Page 124 of The Wrong Husband
Heat.
Pressure.
A blooming pleasure that’s thick and golden—and already laced with a craving for more.
I give over to the waves of pleasure rolling over me, cocooning me, folding me in a heated embrace promising more. More.More.
He continues to fuck into me, slamming into me, joining me, melding with me as he slides deep inside. And then, I’m dimly aware of him shouting his release.
I float for what seems like hours but must be seconds. Adrift on a silence which is pleasing and filled with a sensation I identify as satisfaction. I drift to earth, and when I open my eyes, it’s to find him watching me.
"You, okay?"
I nod.
"You definitely, okay?"
I nod again. He searches my features, nods, then lowers his head and kisses me soundly. Instantly, I feel him thicken inside me.
He smiles against my mouth. "I’d better get you inside first."
He pulls out of me, reaches down and ties off the condom, before disposing off it. Then he straightens his clothes.
I begin to rise, but he scoops me up in his arms.
"The table—" I glance at the remnants of our meal.
"I’ll clear it later." He takes me inside the yacht and down to the master suite. He bypasses the bed and heads inside the en suite.
Setting me down on the counter next to the sink, he runs the taps to fill the massive bathtub, drops in bath bombs, and dims the lights so the sunlight pouring in from the massive windows overlooking the bay caresses everything in a golden light.
When the tub is half full, he turns off the taps, then scoops me up in his arms and sets me down next to the tub. He kisses my forehead tenderly and pushes the remnants of my dress off my shoulders. Kicking it aside, he urges me to get into the tub.
I sigh as I sink into the bubbles. He folds a towel and places it under my neck.
"Comfy?"
I nod. "You’re spoiling me."
"You’re worth it." He takes my hand and kisses my fingertips. "Rest up. I’ll be right back."
He rises to his feet and is gone, leaving me to close my eyes and savor the warmth of the water. My muscles, already relaxed from that orgasm, unwind further. Any tension I carried begins to slip away. I sigh, spread my legs and allow the warm water to soothe the ache between my thighs. It reminds me of how it felt to have him inside of me.
How he took me, how he zeroed in on that deep pelvic zone—where nerves, pressure, and arousal converge—like he mapped the exact coordinates of my release.
I close my eyes and when I open them again, I find him placing a bottle of champagne at the head of the tub. "Scoot forward."
I do.
He hands me a flute of champagne. Placing his own down next to the bottle, he strips off his clothes, then slides into the bath behind me.
He stretches his legs out on either side of me, then coaxes me to lay back against him. The feel of the hard planes of his chest at my back and the warm water lapping around me draws me into a cocoon of comfort. "Thank you.”
"You’re welcome." There’s a soft touch on my hair, and I know he must have kissed me. I sense him taking a sip of his champagne, feel the vibrations in his chest as he swallows, then the clink as he places his flute down.
"Take another sip." He brings my flute to my mouth, and I oblige. Then he takes the glass from me and sets it aside. He cups my breasts in the water and runs his thumbs over my nipples. I shudder.
Goosebumps pop on my skin. And when he slides his hand down to toy with my navel, I whimper. I turn my head in his direction, and he lowers his, so our lips meet. It’s a sweet, long kiss, filled with tenderness, but when he nips at my lower lip, a fountain of heat bursts to life in my lower belly. I wrap my arm about his neck, hold on, and when his fingers find my melting pussy, I arch up my aching breasts. He squeezes one, then the other, all the while thrusting three of his fingers inside me.
