Page 106 of Bad Little Bride

“Are they not the same?”

Hazel eyes burn into mine and slowly he shakes his head. “Not to me.”

This moment, it feels a little too…intimate. Too heavy.

So, I shimmy my shoulders until the gown falls from my body, trailing a thumb along Enzo’s lower lip. When his mouth closes round the tip, his tongue swirling there, my eyelids flutter and my core clenches tight.

“What Iwantis what you’re offering.”

“I’m offering everything.”

I shake my head, locking my hands over the rail once more. “No.” I tip my head. “You’re on your knees, metaphorically speaking, so why don’t you stop wasting both of our time and get to work?”

“No moment with you is a wasted one.”

My brows crash, a nervous flutter I don’t like stirring low in my stomach. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

The confusion creasing his eyes tells me the question is not mocking, but rather genuine.

The fluttering doubles until my toes curl in.

“I’m wet, Enzo,” I snap, lifting my left leg outward, slowly rising until my toe is pointed to the sky, just before I hook myself over the railing. The green in his eyes flare, his hands on my skin trembling with desire. “Make me drip.”

And then I push my pussy in his face, and he wastesno time.

He’s savage with his assault, eating me like he’s starved and driving his fingers inside me in swift, curved perfection. He sucks and bites and not even a minute passes before my entire body is shaking, my orgasm threatening to explode like a damn bomb all over his tongue, but I don’t want to do that again.

No, I wantmore.

I give his hair a little tug.

He rips his mouth from my heat, looking up at me with glistening lips, and a small smirk pulls at my own.

“I like you like this, messy and below me,” I admit.

“I am forever below you,” he rasps, his need thick in this tone. “I’m not even on the same scale as you and your utter perfection.”

“I don’t want you below me.” My words are leading, and he finally catches on.

He licks his lips. “And where would you like me?”

“Behind me.” I consider what that means, what he’s going to see, but even the thought isn’t enough to keep me from asking for what I want. “On your feet, Enzo,” my voice trembles but it’s not in fear. Or maybe it is, but fear of falling harder than I should.

That’s what’s happening, isn’t it?

I’m falling for my husband?

Enzo groans long and loud as he squeezes my thighs, and in the next moment, he’s got his palms on the ground, crawling out from under me. He climbs to his feet at my backside, his tongue dragging from behind my knee, all the way up my spine. It’s erotic, my nerves firing off and making my skin prickle, and he keeps going. When his tongue grazes the first point of raised skin halfway up my back, we both freeze. Oh-so slowly, his mouth leaves my spine, and I shake a little for another reason.

What will he say?

Will he be disgusted?

The mood killed?

But Enzo surprises me when, with even softer strokes, his tongue returns, grazing along the scar from first cut to last. His lips press there, holding for two solid seconds longer than necessary, as if to soothe me, to assure me, and it somehow does both.

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