“I love you too.” He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark in the dim light. “Mrs. Taylor.”
A shiver ran through me at the name. My name now.
“Say it again.”
“Mrs. Taylor.” He pressed a kiss to my jaw. “Harlow Taylor.” Another kiss, lower, against my throat. “My wife.”
I arched into him, my fingers threading through his hair. “I’m never going to get tired of hearing that.”
“Good. Because I’m never going to get tired of saying it.”
When he kissed me again, there was no hesitation. Just heat and hunger. His mouth slanted over mine, his tongue sweeping past my lips, tasting of the sweet champagne we’d been drinking all night. I met him with equal passion, my hands framing his jaw, my fingers sliding into the soft hair at his nape.
God, I needed this. The rush, the connection, the pure physical proof that he was mine and I was his. My legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him down, and I could feel him even through the layers of our clothes.
“Off,” I gasped against his mouth, fumbling with his shirt buttons. “All of it. Now.”
He chuckled, the sound vibrating against my lips. “So demanding, Mrs. Taylor.”
But he obeyed. He sat back on his heels and ripped the shirt open. Buttons pinged against the nightstand and carpet. I didn’t care. I surged up to run my hands over his chest, his shoulders, the defined planes of his stomach. His skin was hot beneath my palms, his heart racing.
His hands curled around the hem of the white dress I’d changed into after the wedding, and I lifted off the bed, raising my hands over my head as he removed it. He tossed it to the floor.
His hands went to the straps of my bridal lingerie, a lacy, blush-colored set I’d bought just for tonight. He didn’t bother with clasps. He hooked his fingers in the delicate fabric and pulled. The sound of it tearing was a sharp, erotic punctuation in the quiet room. The cool air hit my breasts, and then his hands replaced the lace, his palms rough and possessive as he cupped me, his thumbs circling my nipples until they tightened into aching points.
“Perfect,” he growled, lowering his head to take one into his mouth.
The wet heat of his tongue, the gentle suction, the scrape of his teeth, made pleasure shoot straight to my core. I arched off the bed with a cry, my hands clutching at his head. He lavished attention on one breast, then the other, until I was writhing, little whimpers escaping with every exhale.
His pants and boxers followed, kicked aside in a hurry. His hands gripped my hips, rolling the matching lace panties down my legs. He tossed them over his shoulder.
We were both naked now, skin to skin, and the feel of him pressed against me was almost too much. He was heavy and solid, and I welcomed every ounce of his weight.
He shifted then, his hands guiding me. Instead of settling between my legs, he rolled onto his back, pulling me on top of him so I was straddling his chest.
His eyes gleamed up at me. “I want to taste you. I want to feel you come on my tongue before anything else.”
Heat pooled low in my belly as I braced my hands on his shoulders, my hair falling around us like a curtain. Slowly, I moved up, positioning myself over his face. I watched him, saw the dark hunger in his gaze as he looked up at me.
He didn’t wait. His hands gripped my hips, anchoring me, and then his mouth was on me.
The first touch of his tongue was a shock of pleasure. A long, slow lick from my entrance all the way up to my clit, where he swirled before applying the perfect amount of pressure. My head fell back, a moan tearing from my lungs. I rocked against him, instinctively seeking more.
He gave it to me. His tongue became relentless, licking and sucking, tracing patterns I couldn’t follow, alternating between broad, flat strokes and focused, pinpoint flicks right on the most sensitive spot. One of his hands slid from my hip, his fingers delving lower, finding my entrance. One finger, then two, slid inside me, curling upward.
The dual sensation was overwhelming. My hips began to move, riding his face in a slow, then frantic, rhythm.
“Oh, fuck… Owen... right there... don’t stop.”
I was unraveling, the coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter with every stroke of his tongue, every thrust of his fingers. My thighs shook and my vision blurred at the edges.
The pressure built to a breaking point. And then it shattered.
My orgasm crashed over me, a violent, breathtaking wave that seized every muscle in my body. I convulsed above him, a raw cry ripping from my throat as the ecstasy pulsed through me, again and again, each wave triggered by the continued, gentle lapping of his tongue.
He gently lifted me off, his mouth and chin glistening. I slid down his body, my limbs weak, until I was kneeling between his legs.
My turn.
