Imoaned as he slipped one finger inside me, then two, curling deep while his thumb traced slow circles over my clit. My breath hitched, eyes fluttering closed.
“Or did you do it like this?” He whispered, his voice rough and low against my ear.
I melted into the sheets, embarrassed by how he unraveled me, by how wet I already was. But the way he watched me told me he loved every second of it.
He moved at exactly the pace I needed, like he knew my body by heart. When my moans grew louder, he leaned down and covered my lips with his, swallowing them, breathing hard as his fingers kept working inside me.
“Baby, I fucking love those noises,” he murmured against my mouth.
My stomach flipped at the word baby, warmth blooming in my chest.
“Yeah?” I breathed back, barely able to form the word.
His gaze lingered on me. He was trying so hard to stay in control, but I was tired of men controlling my life.
The moment I reached down and wrapped my hand aroundhis cock, I knew he was relenting. The sharp intake of his breath confirmed it. I matched his rhythm, slow and needy, like we were learning each other in real time.
“Oh my God, Trouble,” he groaned, as I rolled my hand up and down his length. “Fuck.”
He pushed his fingers deeper in response to my touch, and if I hadn’t been lying flat on the mattress, I swear I would’ve tipped right over the edge.
“You’re such a dirty girl,” he murmured, voice thick. “You like that… when I finger fuck you?”
I nodded, maybe a little too eagerly. No one had ever spoken to me like that before. And, selfishly, I reveled in it, in the way his focus narrowed until it felt like I was the only thing in his world.
“Yeah,” I whined. “Max—oh my God—stop, I need, I need you inside me.”
He slid his fingers free and shoved them into his mouth, groaning low as he tasted me, like it was the most natural thing in the world. The sight was filthy and intimate all at once, sending a shiver through my entire body.
I watched as he shifted over me, all hard lines and flexing muscle, his cock flushed and heavy, desire written plainly across his face.
And then I really looked at him.
This was my childhood best friend. The same boy who cried when Han Solo died. The one who used to ramble endlessly about insect anatomy and black holes. The kid with mismatched socks, jars of beetles, and sunburned shoulders from summers spent fishing, playing baseball, and wasting whole days at the lake. The boy who made me laugh harder than anyone else ever could.
And now…
Now he knelt over me, broad-shouldered and grown, hair messy, eyes dark, wearing that slow, knowing smirk that stillmade my knees weak.
My husband.
God help me. What he’d done was unforgivable, and part of me clung to that anger. But another part of me kept softening, pulled under by him like always. Nothing about us had ever been simple. Our marriage least of all. With Max, everything ran on instinct and emotion, messy and intense and impossible to ignore.
It pissed me off that I was letting myself soften toward him again.
But this time… I didn’t want him in control.
I wanted him to work for me.
I wanted him to beg.
He wrapped a hand around himself and dragged the tip slowly down my center, almost like he was trying to punishme.His head tilted slightly, as if he was watching art unfold, like he was about to destroy his favorite masterpiece.
Something shifted in his eyes then. Feral. Unsteady. Like he was holding himself together by a thread.
His gaze trailed down my chest, lingering. I was completely exposed, trembling beneath him, and all he did was look. He’d touched me, been between my thighs, had watched me come undone, but this was the first time he had seen me like this—spread-eagled on the bed with a drenched pussy entirely at his mercy.
His face went slack, and then he pushed inside.
