His eyes darken. “The only man you need to worry about pleasing isme.”
I bat my eyelashes. “Of course. But my future husband will be so thankful to you.”
That deeply possessive, territorial flash in his eyes is a look I’ve come to positively live for, and seeing it now sends the same thrill through me as always.
His hand comes to my hair, tugging so I’m forced to look up at him.
“Eyes on me, baby,” he says. “See just how thankful your future husband is.”
Chapter 36
Future Husband
SADIE
Another, deeper thrill goes through me at the implication that he is the future husband in question.
I set the melting popsicle down on the rock beside me, the cherry ice bleeding red against the hot stone.
I turn back to him. Taking his cock in my hand, I watch his face.Savor the sharp intake of his breath as I touch him.
“And here I thought you were all about my pleasure,” I say.
His hips jerk slightly as I rub my cheek along his shaft.
“You like it when I tell you what you want,” he breathes. His voice is rough at the edges now, the careful control starting to fray.
I press my lips to the tip of his dick and feel his whole body go tight. His abs contract. The hand in my hair tightens involuntarily.
“I hate when you boss me around,” I lie.
“Sure. Except your little pussy gets real wet when I boss you around.”
He's not wrong. Sitting back on my heels like this, thighs pressed together, I feel how slick I am there, every nerve ending awake and shimmering.
“On your knees, baby.”
His thumb strokes along my skin, tender and unhurried, the same way he touches me when he's tucking hair behind my ear or tracing my collarbone in the dark.
“If you want to be a good wife, you better learn to love sucking your husband's cock.”
Heat floods through me from my face to my pussy.
I grip the base of his cock with one hand. Feel him twitch against my palm, hear the hitch in his breath. I look up at him one more time, holding his gaze, wanting him to see that I'm here, that I'm choosing this, that every single thing I'm about to do I'm doing because I want to.
Because I love giving him pleasure. I love the games we play.
Because I love him.
I haven't let myself think it that plainly before. Not once all summer. I think it now, kneeling in front of him in the August sun, gazing up at this wounded, beautiful cowboy of mine.
Then I lick slowly up the length of him.
The sound he makes, the deep, rough grunt of pleasure, I feel in my core.
I've learned that sound. Learned exactly how to earn it. Two months ago I didn't know how to do any of this. Now I know his body well enough to play it, to find the places and rhythms that make him lose the careful control he keeps over everything.
His other hand drops to my throat, not gripping, just resting, his palm against my pulse point. I know he can feel my heartbeat racing. Good. I want him to know.
