Page 47 of Pucking My Grumpy Accidental Husband
"Tell me," she says, her voice getting breathier as I continue touching her. "Tell me what you're thinking."
"I'm thinking about how your breasts fit in my hands like they were made for me," I say, rolling her nipples between my fingers and watching her arch into the touch. "How these perfect pink nipples get hard when I touch them, and how much I love the sounds you make when I do this?—"
I lean forward and take one nipple into my mouth, sucking gently, and she cries out, her fingers tangling in my hair.
"I'm thinking about how your ass feels in my hands when I pull you against me," I continue, suiting action to words and grippingher firmly. "How you fit against me perfectly, like you were designed to drive me completely insane."
"Dax," she breathes, and I can feel her heart racing against my chest.
"And I'm thinking about how much I want to make you come apart in my arms again, but slower this time. Taking my time to learn every inch of you until I know exactly how to make you scream my name."
She tips the can with deliberate precision, releasing a slow, sinful stream of whipped cream across her collarbone and down between her breasts. My cock throbs just watching it, every nerve in my body keyed in on that single, devastating image.
"Your turn to get messy," she says with a wicked grin.
I don't need to be asked twice. I lean forward and follow the trail of whipped cream with my tongue, starting at the hollow of her throat and working my way down. She tastes sweet and decadent, but underneath it all she tastes like Tessa—warm, and intoxicating. By the time I reach her breasts, her breathing is ragged, her pulse fluttering wildly beneath my lips.
"Jesus, that's hot," she gasps as I lick whipped cream from her nipple. "Maybe watching Fifty Shades was educational after all."
"Best research I've ever done," I agree, moving to her other breast and making her arch against me with a broken moan.
"We should definitely finish that movie sometime," she pants.
"Later," I say, my hands moving to the waistband of her yoga pants. "Right now I want to see all of you."
I lift her slightly so I can pull her pants down, and she helps by wiggling out of them until she's completely naked in my lap, beautiful and flushed and looking at me like I'm the only man in the world.
"Your turn," she says, tugging at my shirt.
We manage to get my clothes off without falling off the couch, which I consider a minor miracle given how distracted I am by the feeling of her hands exploring my chest and shoulders. When I'm finally as naked as she is, she pushes me back against the couch cushions and straddles me again.
"I want you inside me," she says simply, and the directness of it nearly undoes me.
"Are you sure?"
"I've never been more sure of anything."
I reach for my wallet, grabbing the condom I've been carrying hopefully since Detroit, and she takes it from me with steady hands.
"Let me," she says, and fuck me, watching her roll it down my length while maintaining eye contact is probably the most erotic thing I've ever experienced.
When she sinks onto me slowly, we both groan at the exquisite stretch. She feels incredible—tight and warm and perfect—and for a moment we just stay like that, adjusting, savoring the shock of being joined so completely.
"Okay?" I murmur, my hands firm on her hips.
"More than okay,"she breathes, her lashes fluttering."God, Dax… you feel so good."
She starts moving, slow and steady, her body rising and falling in a rhythm that has my control unraveling fast. I grip the couch cushions with white-knuckled fists, fighting not to embarrass myself. When I reach between us, she catches my hand, her eyes dark with intent.
"I want to try something."
She shifts, stretching one leg along the couch while the other remains bent at my side, opening herself to me in a way that has every thought in my head short-circuiting. The new angle lets me sink deeper, and she controls the pace with agonizing precision. My hand slides down her thigh to hold her steady as she moves, and the position gives me a perfect view of her face—flushed, lips parted, every expression a roadmap of her pleasure. My other hand finds her clit, my thumb stroking her in time with our thrusts.
"Better?" I rasp.
Instead of answering, she rolls her hips just right, and I swear I almost lose it right there.
"So much better," she gasps. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
