My throat gets tight. “You never said anything.”
“Didn’t want to scare you off.” He brushes his thumb over the black diamond. “Figured when the time was right, you’d know.”
I lift my hand, watch the light catch the stones again. “They’re perfect.”
“Yeah?” His mouth curves, small and soft. “Good. Because they’re not coming off.”
I lean in and kiss him slow. His hand slides into my hair, holds me there while the kiss turns deeper, hungrier. I roll on top of him, straddling his hips, feeling him already hard under the sheet. “Morning wood?” I murmur against his lips.
“Morning wife,” he corrects, hands gripping my ass, pulling me down so I grind against him. “Been hard since I felt you move against me.”
I reach between us, wrap my fingers around him, stroke slow from base to tip. He groans low in his throat, hips lifting into my hand.
“Want you inside me,” I say, voice breathy.
He flips us fast, pins me under him, knees spreading my thighs. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He notches at my entrance, rubs the head through my wetness, teasing until I whine and arch up. Then he pushes in slow, inch by inch, stretching me until he’s buried deep. We both groan when he bottoms out.
“Fuck, baby,” he mutters, forehead pressed to mine. “So tight. So wet for me.”
I wrap my legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass. “Move.”
He does. Slow at first, long drags out then hard snaps back in. Skin slaps skin. Bed creaks under us. My nails rake down his back, leaving red lines he’ll feel later. He hisses, thrusts deeper, hitting that spot that makes my toes curl.
“Like that?” he asks, voice wrecked.
“Yes. Harder.”
He gives it to me, pounding now, one hand braced beside my head, the other sliding between us to rub circles over my clit. I’m climbing fast, thighs shaking, breath coming in short gasps.
“Come for me,” he growls. “Let me feel you squeeze my cock.”
I shatter, walls pulsing hard around him, crying his name loud enough the walls probably hear it. He slams deep one more time, groans long and rough into my neck, cock jerking as he spills inside me, hips grinding through every spurt until he’s shaking and empty.
We stay locked together, sweaty, panting. He kisses my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth.
“Love you,” he whispers.
“Love you more,” I whisper back.
He rolls us so I’m draped over his chest again, still inside me, softening slow. His hand finds my stomach, rests there like before.
“Think we made a baby yet?” he asks, voice soft.
I smile against his skin. “Maybe.”
“Yeah.” His fingers trace lazy circles. “Maybe.”
He leans down and kisses me slow, lazy, like we have all the time in the world now. His hand slides up my side, thumb brushing the underside of my breast. I arch into him, but he pulls back with a low chuckle. “We’ve got breakfast with your dad in an hour. Don’t start something we can’t finish.”
I groan and tug him back down anyway. “Five minutes.”
“Five minutes turns into thirty with you.” He kisses the tip of my nose, then rolls out of bed, completely naked and not shy about it. “Shower. Together. But behave.”
We don’t behave. The water’s hot, steam filling the small bathroom fast. He soaps my back carefully, fingers gentle over the fading cuts from the glass table. I turn in his arms, press my forehead to his chest, and feel him get hard against my stomach. He groans, drops his head to my shoulder. “You’re killing me.”
