Page 33 of His Forgotten Wife
But he couldn’t dwell on this when she rubbed her lips against his and whispered, “No more questions. No more analysis or warning or caveats. Please, I just… I want this. Isn’t that enough?”
“More than enough,” he whispered in her ear just as she buried her entire face in the hollow of his neck. “I’ve got you,agapi.”
A guttural groan fell from his lips as she dragged her teeth up and down his Adam’s apple, her fingers tightening on his scalp. His heart beat so loudly that it wouldn’t be a surprise if it thumped out of his chest, suffused with wanting. As if she understood what he needed, Dahlia brought her lips to his chin, and then to his mouth.
Her own moan joined his inhale, and his entire body—every cell and sinew—came to a stillness at that first contact. As if to savor the taste and feel and scent of her. She pulled away, just an inch, and settled in with a deeper press this time. Sweet and tart, with a hint of strawberry, her taste sank into his every pore.
With a rumbling groan that made his chest shake, he pressed and pulled back, pressed and pulled back, tasting her over and over. She groaned, clasped his cheeks as if to stop him from pulling back, and rubbed her lips over his.
Pleasure poured in like an avalanche through Ares, spinning through his limbs, as if he were an endless algorithm that had been plugged into a supercomputer.
His brain struggled to keep up with the sensory receptors, struggled to note what action of his caused what reaction in her.
It was an endless feedback loop anyway, he told himself, eager to evoke more of those hoarse, husky, hungry sounds out of her.
On and on, he kissed her, their lips finding a frenzied rhythm. She nipped at his lower lip and the slight hiss of painmade his cock throb. He returned the favor and when she moaned, lapped at her lower lip.
The more he tasted her, the more he needed. While he nipped and licked, optimizing for a better, deeper fit, drowning in his own savage need, she wrapped herself around him like a string of lights around a Christmas tree.
Her warm pants, the glide and slide of her soft flesh, her nails digging into his scalp, it was a symphony of sensations inside him. A harsh breath escaped him as she nibbled his lower lip with her teeth. That she was as mindless as him in her need was like pouring gasoline on the flame of his desire.
The silent cove, the crashing waves, the stretch of endless blue, everything disappeared as their tongues tangled and their bodies writhed and glided against each other. But it wasn’t enough. Filling his hands with her buttocks, Ares lifted her.
Long legs wrapped around his ass, Dahlia clung to him like she never wanted to let go. And the feel of her heated core against his cock was heaven. “Oh, God, Ares. Right there. Just there,” Dahlia murmured, her lips swollen, strands of silky hair falling loose from her braid.
The searing heat of their bodies turned into a flame, even with their clothes on.
Holding her like that, despite his body protesting at the sudden movement, Ares thrust his hips up into her. She bounced in his grip, following the rhythm by grinding her hips down. Her mouth ran down his neck, teeth and tongue licking and nipping at his skin.
His injured shoulder strained at her weight, his hip was nearly crying in pain, and Dahlia…Christos, her head thrown back, she was making those breathy little sounds that narrowed his entire world to her. He’d woken up wanting this with her, needing to see her like this…finally.
“Tell me what you need, Dahlia,” he commanded through gritted teeth.
“Something more. Just a little more. Please, Ares…”
Bending his head, Ares closed his mouth over her tight nipple, over her crop top, and sucked on the peak. Her breath hitching, her hips ground down on him in a frenzy and then Dahlia fell apart in his arms with a soft cry.
Unable to bear her weight any longer, he sank to his knees and crumpled to the sand with her. His hand automatically went to his hip, as if to clutch down on the pain, but still, he couldn’t stop looking at her.
With the sun blazing above them, the faint sheen of sweat coating her skin like glitter, she looked like the mermaid in the poster that Arabella still had up on her wall. For just a moment, he wondered at the ending of that story.
“Are you okay?” he asked gently, when her eyes popped open.
She licked her lips, turned to look at him, and sprang into a sitting position. Her hand covered his on his hip, regret and guilt painted like neon signs across her face.
“Don’t start, Dahlia.”
“I—I’m not a lightweight and that must have—”
“Was it good?” he asked, eager to see the flushed desire in her face again.
“I think I nearly blacked out. And I’m not usually… I didn’t mean to demand it like that. I completely lost control.”
“I like it when you lose control or when you demand things of me, Dahlia.” He pushed completely onto his back and patted the space next to him. When she hesitated, he frowned. Why did she distrust him so? “You just dry-humped your way to an orgasm while riding me. Lying down next to me is that much of a stretch?”
“That was sexual and it has been a long-ass dry patch for me. This…is much more intimate. You don’t understand.”
A familiar despair took root in his chest but he refused to let it grow. “Maybe I don’t. However, I do understand that a woman might want to be held after an orgasm like that, instead of a pat on the head for a good job.”
