Page 66 of The Marriage Deal
I’m not sure I’ll ever feel this again.
“Briggs,” my name on her lips is the only encouragement I need to shift my hand from where I stroke her core slowly over the seam of her silk shorts to the band. Her belly quivers and I grin.
She’s so responsive. So damn beautiful.
I hesitate when she sucks in sharp air, my eyes fixed on her face as her eyes flutter open.
They connect with mine, warm and lovely. She whispers a shaky, “Please,” that nearly sends me over the edge.
As it is, I’m helpless against the need that rages inside me to claim her mouth with my own. To kiss her. To taste her.
She tastes like life. I am convinced I could replace air with kissing her and I would survive.
It’s ludicrous.
She’s addictive.
I push inside her shorts, swallowing the sound of her gasp as she quivers beneath me.
What I would give to have her in my bed like this right now. I have half a mind to throw her over my shoulder and take her there caveman style. The risk of pulling her out of this—whatever this is that has herwanting me—saying yes—gives me pause. Keeps me here.
I need to make her come undone. I want to watch all the achingly lovely pieces of her fall apart and shatter beneath me. I want to collect the fragments of her sighs to the bank of my memory where I know they will live, immortal.
This woman has done what many have aspired and failed to do. She’s bewitched me. I don’t even think she wanted to. Don’t think the thought ever crossed her mind.
My fingertip connects with her seam, and I pull back to watch her face as I sink inside.
“Oh,” she breathes. Her head rolls to the side as she arches her back. Her hips shift down and away from the featherlight stroke of my touch, as though she’s trying to escape overwhelm. I won’t let her flee this. Me. The shattering I promised to give her—that she vowed to gift me.
She’s soft and wet and so fucking hot. I stroke her slowly, finding the swollen bud of her clit and rolling over it. Her body shudders and her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she fights to contain a whimper. A moan.
Fixing my eyes on her face, I quicken my strokes until she’s lost to the sensation of me. My touch. Her hips rock in response with my movement, and I ache to tear her shorts down her legs, to bury my face between her thighs and taste her. Devour her.
I don’t want to push her. To make her remember the barriers she put in place for us.
This is the hammer I’m taking to the construct of those barriers. When I’m done, I want nothing but splinters to remain.
Her hands lift to sink into the mess of her morning waves, fingers knotting and twisting as a flush of pink climbs into her face. She’s panting now. Little moans dancing on her lips as she fights the overwhelm of the orgasm I know is close.
Pressing my thumb into her clit, I sink two fingers deep inside her in one slow thrust. Her eyes fly open as her mouth parts on a silent gasp. I start to pump. Not fast, but deliberate. Deep. My thumb rolling over her clit with every pump. It doesn’t take long before I feel her convulse around me in an orgasm that has her entire body shaking from head to toe.
I milk it until she melts into the cushions beneath her. She wets her lips, and I lean in to capture the taste with my own.
She laughs against my kiss, a nervous spill of sound that I again devour.
“Wow,” she croaks as I pull my hand from her shorts.
The temptation to taste her is too much to ignore, and I lift the two fingers I had inside her to my mouth. Her eyes fly open wide as I suck them clean. The flush of red in her face deepens as I push off her. She shimmies back on the cushion, reality crashing down inshards around her as she struggles with trembling hands to pull her robe back into place.
I watch her calm and collected even though I’m anything but. There’s a storm of desire burning inside me, threatening to consume me.
She mumbles, “I can’t believe you did that—that we didthat.” Her face falls into her hands, and I watch her process the shift in the dynamics of us with amusement I hope contains my obvious hunger for more of her. She laughs an unhinged sound. “Oh, my God, Briggs.”
She peeks through her fingers at the unavoidable bulge in my jeans and squeaks a sound that splits the grin I’ve been fighting.
“Stop panicking, little lunatic. We’re both adults. We’ve both done this before.”
She gapes at me. “Speak for yourself.” Before I can probe into that, she adds, “Looks like we’re going to have to amend the rules of our agreement after all, huh?”
