Page 30 of It's Holy Matrimony, Baby

I thread my fingers through the loops in his waistband and pull it down. I do the same with his boxers, pulling them carefully over the head of his cock. His length bounces against his lower abs and I run my fingertips along the purple vein that bulges under the skin. He hisses at the contact, his grip on my knees tightens.

Taking him in my hand, I stroke him. My hand lubricates easily, pre-cum dripping from the fat head of his cock. My lips are dry, and I run the tip of my tongue over them. He’s built like a girl’s wet dream. A woman’s wildest fantasy. He wraps one hand around mine and squeezes both around his cock with a moan. I echo him.

His other hand leaves my knee to slide up the outside of my thigh to my hip, bunching my skirt up as he goes and holding it trapped between his hand and my body. He leaves me to stroke him while he runs his thumb over the front of my panties and presses it against my clit.

I shudder at the sensation. It rocks me so much I can’t stay still. Can’t keep stroking him. He rubs small circles over the silk again and again until my hands drop to his chest. Until I’m panting and rocking, and my vision blurs. That’s when he stops. When I’m so close to combusting. He hooks his fingers in my panties and tears through the silk. And I don’t even care. I love it. Especially when his bare fingers touch my swollen, wet flesh. I. Can’t. Stop. An orgasm shoots through me, like the vibrations of a speaker at a sold-out rock concert.

He flips us over. I’m under him now. Flat on my back on the carpet. His hands are on my panties. They tear through the rest of the silk, leaving nothing but the elastic around my waist. “This is what you want?”

“Please.” I nod and bite my lip.

“Okay then.” He moves fluidly, gracefully for such a big guy as he hovers over me. One hand skims my thigh, spreading me wider and then settles on my hip as he slides home and pulls me up at the same time.

I’m full of him. And it feels good. Spots dance in front of my eyes. I grip his biceps and squirm. The urge to move is overwhelming.

He bows his head and kisses me slowly as he draws away and plunges back. He’s gentle and rough at the same time. Our breaths mingle as we move faster. The sound of our damp bodies slapping together fills the air. His fingers dig into my ass cheeks, and he groans against my neck before he flutters his lips at my collarbone.

I burst into flames like Jimi Hendrix’s guitar. Pleasure spreads from all the spots where he’s touching me; with his lips and his hands and his cock. It’s spectacular. My insides squeeze tight around him. My vision goes black. I hold on for dear life as another orgasm rushes me.

His weight falls on me. His groan is a roar in my ear. I feel him twitch inside me. Feel his cock spasm and the heat of his cum fill me. It triggers another orgasm.

So this is what I’ve been missing.

I sit up. I’m in bed. Naked, with nothing but a sheet over me. I sort of remember Nox talking to me after we had sex, lifting me into his arms and carrying me to bed. I was so drowsy from our fucking, so he’d undressed me. He’d stayed too, hadn’t he? I’d felt his weight settle on the bed beside me, his hand on my hip. Hadn’t been able to argue it. Didn’t want to. Oxytocin had addled my brain. Made me crave human contact. His contact. It’s not supposed to be like this.

The clock’s red digits say it’s after ten. He must have left for work at some point, the same as he did yesterday. I fall back against the pillows. I don’t know much about Nox Casey other than he refuses to end this marriage, he used to play guitar, and he fucks like a god, but even I can tell he’s stretching himself too thin. It’s wearing on him.

It shouldn’t have happened. Last night. It wasn’t what I intended. Sleeping with him has probably only made him assume that I’ll do it again. It’s not a bad assumption. I can’t say it won’t happen. Not if he continues making himself at home in my hotel room. He makes me feel things, want things that I’ve been so careful to avoid. He’s too easy to be with, and I don’t hate him. Maybe if I could...

There’s a knock on the door, accompanied by my phone pinging with an incoming message. Only Liv does that. She probably expects me to still be asleep. Jumping out of bed, I snatch up a dress and pull it on. Reaching for the zipper, I cross the suite to let her in.

Bouncing into the apartment, two coffees in her hands, she thrusts one at me with a huge smile on her face. “You look like you could use this.”

“Do I?” I take a sip from the takeaway cup and avoid making eye contact.

“Is he here?”

“Who?”

“Don’t play coy with me.” She rolls her eyes as she walks to the bedroom door and peers inside. “Nox, of course. Oh. Damn it. I was hoping he’d still be here.”

“How do you know he was?” I take another slug of coffee and put it down on the counter so that I can deal with the zip on my dress. It slides snugly into place as Liv turns around.

“I assumed. A man like that makes his mind up about something you expect follow through. And after what you said on the phone...”

He’s good at following through, that’s for sure. I drop onto the couch. The empty plates on the coffee table and our uneaten desserts have been cleared away. He must have done that before he left this morning. “How am I going to shake him, Liv? He somehow convinced the desk clerk to give him a key card. He’s everywhere I turn.”

She comes to sit beside me, resting her hands in her lap while she studies my face. “Is he harassing you?”

No. Nothing like that. Or not exactly. I like that he’s a man of his word. I like his attention and the way warmth spreads through me when he looks at me. When he touches me. It scares me a little too. I don’t believe in these feelings and emotions, so why are they happening? It doesn’t feel simply physical. Whether I understand the complex reactions that are taking place in my body doesn’t make them any less real. “Why can’t he let it go, Liv?”

“Maybe he thinks it’s worth pursuing.” She gives me a sympathetic smile. “What if it is?”

“You know it’s not.” I frown at her. I must have liked him from the moment we met. More than liked him to marry him. But it’s all a cocktail of chemicals and certain areas of my brain firing up like fireworks that will pass just as quickly. “You know how I feel about this situation.”

“I know you think you can’t be happy with another person.” She clicks her tongue. “You haven’t exactly had any reason to believe otherwise. But the curse isn’t real.”

“At least we can agree on that.” I sip my coffee. My grandmother was the one who coined the McClain misfortune in relationships a curse. But all it is really is the inability to fall in love. Even my parents were only ever in lust, and then they were divorced by the time I was born.

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