She rises higher on her knees, grips my cock, lines up. Sinksslow,inch by torturous inch. Her walls part, still swollen from before, gripping like velvet fire. Imoan, guttural, hands vise-like on her hips.
“Autumn, for fuck’s sake.”
Her head snaps back, lips parting on sweet, broken moans as she bottoms out, ass flush to my thighs, water sloshing over the edges.
“Tell me I’m yours.” She locks eyes, rocking shallowly.
“You’refucking mine, Autumn Brady. My wife. Myeverything.” I slam up, hard, claiming, water splashing wild. “Mine.”
I thrust over and over, hips snapping against her pelvis, waves crashing the tub sides. Grabbing her breast, I suck hard, tongue lashing the nipple, teeth grazing till she yelps. She fists my hair,pulls it,and it spurs me feral.
“Fucking mine.” I repeat like a mantra, pounding deeper.
“I’m—” Her voice cracks, panting, walls fluttering warning. “Yours.”
She shatters, theorgasm ripping through her, convulsing hard around me, milking me ruthlessly. Our juices mix with water; her nails cut into my shoulders.
I follow with a roar muffled in her neck, unloading deep, pulses flooding her again. My grunts tangle with her moans, a symphony of us.
I carry her to my bed, lay her down, and pull the silk sheets and blanket over her; she shivers. My chest burns just by looking at her. How the fuck did I end up here?
“Are you cold?” I ask as she curls under the fabric, only her eyes showing.
“Maybe if you let me put on my pyjamas.” Her voice muffles under the blankets.
I smirk. “I want to feel your naked body next to mine, all night long.” I turn toward the fireplace and light it up.
“Oh.” She purrs, and I watch her close her eyes, her little nose peeking out as she takes in the flames. I turn the lights off and head to the bed.
She lifts the blankets for me, a simple gesture that hits harder than any fight. I’ve never shared my bed with a woman before. To fuck in hotels, yes. But here, in my bedroom, in my bed, never.
I swallow hard and lie beside her. She curls into me instantly, her head on my shoulder, her hand on my chest, and I feel her soften. The glow from the fireplace turns her hair into something unreal. She looks like a goddess planted on this earth to push me past my limits.
Her breathing slows; she’s asleep. I’m wide awake. Part of me wants to move her away, get her out of my bed. I don’t do this. I don’t cuddle. I don’t share my room. I don’t—
Fuck me.
She’s my wife. And the way my heart is hammering, the way her warmth settles something inside me I didn’t know was broken.
Looking down on her, lying here, her ring over my heart. I place my hand over hers.
She’s mine. Forever.
A thought cuts through me, and I make a decision.
I’m going to kill John Flanaghan. For her. For us.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Autumn
“Good morning, trouble,” he whispers, his hand already between my legs, his hard cock pressing at my entrance.
“Good—” A moan escapes my lips as he thrusts in, one hand fisting my hair and pulling my head back to him, the other sliding to my clit, where his thumb presses and traces torturous slow circles.
“Fuck, you’re so tight in the morning, baby.” He moves his hips, and I arch my back, meeting each thrust, letting him sink deeper inside me.
“More,” I moan, and he smirks.
