Page 129 of One and Only

Sometime around two o’clock, the moon high and streaming in through the window, he woke me up with his head between my legs.

I was incoherent after a few minutes, clutching at his hair like it was my sole tether to the earth because my back almost snapped in half when he used his tongue and teeth and fingers to shatter me into a million splinters—an orgasm so intense that I damn near blacked out.

Like the good wife I was, I returned the favor, adding in some particularly cunning use of my tongue while he gripped my hair and rocked his hips gently.

Even though I’d just had my turn, there was something addicting about the way he spoke to me in that low, smooth voice of his, the pleasant hum of his filthy words practically a narcotic.

He told me I was perfect, every part of me. I ran my hands over his rock-hard thighs, trailing up to the stacked muscles on his abs, and made him come so hard that he had to let go of my hair to fist the sheets, just so he didn’t accidentally hurt me.

After that, he tugged me up his chest, his hand gripping the back of my neck so he could devour my mouth.

We passed out shortly after, his big, hard body pressed behind mine, his arms holding me tight.

It was the very best way to sleep, I’d decided.

Because now, he was mine to do with whatever I pleased.

And in my current position, whatever I pleased was to gently slide his big warm hand over my breast, rolling his palm over the tip. My back arched slightly as I did, and that’s when I felt him come to awareness.

The motions of his hands took on more purpose, tugging harder, rolling the hard flesh until I ached between my legs.

Beckett tilted his hips, sliding himself between my backside, and I exhaled unsteadily.

“Good morning,” he murmured against my neck, mouthing my skin as he did. His teeth pressed down on the curve of my shoulder, and his other hand tugged at my underwear. I shifted my hips to help, and once I was free, he maneuvered my top leg forward just enough that he could work himself in.

I shivered, curling my body tighter on my side, changing the angle so he could only work in short, shallow thrusts.

“This is what I imagined,” he whispered hotly. “This is what I wanted to do to you, Greer.”

“Yes,” I panted. “Yes.”

“My wife,” he growled, pushing in hard.

“Yes.”

He clutched me to him, and I entwined my fingers with his against my chest. I could hardly move, and I loved it. There was something wildly freeing about being bound to him this way.

There was something wildly freeing about us.

About the way I’d fallen in love with him and knew he’d fallen in love with me right back, despite the odds stacked against us.

He wasn’t trying to change me, had never tried to change me. And I didn’t want to change him either.

It was acceptance, liberating and powerful, that I’d never experienced before him.

And it was so much sweeter because of the waiting. Patience, as it turned out, could be really fucking awesome.

By the time he slid his hand between my legs and whispered commands into my ear, I was trembling, and the slow, endless roll of my orgasm kept going and going and going while he rocked me through it.

Beckett’s hips snapped harder, his body pushed deeper, once, twice, three times, and he groaned against the back of my neck. Slowly, after disentangling our bodies, I rolled over, staying underneath the shelter of his arms.

His mouth found mine immediately, and he made a satisfied growling noise as we kissed.

When I pulled away, he chased my lips for another kiss, and I exhaled a laugh. “I need so much coffee,” I whispered. “I’m guessing you were a little too distracted to set it up last night, huh?”

He hummed, sucking along the edge of my jaw. “Distracted by the woman who told me to strip and screw her in the kitchen?”

I laughed. “She sounds very bossy.”

---