Page 68 of First Comes Marriage

He hummed in approval and moved closer to her, pressing himself flush against her back as she continued to work. For a while he watched in silence as she shaped the clay, the way shechanged the pressure of her thumb to create the flared tip, the way she smoothed the ridge.

“Is this one for keeping or smashing?” he asked.

“Keeping.” She’d need to test the firing and glazing to be sure she could deliver what Kyla and her friends were looking for, after all. Making a tester only made sense.

That hum again, another kiss below her ear.

“What will you use it for?” he asked as he snaked an arm around her waist.

“I’m…not sure.” Sabrina stopped the wheel, the perfectly shaped clay dick staring back at her. She carefully marked the depression in the center of the tip, smoothing the clay as she went and gathering her courage. “Maybe I’ll use it. Could be fun.”

His fingers teased along the waistband of her leggings, and for a moment she was lost in their movement, in the heat of his body at her back. She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, that fizzy, shaken up feeling pressing at the back of her lips.

“You left so early this morning,” she said quietly.

His eyes found hers, holding her captive, but his words were unusually hesitant. “I wanted to let you sleep.”

“Did you? Or did you want to sneak out before I woke up?”

He swallowed, wetting his lips with a flash of his tongue, and her heart fell to her stomach.

“I didn’t want it to be awkward.” She narrowed her eyes in confusion, and he blew out a breath as he searched for his explanation. “I’m not used to waking up with someone. I panicked. It won’t happen again.”

Warmth washed over her at his matter-of-fact promise. Maybe it didn’t matter if she didn’t want to paint murals—maybe he was indifferent to murals and nurseries and all the soft, fragile beings that belonged there. And maybe she was getting way ahead of herself. They’d only been married a few weeks. It wasfar too soon to even be thinking about murals. Right?

She pressed her lips tentatively to his. He tasted like his morning coffee. It didn’t take long for him to deepen the kiss, to slide his tongue along hers as his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her leggings. He pulled back to meet her gaze as his fingers continued to stroke the skin below her bellybutton, a question posed in his eyes.

She wasn’t sure how she knew, but sheknewdeep in the marrow of her bones that if he asked that question, if he spoke whatever words were dancing behind his eyes, it would change everything. And she wasn’t ready for things to change again. They’d only just gottenhere—to nights full of the most delicious sex, to heated glances, to promises that made her feel warm all over. Couldn’t they enjoythisfor a while before they were confronted with whatever question haunted his ice blue eyes?

She let her knees fall to the side, resting against his powerful thighs behind her, and guided his hand lower as she kissed him again, bringing them back to something safer. At the first brush of his finger over her clit, she melted back against him, relief washing over her to have his touch exactly where she wanted it. He played with her in slow glides of his finger as he kissed her like he had all the time in the world. She made to turn towards him, to pull him closer, but remembered her clay coated hands and stopped herself with a groan.

Baz pulled back, chuckling, his eyes affectionate. He nuzzled into her hair, his lips at her ear. “Keep working on your sculpture, wildflower.”

With shaky hands, she reached for the clay phallus, smoothing out the flare at the crown, adjusting her pressure to add the more lifelike ridges and veining, and all the while, he stroked her clit in too-gentle strokes that never quite got her where she wanted to be.

“Sebastian,” she grumbled, squirming on her stool.

He chuckled and slid his other hand up the front of hert-shirt, pinning her against him fully. He pulled down the cup of her bra and pinched her nipple, but still the hand in her pants remained gentle. Her eyes flitted to the door on the other side of the shop. True, they were mostly hidden behind the shelving unit at the front of the studio, and the brown butcher paper still covered the windows of the storefront, but the door was unlocked. Anyone could come in and find them like this, findherlike this, being slowly tortured for want of an orgasm.

“Will you fuck that cock when it’s done, baby? Will you use it to get yourself off and pretend it’s me?” he asked. Her breathing hitched, and, as if in reward for being turned on by the idea, Baz slid two fingers inside her, slowly pumping against the spot on her front wall that drove her wild. “It won’t be enough for you. You’ll need more, isn’t that right? But it could be a good warm up. Get you ready for the real thing.”

He rocked his hips against her, the unmistakable weight of his erection pressing against her backside as he continued to work her beneath her clothes. She whimpered at the idea of it, and her hands stilled on the clay.

“I didn’t say you were done, Sabrina,” he tsked in her ear. “You stop, I stop.” With a frustrated sound low in her throat, she went back to work on the clay. “There’s my good wife.” He rewarded her with increased pressure on her clit, winding her up as little shock waves of pleasure radiated out from her center, curling her spine in on itself, shooting down to her toes. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need to come,” she moaned, rocking her hips against his hand.

“I know you do, baby.” He nipped at her neck, left sucking kisses along her throat. “You finish making your toy and I’ll make you come, just like you’ll come all over that clay cock when it’s ready.”

“Iamfinished,” she protested.

“Not yet,” he growled.

She turned to meet his eyes, searched the intensity she found there as her thighs quivered under his renewed ministrations. She was so close and he knew it, the bastard. He was keeping her on that knife’s edge until she figured out whatever he thought was missing—

Reaching into the tray of tools at her side, she withdrew a long, thin metal rod. “We’ll have to wait until it’s fired to add the barbell,” she said. Then she stuck the rod through the head of the clay penis, piercing it the way he was pierced, making the toy a replica for the man behind her. He hummed his approval and kissed her deeply. Finally he brought her to climax, holding her against him as she rode out her orgasm, her vision going white around the edges as she shuddered against his hand.

She’d hardly stopped shaking when he pulled his hands from her clothing and stood. As she watched, he sucked her wetness from his fingers, then bent down and kissed her again.

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