Page 105 of Mangled Memory
“Good morning, Christian.” In return, I tip my ass as best I can, giving him deeper access.
His fingers rub slow firm circles on my clit. I pull on my knee, trying to quench the ache, but his thigh holds me fully open.
“Uh uh,” he tsks. “We can’t have that. I want you to take what I’m giving you. Take every inch of my cock.” He glides another deep lazy stroke until he hits the end of me. “Take everything.”
I nod.
So I do. I take and I take and I take. The building in my core buzzes with need and with lust. The winding of my insides into a knot that’s ready to burst into a million pieces is all I can focus on.
His fingers strum me. His cock pushes and pulls in an unhurried rhythm driving me further and further up the cliff.
“I can feel you’re close, Princess. You’re tightening around me like you want to strangle my cock.” His other hand slides under my hip, taking on the strumming of my clit, the pressure changes, the angle is just different enough to surprise me.
Christian’s thrusts become bolder. Gone is the lazy, slow, morning sex. He pistons in and out of me as his free hand rises to my breast, where he tweaks my nipple hard. Just as I tip over the edge, his hand wraps around my throat and presses on my windpipe.
I jolt. My orgasm hits swift and hard, causing me to shudder and buck, ultimate pleasure in wave after wave of joy, then tension, then relaxation. My eyes dance with fireworks. Euphoria overtakes me, and I ride the current of whatever sucks me under and whatever buoys me up. My body is an instrument, strummed to crescendo, and the symphony of touch, of taste, and of sound surrounds me in a way that is inescapable.
Somewhere I can feel Christian fall over the edge with me, hearing the sawing of his breath in and out of his lungs, but it’s background noise to the moment I’m in.
“Perfection.” A warm kiss lands below my ear. “Was that good?”
Good? Was it good? I can’t speak. I can barely feel mytongue. My skin vibrates on the surface of my body, and he wants to know if it was good.
If I could speak, I’d tell him I’ve never experienced anything like that.
If I could speak, I’d tell him I want that again and again like a drug I’m instantly addicted to.
If I could speak…
The next time I wake, it’s because a warm washcloth is rubbed between my legs, a moment or two extra at my clit with enough friction to make me buck.
I open hazy eyes to stare into my husband’s espresso-colored depths. “Morning.”
The lazy smile crossing his face is that of a man who knows a juicy secret. “Morning, Princess. I’ll bring you a coffee and then I have to get to the office.”
I stretch like a cat in a ray of sunshine. “Okay, Honey.” I roll onto my belly, my bones and muscles jelly, and fall back into deep, luxurious sleep.
31
open-air plunge
Christian
“Mr. Barone?” The voice on the intercom cuts the silence in my office. “Mr. Gallo is here to see you.”
“Send him in.”
Ren enters, hands stuffed in his pockets.
“Have a seat, Ren.” I extend a hand.
“I began on your project.” He looks straight ahead. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Of course.” I set down the papers I was reading and lean back in my chair.
“Before I dig any deeper, I need to make you aware of something that may come to light during the investigation.”
“And that would be?”
