“Lick me,” I say, clear and deliberate. “Make me wetter. Prepare me so I can take every drop of you.”
His groan vibrates through the air between us. He hooks his fingers under the hem of my dress and drags it up slow, baring my thighs, my hips, my stomach. When the fabric bunches at my waist he pauses, palms flat against my skin, thumbs stroking.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs. “Every inch of you made for this. For me.”
He lowers his head and kisses the inside of my thigh—soft at first, then open-mouthed, teeth grazing enough to make me arch. I thread my fingers into his hair and guide him higher.
“There,” I say. “Right there.”
His tongue finds me through the thin cotton of my underwear. One long, slow drag that makes my hips jerk. He growls against me, the sound rumbling straight into my core. Then he pulls the fabric aside and licks me properly—broad, wet strokes over my clit, circling, flicking, tasting.
“Fuck, you’re sweet,” he says against me. “Could do this all night. But I’ve got plans for you, wife.”
I moan—full, unbroken. “Deeper, Rafe. Use your fingers. Stretch me.”
He obeys. Two thick fingers slide inside me, curling just right, stroking that spot that makes my toes curl. His tongue never stops. The wet sounds are obscene, filling the cabin. I rock against his face, chasing more, and he lets me—lets me ride his mouth while he worships.
“You’re already clenching,” he growls. “Your pussy knows what’s coming. Knows I’m gonna fill this perfect little womb tonight.”
The words hit me hard. I tighten around his fingers, thighs trembling.
“Yes—” The word breaks apart on my lips. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
He adds a third finger, stretching me wider, tongue laving faster. My back bows off the bed. Pleasure coils tight and bright behind my navel.
“Rafe—” My voice cracks, but it’s still words. Still me. “I’m going to come.”
He sucks my clit hard, fingers pumping, and I shatter—loud, shaking, crying his name in full sentences as the orgasm rips through me.
“I’m coming—oh God, I’m coming for you—”
He drinks every pulse, every tremor, until I’m boneless against the quilt. I don’t disappear. I stay. Only then does he lift his head, lips glistening, eyes feral.
“That’s my girl,” he rasps. “Now you’re ready.”
He rises over me, cock thick and leaking against my thigh.
“Tell me when,” he says. “Tell your husband when you want him inside you.”
Rafe rises over me, the firelight carving shadows along the hard lines of his shoulders. His cock rests heavy against my thigh—thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip. He braces one forearm beside my head and uses the other hand to guide himself to my entrance. The blunt head nudges me open and I feel the first slow stretch.
“Look at me,” he says, voice low and wrecked.
I do. Our eyes lock.
He pushes in one careful inch. Then another. My breath catches at the fullness—thick, hot, stretching me wide. I feel every ridge, every vein, the way my body has to yield to take him.
“God, Briar,” he groans. “Feel that? Feel how deep I’m going? This is where our baby’s going to grow.”
I nod, fingers digging into his biceps. “Yes. Deeper. Don’t stop.”
He sinks the rest of the way in one long, steady glide until his hips are flush against mine and I’m stuffed full. The pressure is exquisite—borderline too much, exactly enough. I clench around him on instinct and he hisses through his teeth.
Rafe rocks once, shallow, letting every inch drag out and slide back in. Then he goes still, buried to the hilt, forehead droppingto mine. Just breathing. Just feeling. Giving me a moment I didn’t know I needed.
I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him tighter. “Harder,” I tell him. “Fuck me like you mean it. Like you’re claiming me forever.”
His eyes flare—dark and possessive. After he pulls back almost all the way, he slams home again. The bed creaks. My breasts bounce with the force of it. Pleasure spikes sharp and bright behind my navel.
