Page 98 of Skin Deep

Chapter30

Harrison

The scent drifting out of the bathroom overwhelmed the air. It was sweet, almost like cotton candy, but with a floral twist. I stood from the bed and helped myself to a glass of whiskey from the bar. I took it to the window and looked out over New York. My reflection stared back at me, with tiny dots of light and swerving cars below painting my skin, and a streak or two of dirt from the field that I’d missed.

We’d changed back into our wedding clothes before we left the stadium, because the other ones didn’t fit the mood of this swanky hotel. We’d checked in under an alias Georgina used whenever she traveled for work.

Fuck me. I was married to a star.

It didn’t hit me until then, who she was to the world—one of the most beautiful women in it.

The thought made me drink down the whiskey faster. It started a fire in my chest that reached the pit of my stomach. I felt like I could breathe out flames, burning the entire world. She hadn’t said what she wanted to do once life settled, but I’d already decided. Her world would know who I was and what I was willing to do for her.

That picture they spread around of me dangling that asshole at her place in Costa Smeralda was just the beginning. No one was going to hurt mine ever again. Miles—if he was still breathing, I was going to have a problem with him.

From the reflection in the glass, I watched as the door to the bathroom opened and my wife stepped out. She was in something sheer and white, her hair flowing down her shoulders like stormy water. I wasn’t much of a swimmer, but I’d dive in for her.

She took slow steps toward me, her heels clicking lightly on the marble floor, until she stood right behind me. Her arms slipped under mine, and her hands came over my chest. She set her face on my back and breathed me in. Then she reached for the tie dangling around my neck and slipped it from my collar. Her hands started making quick work of my buttons until the shirt was open, and my chest was exposed. I turned in her arms, facing her.

A moment rushed between us before my hand fisted in her hair and my mouth came down on hers.

My tongue searched for entrance, and when she opened to me, I searched for her soul. She was looking for mine, too. Her tongue was as rough and as deep as mine.

As we kissed, I moved her back toward the bed. The back of her knees hit the mattress and she went down, gasping for breath. She looked up at me, her eyes hooded and dotted with lights from the room. She sat up some, reaching out for my pants. She pulled me toward her, keeping eye contact, unbuttoning them. When my dick sprang free, she moaned and licked her lips, her hand cupping my balls.

I hissed out a breath and closed my eyes. Her hands were cool against the hotness of my skin. She started to stroke me, her grip firm, running her thumb over the tip.

“Il mostro,” she breathed out, her warm breath fanning over my cock. “Mine.” Then she took me in her mouth, her hands coming to my ass, pushing me in deeper.

My hands went to her head, and I started moving my hips. She was taking all of me, looking up at me as she did, moaning. The vibration of it set me off.

A growl came from my throat, and right before I spilled myself, I pulled out, pushing her back on the bed. The sheerness of the thing she had on gave me a view of every inch of her skin. Every inch that belonged to me.

Her tits overflowed in my hands, and her nipples were so hard they were straining against the fabric. She convulsed when I ran my finger over them, slowly at first, until I started to twist. She pushed into my touch, speaking in another language, but I understood it now.

She wanted it harder.

My hand slipped between her legs to unfasten—fuck. The thing she had on was completely open. She was wet, and my finger moved inside her with ease. She started arching her back, pushing into it.

“So beautiful,” I said to her, pounding into her even harder. “Mywife.”

She whimpered and clawed my arm. She was about to come. She made a frustrated noise when I pulled out. I kicked my pants off and got in the bed with her, then lifted her up, setting her ass toward my face and her mouth toward my dick. When she took me deep inside, I started to devour my wife’s pussy. She was the sweetest thing I’d ever tasted. I couldn’t get enough. I was fucking wild for it. I sounded like a feral animal at a feast. She was moving herself over me, while I was pulsing my hips up. Her lips were wrapped around me, and she was doing this wicked thing with her tongue—

“Fuck!” I growled, slapping her ass, then parting her cheeks. I stuck my finger inside her there, more pressure, and she started to moan so loud against my dick that I had to use all restraint to control myself.

She started to plead in another language, and then she broke, coming around my face with a cry that had me flipping her over before she could recover. I buried myself inside of her, and she sank her nails into my back. Our eyes connected, and we both made a noise that seemed to echo as our mouths came together. The kiss was messy, so deep, and I could taste us together. We were breathing hard, trying to breathe each other in, and I was pounding into her like it was the first and last time. I couldn’t control it, but I forced my body to go on.

She was pleading again, making me bleed with her nails. The spots she made burned from the sweat on my skin. I moved her leg up, over me, and she screamed out in pain before she moaned.

“I cannot—” She made an incomprehensible sound.

“Can’t what, my wife?” I said, leaning down to suck her neck. She tightened around me, and I tilted my head back, trying to absorb the feeling in my bones. “Take me even deeper? You will.” I stopped moving, then I came back even harder. “You’ll take me even deeper than skin.”

“You are already there,” she breathed out. “So deep inside of me that sometimes it is hard to breathe.”

I slowed, our eyes connecting, and I couldn’t hold back any longer. She came around me with a shuddering cry, and I came so hard inside of her that I felt it in my knees. I rested my forehead against hers, then turned us over. Our breaths were pants, and we were breathing each other in again.

“Ti amo, moglie,” I said.

She returned the words, calling me her husband, creating shapes against my chest with her fingertips.

Night or day, it didn’t matter—we stayed in the hotel for a week, never leaving. Then the phone call came, we grabbed Gus from Lachlan, and we left town.

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