Page 47 of Cipher's Baby Girl
His hands find the zipper of my dress, tugging it down with near-desperate urgency. The fabric pools at my feet, leaving me in nothing but a lace bra and matching thong—lingerie I've taken to wearing under even casual clothes, loving the way Cipher's eyes darken when he “unwraps” me.
"Fuck," he breathes, gaze raking over me with naked hunger. "Look at you."
My body has changed since giving birth—fuller breasts, softer hips, a jiggly belly with a few stretch marks. But under Cipher's gaze, I feel like the most beautiful woman alive.
"Your turn," I say, reaching for the hem of his black t-shirt. He helps me pull it over his head, revealing the tattooed expanse of his scarred, muscular chest and abs.
I trace the Shadow Reapers insignia inked over his heart, then move to the newer tattoo beside it—my name above our son's name and birthdate in elegant script. Proof of his commitment to us, permanently etched into his skin.
My fingers move lower, to the button of his jeans. I can feel his hardness straining against the denim, and I take my time, enjoying the hiss of his indrawn breath as my knuckles brush against him.
"Tease," he accuses, his eyes blazing with desire.
I smile up at him, enjoying my power to affect this dangerous man so completely. "You love it."
"I love you," he counters, the rawness in his voice making my heart stutter.
He steps out of his jeans and boxers in one fluid movement, then reaches for me again, his hands sliding behind my back to unclasp my bra. As the lace falls away, his mouth descends to my breast, tongue circling my nipple before drawing it between his lips.
I gasp, threading my fingers through his hair to hold him against me. My sensitivity here has increased since nursing, and Cipher has learned exactly how to use that to drive me wild.
His teeth graze lightly, just enough pressure to send a jolt of pleasure-pain straight to my core. My hips buck against him involuntarily, seeking friction.
"Patience," he murmurs against my skin, even as his own control visibly frays.
His hands hook into my thong, dragging it down my legs until I'm completely naked before him. There was a time when such vulnerability would have terrified me. Now, I revel in it—in being seen, truly seen, by the man I love.
He guides me down onto the bed, positioning me in the center before covering my body with his. The weight of him, the heat of his skin against mine, feels like coming home.
"Missed this," he says, voice rough with emotion as he braces himself on his forearms. "Missed you."
I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him closer until his hardness presses against my entrance. "I'm right here," I promise. "Not going anywhere."
His eyes hold mine as he enters me with agonizing slowness, giving me time to adjust to his size. The stretch is delicious, the feeling of fullness exactly what I've been craving.
"Okay?" he asks, always checking, always making sure.
I nod, digging my heels into his lower back to urge him deeper. "More than okay. Please, move."
He withdraws almost completely before thrusting back in, setting a rhythm that has me gasping beneath him. Each strokehits that perfect spot inside me, sending waves of pleasure radiating outward.
"So beautiful," he murmurs, watching my expressions with that intense focus that used to unnerve me. "So perfect around me. Like you were made for me."
His words fuel my desire, pushing me higher. I reach between us, seeking the spot where my body needs more attention, but Cipher gently moves my hand away.
"Let me," he says, shifting his weight to one arm so his other hand can slide between our bodies. His thumb finds my clit, circling with just the right pressure as his thrusts maintain their steady rhythm.
The dual sensations quickly build to an almost unbearable intensity. My nails dig into his shoulders as I feel my release approaching. "Cipher," I gasp, the only warning I can manage.
"That's it, Baby Girl," he encourages, his voice strained with his own approaching climax. "Come for me. Let me feel you."
His words push me over the edge, my orgasm crashing through me in waves of blinding pleasure. I cry out his name as my body clenches around him, drawing him deeper.
The feeling of me pulsing around him triggers his own release. With a guttural groan, he buries himself to the hilt, his powerful body shuddering as he finds his completion inside me.
For long moments, we remain connected, both catching our breath as the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through us. When he finally moves, it's only to shift his weight to the side, keeping me tucked against him as if he can't bear to lose contact.
His hand traces idle patterns on my skin, along my hip, across my stomach, up to cup my breast with reverent gentleness. In these quiet moments, I see the man behind the weapon most clearly—the tender heart that survived unimaginable cruelty and still found the capacity to love.
