Page 123 of Not For Keeps
“Still okay?” he murmurs, glancing up.
“Yes,” I gasp. “God, yes.”
He slides my panties down slowly, groaning when he sees just how ready I am. “You’re so fucking wet already.”
“You in that mask kind of did it for me,” I pant.
He grins, wicked. “Noted.”
He dips his head and licks a long stripe through my folds, and I arch off the bed, a broken sound ripping from my throat.
“Fuck, Mateo?—”
His tongue works me over with slow, deliberate strokes. He teases me, torments me, sucks my clit into his mouth until I’m begging. Then he slides two fingers inside, curling them just right.
“I missed this,” he growls. “Missed how you fall apart for me.”
I come hard, sobbing his name as my legs shake. He doesn’t stop—not right away. He kisses my thigh, my stomach, working his way back up until he’s hovering over me again, eyes dark with want.
“Still good?” he whispers, brushing hair from my face.
I nod, pulling him in for a kiss. “I need you inside me. Now.”
He lines himself up, eyes locked with mine. “I’ve thought about this every night. You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted you.”
“Show me,” I whisper, wrapping my legs around his waist.
He pushes in slowly, stretching me, filling me inch by inch. The sensation is overwhelming after so long, and tears spring to my eyes, not from pain but from the pure relief of having him inside me again. Of being whole.
“Fuck,” he hisses, trembling with the effort to go slow. “You feel like heaven.”
I dig my nails into his back, urging him deeper. “Don’t hold back. Not tonight.”
Something feral flashes in his eyes. He grabs the Ghostface mask from beside us and slips it back on, the juxtaposition of the sinister mask and his loving eyes sending a thrill through me.
“What if I want to make my new bride scream?” he whispers, voice muffled behind the plastic.
I shiver, spreading my legs wider. “Then do it.”
He pulls out almost completely before slamming back into me with a force that makes the headboard hit the wall. I cry out, my body arching off the bed.
“Is this okay?” he asks, stilling momentarily, eyes searching mine through the mask’s openings.
“God, yes. More. Please, more.”
His hips snap forward again and again, each thrust deeper than the last. The mask should be ridiculous, but it’s not…it’s making me wetter, my fantasy coming to life in the most unexpected way. My husband knows my darkest desires and loves me for them.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. “So perfect for me,” he continues, voice ragged behind the mask. “Look at you taking me so well after all this time.”
I clench around him, savoring the fullness, the delicious stretch that I’ve missed for too long. My body remembers him even after weeks of healing, welcomes him home like he belongs there.
“Harder,” I demand, hooking my ankles behind his back. “I won’t break.”
His laugh is dark, filtered through the mask. “No, you won’t. You’re the strongest woman I know.”
He shifts his angle, hitting that spot deep inside that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. My back arches off the bed as he pounds into me, the slick sounds of our bodies meeting filling the room alongside my desperate moans.
“That’s it,” he encourages, one hand sliding between us to circle my clit. “Let me hear how good it feels. Let me hear my wife.”
