When his thumb brushed over my clit, a soft moan slipped from my lips before I could stop it. My cheeks flushed with heat, but he didn’t tease or smirk. He didn’t push further.
Instead, he just kept going—gentle, patient, almost reverent in the way he coaxed pleasure from my body.
It wasn’t about him.
It was about me.
He wanted me to feel—to unravel, to let go, to trust.
And as his fingers worked in slow, maddening circles, I did. I melted into him, into this moment where nothing was expected and everything was offered.
Here, in his hands, I wasn’t nervous anymore. I was wanted. Worshipped.
And slowly, I started to believe I deserved it.
I trembled beneath his touch, every slow stroke unraveling me from the inside out. The tension that had coiled tight in my chest for days began to melt, replaced by something warm and consuming. Here, in the hush of his hands, I felt seen—like I wasn’t just his, I was home.
Nick moved with purpose, but never rushed. Every sweep of his fingers felt like a vow he didn’t need to speak. I arched into him, breath hitching as heat built low in my belly, spreading outward like wildfire. My body responded before my mind could catch up—every nerve lit, every breath caught in the back of my throat.
“Nick,” I whispered, barely a sound.
He looked up, and the way he stared at me made my heart clench. That gaze—intense, possessive, but so full of something more. Something that wrapped around me like a promise I never knew I’d been waiting for.
“There you go,” he murmured against my skin, voice low and rough. “Such a good wife.”
And somehow, those words didn’t feel like a cage.
They felt like a claim I wanted—needed. They didn’t trap me; they anchored me. I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat, but he understood.
He kissed his way down my body, slow and reverent. Every press of his mouth sent another shiver through me. He wasn’t just touching my body—he was reaching for something buried deeper. Something tender and terrified and ready.
When his lips brushed just below my navel, I gasped, fingers threading through his hair in a silent plea.
“Nick…” His name fell from my lips like a prayer.
He paused, eyes finding mine again—dark and burning. “Tell me what you need,” he said gently.
I swallowed, pulse hammering in my throat. “I need… more.”
A slow smile tugged at his lips—knowing, wicked, and soft all at once. He kissed my hip, then slid back up until his face hovered over mine again. “You’ll have it.”
And then he kissed me—deep, searching, like he wanted to taste the very center of who I was. His hands roamed, not with hunger but with hunger and awe. He traced me like he wanted to memorize every inch, every reaction. I let him. I gave him everything.
Because in that moment, nothing else existed.
Not the fear. Not the past. Not even the future.
Just the way we held each other like we’d been waiting a lifetime to do it right.
My breath hitched as Nick’s tongue slid against my slit, moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm. The sensation was electric, each stroke sending ripples of pleasure through me. I gasped, fingers tightening in his hair as he explored me with an intimacy that left me trembling.
“Nick,” I whispered, the sound barely more than a breath. His name tasted like a promise on my tongue—a promise that this was real, that he was real, and that everything I felt in this moment was more than just desire.
He didn’t rush. Every movement was measured, precise, as if he were learning every inch of me through touch alone. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me open for him, and the way he anchored me made my pulse race. The heat of his mouth, the pressure of his tongue—it all blended into a symphony of sensations that left me breathless.
I arched against him, hips moving instinctively to meet his rhythm. The world outside faded away, leaving only the steady rise and fall of my breath and the intoxicating way he worshipped me with every flick of his tongue. I could feel the tension building low in my belly, coiling tighter with each passing second.
“Please,” I gasped, not even sure what I was asking for—more? Faster? It didn’t matter. All I knew was that I needed him like I needed air.
