“Watermelon,” Luna said, and yeah, called it. She was definitely dreaming about food. Again. “Candy cock.”
Okay, this sounds hopeful.
Luna had a magic mouth, both in public and in private. She gave him head every morning, and she did it with enthusiasm, although he secretly feared that she didn’t enjoy eating dick as much as she claimed and only did it because the sex issues were ongoing. Things were better, no doubt about that. She’d carried on with the physical therapy, plus they were both going to therapy-therapy, and they now had the world’s largest collection of sex toys, his and hers. Even Rocky had his own dildo, which he’d joyously stolen from the packaging when Luna got distracted trying to find her phone charger. The little guy looked so sad when they took it away that they’d let him keep it. It wasn’t as if they got many visitors. Luna had grown to love her privacy.
Her eyes flickered open.
“Morning, gorgeous.”
Luna’s gaze was unfocused for a moment, and then it landed on Ryder’s face. Her lips curved into the sweetest smile. Sweet with a hint of filth.
“What’s the time?”
“Eight thirty.”
Used to be that his workdays started early and evenings were chill-out time, but in Vegas, that had been turned on its head. They’d gotten into a routine. Wake up, brush their teeth, feed Rocky (in Ryder’s case) and check for any overnight scandals (in Luna’s case). Then they’d go back to bed and fuck around for an hour, sometimes two, take a shower (together), eat breakfast, and start their day.
“I should brush my teeth,” she said.
When he got back to the bedroom, she was already on her knees. But Ryder shook his head.
“Not today, moon. Today is all about you.” He lifted her onto the bed. “Any requests?”
“Just make me feel good.”
“Let’s try something a little different.”
“How different?” she asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.
Ryder reached into the nightstand drawer for the satin blindfold he’d bought and slipped it over her eyes.
“If you take one sense out of the picture, the others are heightened.”
“They are?”
“They are.”
She arched off the bed like a cat at the first stroke of his tongue, and a long moan slipped through her lips.
“You’re my candy kitten,” he told her, and the moan turned into a giggle. Ryder would never tire of this view or those sounds. Mark Antony had been right in one respect—Luna Maara was a queen. She ruled Ryder’s world, and he wouldn’t want it any other way. His gaze roamed over her body, taking in the small, firm breasts, the trim waist, the muscles taut from dancing. That sweet, perfect pussy. The chemistry between them was undeniable, but Luna’s pelvic muscles still hadn’t gotten the message.
He knew why—in her head, she’d built sex up to be such a Big Fucking Deal that every time they tried it, she freaked out in case things went badly, which meant things did go badly. In her subconscious, toys were fine, but his dick was still a problem.
And no matter how many times he reassured her that he wasn’t going anywhere, he wasn’t certain she believed him. Two weeks ago, she’d sobbed after another failed attempt and said that if he needed to hire a hooker, she’d understand, if he could just be discreet about it. What the actual fuck?
Over the past few months, Ryder had asked himself if he could live without sex, and the answer was yes. But he couldn’t live without her. He circled her clit with his tongue, smiling to himself as she fisted the sheet in her hands.
“There,” she choked out. “More.”
More? She wanted more? They bought lube in bulk, and he applied a liberal coating to his fingers, not that he needed to. Luna was already slick, her breath coming in short pants. He slid a finger inside her, and when she gasped, he knew he’d found the elusive G-spot. It barely took a minute to get her off. She was so fucking responsive, his queen. She came with a soft cry, her skin glistening, her fingernails digging into his shoulders.
“I love you,” he promised her. “Always.”
“Your turn.”
His dick ached, but when she tried to remove the blindfold, he stopped her with a hand.
“I’m not done yet.”