I grab her waist and sit up abruptly, hauling her with me, dropping onto the couch with my legs spread. She gasps, soft and breathless, palms flying to my shoulders. I drag her to straddle me. Her dress rides up her thighs.
Her heat settles right where I'm aching. The world shrinks to weight, heat, and heaven.
"Knox—"
"Stay," I rasp.
My hands slide under the hem, up warm skin, to grip her ass. She lets out a tiny, wrecked whimper that punches the air from my lungs. Soft and warm and trembling for me.
I kiss her again, unhurried this time, savoring it. She tastes like sweet tea, Maggie's frosting, and addiction I could drown in. When I pull back, her eyes are glazed and hungry.
"Lift your hips," I breathe against her lips.
She does, obedient and gorgeous, rising just enough that her heat grazes my cock. My dick throbs so hard it's almost painful.
"Good girl."
A shudder runs through her, startled and wanting, and her fingers curl at the back of my neck.
I fish the condom from my pocket, the one I grabbed this morning before we left. Then I unbuckle my belt one-handed, then unzip. She rises on her knees without being asked, giving me room. I shove my pants low. My cock presses at my briefs, swollen and desperate, the head already leaking from holding back all day.
I free myself and she stills at the sight. I tear the foil with my teeth, rolling the condom down in one practiced stroke.
"You're shaking," I tell her.
"So are you," she breathes.
My hands aren't steady where I hold her. I hook my fingers in her panties and pull them aside. She gasps, thighs trembling around me, when the fabric drags over her soaked slit.
"Fuck," I growl, head tilting back. "You're already wet for me."
She makes a broken, ruined sound that goes straight to my cock. Her fingers slip into my hair and tug. I brace her above the head of my cock. The heat of her drenches the tip instantly.
"Easy," I rasp. "I've got you." She lowers herself slowly, tight, hot, slick, and I choke on a curse. I clamp down to keep from thrusting up too hard. "Jesus. Fuck."
She moans, nails scoring my shoulders, clinging as though she'll fall apart without me. I drag her down until she takes me all the way in. Her lips part in a silent cry.
My head drops back with a guttural groan. "Fuck, Sloane."
Her pupils are blown wide, and her stomach muscles jump under the bunched fabric. She locks onto my shoulders and holds.
I hold her there, buried deep, both of us barely breathing, both hanging by a thread.
My eyes land on her left hand on my shoulder. The gold band winks under the lamplight, gleaming against my shirt. My ring. My wife.
My grip tightens until my knuckles ache. I don't ease up.
"Look," I rasp, catching her left hand and covering it with mine, pressing the rings together between our palms. "Look at us."
Sloane's gaze follows mine. Her face changes when she sees it; our hands stacked, rings aligned, her taking mine. Her eyes glassover, and her mouth works around something she doesn't say. I can't tell what that look is, but I hold on tighter anyway.
"You're mine now."
A shiver runs through her, making her clench so tight I see stars. But her eyes go somewhere for a second, and when they come back, they're wet. She hasn't said "for now" all day. I don't know what that means yet.
Then I drag her against me, lips at her ear. "Move," I whisper, voice wrecked. "Ride me, baby. Ride your husband."
The word husband punches out rough and possessive, and she gasps. It cracks in the middle, half desire and half ache she swallows before I can read it.
