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Like she’s not in charge.
I wrench apart from her, tilting my head, stroking her cheek. “You like orders?”
She gives a tease of a smile. “Try me.”
A rumble works its way up my chest as I reach for her wrists, then pin them over her head in a blur.
“You’re fast,” she says, her blue eyes sparkling.
I dip my face to the hollow of her throat, kissing her there before I let go and meet her gaze again. “Turn around. Hands against the wall.”
She spins, and I press her breasts to the wall, then brush her hair to the side. “Your neck,” I murmur, coasting my lips across her skin, inhaling her cherry scent, then running my nose into her soft hair. Her shampoo’s different. Something subtler, something clean and sweet I can’t identify. I roam my hands down her arms.
“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve wanted to touch you?” I drop a kiss on her collarbone as I slide her sweater down her shoulder.
“How many?” She’s breathless as I travel across her soft skin.
“Can’t count that high,” I murmur then give a flick of my tongue over the shell of her ear.
She shudders beautifully. “Me neither.”
Her desire rushes through me, mingles with my own, grows stronger, digs deeper. I gather her hair in my hand, tug on it.
She gasps.
Setting a hand on her chin, I angle her toward me, exposing her neck. I coast my lips along the column of her throat, her pulse hammering against my touch as I go.
When I stop, I turn her around once more so she’s facing me. Then I grab her ass and hike her up. “Wrap those legs around your husband,” I command.
And my obedient, horny wife complies, squeezing those lush thighs around my hips as I carry her to the bed.
“I’m such a typical bride,” she jokes, then glances down at her very non-bridal attire. The sweater, jeans, and sneakers.
“It’s perfect for you. All of this. Everything,” I say as I promptly remove her clothes, then hiss out a breath between my teeth when she’s naked and glorious, full breasts, soft stomach, creamy skin. “My wife is so fucking sexy,” I say, and I’m about to push her down, then climb over her when she shakes her head.
She twirls a finger at me. “Your turn, husband.”
I’m standing at the foot of the bed and she’s sitting, watching, pleased.
I give her a lopsided grin as I undo the buttons on my shirt, but when I’m halfway done, she’s crawling to the end of the mattress, kneeling, taking over.
Elodie Starling is an interesting mix of bold and submissive, and I am going to have a fantastic time exploring the cocktail of her. After she tugs the shirt from my jeans, she slides it down my arms, and I let it fall to the floor.
She takes several seconds to stare at my chest, my arms, my abs, and I do not mind the admiration. I like her eyes on me. So much.
“Feels like forever since our failed one-night stand,” she says, unbuttoning my jeans.
“Failed? I seem to recall you riding my face. I call that a win.”
She shakes her head as she unzips my jeans. “It’ll be a win when you push me down onto my stomach and fuck me like that.”
I…blink.
Then groan.
Next, I drag a hand through my hair as I take a fucking minute to absorb the beautiful, filthy specificity of that image. “That something you picture at night? When you’re all alone with your toy collection and your fantasies of me?”
“I do. A lot,” she says, pushing my jeans down, then my boxer briefs, freeing my cock. Which is very, very happy to see the Mrs.
