Page 19 of King of Guilt

Dean started to shift, pulling me back up with a kiss I couldn’t risk stopping. As he sat back down on the couch, crossing his legs, he cradled my torso and dipped me backward, just like he had when we’d danced. In a second, I was lying down in his lap, and he was bent over me; hands supporting my body; arms protecting me; and lips worshiping me.

I could only feel one thing, and I knew it was an illusion; he tasted like he was mine.

I knew he wasn’t, but none of that mattered.

Not now.

And because I could feel reality as it tried to chase me, I wanted to do something—to take control. That was why I suddenly sat up, grabbing his hand with all my might as I stood on my own two feet. Wide-eyed, he stared up at me, parting his lips to conjure up words that refused to come.

“Come,” I urged him, tugging.

Holding his hand, I ran toward my suite, and he followed. I felt his fingers tighten their grip on mine, afraid to let go. Just like me, he didn’t want this dream to end.

Leading him into my unruly bed, I tossed away the robe that was still dangling at my elbows. Now with nothing but a night slip, I laid on my back, softly pulling him by the arms. I watched him hovering over me, at a loss for where to begin. I whispered, “I’m your wife.” My hands covered his cheeks, feeling the heat radiate from them as if in a fever. “Talk to me like that.”

“I…” He breathed for a moment before saying in a broken voice, “I don’t have the words.”

I kindly smiled. “Then, show me.”

Once again, his lips reached for mine like a thirsty man’s mouth for cool water. This time, he started out slow and tender, gradually heightening the intensity until his tongue found a home between my lips. And again, and again, and again, the way it felt so right tortured me until I wanted to say something—do something to take my mind off of it all.

But I couldn’t. Not with this heavy mist of colored smoke surrounding my senses, leading me deeper and deeper into a delicious trip of sensation and emotion.

When did Dean stop being my boss, and when did he become my master?

His hand kept roaming around, as in a shield around my shoulder, my head, into my hair and out of it, and up and down my arms. His frenzied desire to feel me ignited my own, and my hands made their way to his back, one sliding downward, while the other was going up. I pulled up his shirt, and for the second it took to pass it over his head, it was as though he didn’t want to part us. Not even for a miniature fraction in time.

When he dove back in to kiss me, he whispered, “You’re so good.” I thought he meant to say that I felt so good.

“You feel good, too.” I gently bit his lower lip, and he kissed me harder. “So good,” he mumbled between racing breaths. “So good, I love it. I love this. I love this.”

Closing my eyes, I imagined the way his voice would sound if he were to say, ‘I love you.’ My heart ached for him and for me.

In a pace only fit for divine worship, Dean started kissing my cheek, descending in sweet little pecks over my neck, the center of my chest, and my stomach. He slowed down there, pressing with his hands against my flesh while his lips made sure not an inch around my navel was left unloved.

When his hands slowly grabbed my hips, sliding around them slowly and reaching my bottom, I looked down and saw his head below my navel. Tossing back my head, I didn’t know what to expect, so I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath for a moment.

As soon as I felt his mouth there, I let out a brief whine before biting my lower lip. Oh my God, this wasn’t happening.

Slowly but surely, the buildup was everything that I could feel radiating from my center, all the way to the tips of my fingers and my curled toes. I couldn’t believe it—Dean Allen, doing this.

But soon, belief was no longer in question, since pleasure took over, blurring my vision and forcing me to close my eyes once again. As moans and whines refused to remain in my throat, they announced their presence loud and clear, echoing back to me across the air in the room.

It wasn’t long before I screamed.

And this time, it was a good scream. Really good.

Just as I was about to start fighting for a breath, Dean’s darling face appeared before my eyes, and he kissed me again. This time, the taste was of us both, a testament to a moment so rare in time that I was never going to forget it.

Kissing him harder, I let my hands go to his hair again, this time tugging slightly. “Dean,” I breathed into his ear. The syllables were broken, slow in their release and shy in their revelation. “Come on, baby,” I begged him. “I’m your wife. You’re my husband tonight.”

Gazing into my eyes, everything about him screamed of love. But then again, I had a long track record of fooling myself. That was why when he finally took off his shorts, I worked to distract myself by the full sight of him.

Oh, Dean, how beautiful you are.

I no longer saw a reason to hold back what I wanted to say, nor did I want to. I had spent far too many years doing the proper thing. “You’re gorgeous,” I whined as I let my eyes visibly admire his form, my hands running over his taut stomach, around his sides, and grabbing his behind. “You’re absolutely beautiful, Dean. My God.”

As he eased himself into me, he let his head drop into the nook of my neck. With his hot breath against my skin, he groaned, “And you’re the most beautiful thing in my life, I swear.”

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