Unable to take the sweet torture, she pants, "Please.” The word is barely audible, but it's everything.
"Please what, sweetheart?"
She stares at me for a long moment, pride and need battling in her expression. Then something shifts, a conscious choice, a surrender. "Please make me come."
"As you wish," I say before spearing her with my tongue, a reward for her admission. I plunge in deep, and I know she feels the groan that rumbles up from my chest. Her back arches, and I suck her bundle of nerves hard, and she explodes. For seconds, I'm delirious, unsure what's better, the taste of her coming apart on my tongue or hearing my name fall from her lips like a prayer. I lick her through the aftershocks, savoring every drop until she's pushing weakly at my head, oversensitive and trembling.
When I crawl back up her body, her eyes are glazed, unfocused. I catch her chin gently, making her look at me.
"Stay with me," I say softly. "Don't hide from this."
For a moment, I think she'll retreat anyway, but then she cups my face, pulling me down into a kiss that's tender and honest. No walls. No games. Just Asha.
Then, pulling back, she bites my lip. "I'm not hiding. You have a job to finish, husband."
"Fuck, yeah, I do." My tone is pure gravel. She just claimed me and asked for my cock in one sentence. I reach between us, positioning myself at her entrance. "Last chance to change your mind."
Her legs wrap around my waist in answer, pulling me closer until I push inside her slowly, and we both groan at the sensation. She's impossibly tight, impossibly perfect, and for a moment, I can't move, can't think, can't do anything but feel.
"God," I grit out. "You feel?—"
She silences me with a kiss, her nails digging into my shoulders. When she pulls back, her eyes are dark with need. "Move," she whispers, not a demand but a plea.
I pull almost all the way out and thrust back in, and she gasps against my mouth. I do it again, finding a rhythm that has her clutching at me, all that careful composure dissolving.
"Look at me," I say, and she does. She holds my gaze even as I drive deeper, harder. "Let me see you," I pant as beads of sweat gather across my shoulder blades.
The sound of her wetness pulling me in echoes around the room like a siren song, and there's no denying she more than wants every second of this. She could close her eyes. Could hide. Instead, she keeps them locked on mine, letting me see every emotion flickering across her face: pleasure, vulnerability, something that looks dangerously close to a four-letter word.
The thought has me widening my legs and changing the angle, with a need to drive in deeper to conquer depths no man ever has, to leave my mark. She cries out, the pinch of pain catching her by surprise, and then her eyes roll back in pure euphoria.
"That's my girl, taking everything I give her like a good little wife."
She's shaking now, her whole body trembling as pleasure builds. Her mouth opens like she wants to say something, but no words come out. Just small, desperate sounds that drive me wild.
"That's it." I watch her face transform. "Let go for me. I'll catch you."
Her eyes search mine, and whatever she sees there…trust, desire, promise…it's enough. She shatters with a cry, and the feel of her pulsing around me drags me over the edge with her. I bury myself deep as I come hard, my face in the crook of her neck as I work to steady my racing heart. When the world finally stops spinning, I collapse beside her, pulling her against my chest. She comes willingly, tucking her head under my chin, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my skin.
"Don't," she says quietly.
"Don't what?"
"Don't make me regret this." Her voice breaks on the last word. "Please don't make me regret finally letting you in."
I tighten my arms around her. "Never, sweetheart."
We lie there in silence, hearts gradually slowing, reality waiting at the edges. I can feel her thinking, processing, but she's not running. Not building walls. She's here, in my arms, choosing to stay.
"The pillows are still on the floor," she says finally, and there's the faintest hint of amusement in her voice.
"So they are."
"If we stay in this bed all day... it still only counts as once, right?"
I know what she's asking. We don't do relationships. We don't sleep with the same person more than once. It's safer that way. Cleaner. Things don't get messy.
But I want messy. I want beautiful, complicated, earth-shattering messy with her. And this will be happening again and again today, tomorrow, every day after, until the day I die, because she is mine. Whether she's ready to fully accept that or not, we are happening. So, I'll give her this fiction. This temporary safety net while she adjusts to the reality of us.
