Page 50 of Sweet Nothings

I keep my left hand on her ass cheek and bring the other behind her knee. I lift her leg, bending it over my shoulder, exposing her to me.

Keeping my eyes pinned to hers, I stick my tongue out, sliding it between her wet slit.

She tugs on my hair again, crying out when I run the tip of my tongue to her swollen clit.

“Oh, fuck, Lennon,” she cries. Her mouth falls open as she rocks her hips, pressing into me. “More,” she begs. “I need more.”

“Fuck, Laurel. You taste so fucking good.” Her right leg bends slightly, letting me know she’s already getting close.

I don’t want to stop, knowing this is what Laurel wants. Release. But I don’t think I can watch her have another orgasm without being inside her. I’m a greedy motherfucker.

Without warning, I drop her leg from my shoulder and stand. With her jaw dropped, she watches as I bend down, wrapping my arms around her legs, lifting her over my shoulder.

She yelps as I carry her toward the bathroom.

“Lennon!” She grips the back of my shirt for support.

Her bare ass is next to my face, and my arm is wrapped around her smooth legs. I run my left hand up and along the back of her thigh, stopping on her round pillowy cheek and giving it a squeeze. I slap her ass. She squeals and writhes against me.

“This isn’t fair.” She whines. “My entire body feels like it’s going to explode with all your teasing.”

I carry her through the doorway to our bathroom and don’t let her down until we’re standing in front of the large shower.She holds her breath and keeps her eyes on me as I reach behind her to turn the water on.

“I only thought it was appropriate I carry you over the threshold.” I smirk. “Tradition and all…”

She holds her breath. I can tell when something I’ve done or said is unexpected. She inhales a sharp breath, and her body tenses. The look on her face tells me she’s worried she’s allowing herself to go too far with me too quickly—the same fears I felt earlier in the greenhouse—but I stop those thoughts as soon as they creep back in.

Laurel is my wife. I’m attracted to her. I have been for a long time. If it wasn’t for her giving me the signal she’s okay with it too, I’d have left her alone, agreeing to suffer sleeping on my stiff leather couch if that were the case. We wouldn’t be standing here.

I empty my pockets, pulling out the lavender flower I’d rubbed against her in the greenhouse. Her eyes follow it as I turn to lay it on the marble sink.

“I thought you got rid of it.”

“Absolutely not. This one is mine.” I pick up the flower and bring it to my nose. Laurel’s cheeks flush red. “I couldn’t risk it blowing away at the reception or when we got in the helicopter.”

A breath falls between her parted lips, and I lose all resolve. My eyes dance between hers and her pretty mouth.

Steam billows from the large, stone-walled shower beside us. I place my hands on either side of her face, pulling her mouth to mine.

She kisses me back, leaning into me on a moan.

I haven’t kissed her since the greenhouse. I was afraid if I did, I wouldn’t be able to stop. And I was right. I can’t stop.

She opens her mouth, moaning once more. She swipes her tongue against mine. I walk her back into the shower until her body lands against the tiled wall. She shivers and prickles withgoosebumps. I place my hands on either side of her head, caging her in.

She bites my bottom lip, tugging on it before pulling away. Her delicate hands work to unbutton my soaking wet shirt. She peels it off me, followed by unbuckling my belt.

Once she’s removed my belt, pants, and boxer briefs, she stops. Her eyes roam over my chest, surveying every tattoo inked into my skin.

“I have a slight addiction,” I say over the streaming water.

“Slight?” She pops an eyebrow and giggles. She stares at each one in fascination, dragging her fingers over them, tracing the various lines.

“Some have meaning, most don’t.” I hold my breath when she touches the one beneath my heart, hoping she doesn’t see the one on my back. Not yet.

Her lips part as she silently reads the words on my chest, tracing them with her left hand. The bright lights of the bathroom shine against the large diamond on her finger.

“Take a sad song and make it better,” I whisper.

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