Page 22 of Skotos
One flash of flesh and I was useless, hopeless, and unable to resist anything he might ask. He was the world around which my heart revolved, and I loved him with every fiber of my being.
“We really should focus—”
His forefinger covered my lips. “You should focus on your husband.”
Husband.
It was such a simple word.
Millions, perhaps billions, spoke it, enjoyed it, served in its capacity. So many took it for granted as a title one simply obtained if only he spoke the right words before an altar or judge.
It was also as out of reach for us as any star in the heavens. We could see them, admire them, aspire to reach them one day—but never know them.
But in private, in the sanctity ofourhome, we knew what we were to each other. Thomas knew what he was to me, and I to him.
Husbands.
In every sense of the word.
In ways many married couples could only dream of achieving.
In ways he appeared poised to prove to me, right there on our couch, with or without classified documents blocking his path to my not-so-Irish pot of gold.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he breathed as his teeth sank into my earlobe.
“God, you’re impossible. I hate you so much.” I squirmed, not really resisting but feeling the need to put on a show before surrendering completely. No husband should think he had an easy path to victory. They always relished the hunt, and who was I to deny mine his?
“Don’t make me strip you right here,” he purred, one hand teasing my nipple through fabric. “I’m bigger and stronger andfarmore horny. I will rip those clothes—”
“Fine.” I grinned, closing the folder and tossing it onto the coffee table before flipping the top button of my shirt. “No tearing. I love this shirt.”
“More than you love me?” he crooned, fingering the buttons below where I worked.
“Maybe.”
Teeth dug into my neck.
“Ow!”
“That’s for lying.” His grin was feral.
“Fine, I love you more than my shirt. Better?”
“Much.” He nodded. “Now, get out of those pants so I can suck you like a milkshake.”
“You’re so bossy before a mission.”
Viselike fingers clamped onto a nipple and twisted.
“Holy shit! Fine!” I leaped off the couch, freeing my throbbing titty from clearly unlawful torture. My trousers had barely hit the floor before Thomas’s mouth was smothering my cock, slurping and licking and sucking and . . .
“Jesus, that feels good.”
One of his hands cupped my balls, pulling them taut. Sensation danced through me as he lapped saliva off my head. Thomas’s other hand reached up and squeezed my chest, his fingers digging and clawing, nails scraping trails I knew I would see in the morning—and enjoy seeing for days.
“What’s your name?” Thomas asked, coming up for air.
“What?”
