They must still be out.
Which leaves us alone. Completely, blissfully alone.
Liev grins wickedly down at me, his eyes dark with hunger. “Hello, wife.”
“Hello, husband.” I grin up at him. “Are you finally going to fuck me? Now that it’s legal and all.”
A full heartbeat doesn’t pass before he’s lifting me and striding toward our room with my legs wrapped tightly around him.
His mouth crashes down on mine. I open for him immediately, tongues tangling, hands already clawing at his shirt. He groans deep into my mouth, the rough sound vibrating straight through me.
He carries me to the bed and lowers me slowly, but he doesn’t follow right away. He stands at the foot, staring down with predatory focus that makes liquid heat pool low in my belly. One deliberate button at a time, he strips off his shirt. Ink and carved muscle emerge, inch by delicious inch. My thighs clench involuntarily.
“Take the dress off,” he orders.
I reach behind my neck to unfasten the button, and the thin straps slide down my arms. The fabric pools at my waist, then I shove it over my hips and kick it away. The bra follows them tothe floor. Left in black lace panties, I lie back, body aching, skin flushed under his gaze.
His eyes rake over me slowly. “Beautiful.” His voice drops to a deep rumble, “Mine. Finally fucking mine.”
Liev sheds the rest of his clothes with ruthless efficiency before he climbs onto the mattress. He cages me in with his powerful arms, knees nudging mine wide, and settles between my thighs. The thick length of him presses hot and heavy against my pussy through the thin lace, grinding just enough to make me gasp.
I arch up, chasing more friction, and he makes an approving sound low in his throat. His hand trails down my body—tracing the swell of my breast, thumb circling my nipple until it tightens into a hard peak under his touch. Lower still, until he hooks a finger under the lace edge.
“Look at me,” he commands.
My eyes snap to his.
“I willneverhurt you.” Then he rips the panties away in one sharp tug.
I moan, shifting restlessly under him, hips lifting in a silent plea.
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t tease. Just holds my gaze as two thick fingers glide through my slick heat, circling my clit once, twice, then pushing deep. My hips buck and a broken whimper escapes me.
“So wet already,” he growls, curling those fingers to stroke that exact spot that makes my vision white out and heat engulf my body. “My wife. So fucking ready for me. I’ve wanted this—wanted you—for so goddamn long.”
Emotion and raw need slam together, tears pricking even as pleasure coils tighter. He thrusts slowly, his thumb relentless on my clit, building me ruthlessly higher until I think I’m going to explode.
When my thighs shake, and my back bows off the mattress, he pulls his fingers free. I whimper at the empty ache.
He shifts and notches himself at my entrance. His free hand cups my jaw, thumb brushing my cheek.
“Still with me?” he asks quietly.
I nod frantically. “Yes. Please. Now.”
That’s all he needs.
He thrusts in one long, deep stroke, filling me completely, stretching me around every thick inch until we’re locked together. He stills for a heartbeat, forehead pressed to mine, breaths ragged and mingling, letting me feel how perfectly he fits.
Then he moves.
Slow at first, deliberate rolls of his hips drag against every sensitive spot. Each thrust pushes deeper, harder, building that relentless rhythm. My nails rake down his back as he angles his hips, and pleasure coils so tight I can barely breathe.
His thumb works between us pressing hard against my clit. “Come for me,” he orders, voice frayed.
Clenching around him, I cry out his name as wave after wave crashes through me. He follows seconds later with hips snapping erratically, until he buries himself to the hilt with a guttural groan, pulsing deep inside me.
We stay locked together for a long moment, chests heaving, sweat-slick skin pressed close. He rolls us so I’m draped over his chest, his hand stroking down my spine in long, soothing passes.
