all night for tenderness, but right this second, we both need fast and furious. Sliding onto him, a moan falls from his lips.
‘Don’t doubt us, Shelly.’ Strong hands grip my bum, lifting and grinding me against him. His jaw is so tight it looks set to break as he battles to remain in control. The hazel from his eyes fades against the black of his dilating pupils as he stares up at me like I’m some sort of goddess. An invincible feeling crusades through every cell in my body as we rise and soar, before crashing spectacularly together.
Dinner is forgotten about, but every other need I have is superseded by my amazing husband and the ecstasy that making up brings.
