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She makes quick work of my boxers, and I tug off the silk that barely covers her. I’m not thinking clearly, but I’m aware enough to realize this doesn’t have to happen in the kitchen. I haul her up against my body, and her legs wrap around my waist. Maneuvering through the dark house while carrying her isn’t easy, but I manage.
I toss her down on the bed, in the midst of tangled sheets that suggest tossing and turning. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Stop talking.” Her hand grips my hair as she steers me back to her lips.
I want to savor this: her feel, her taste, the sight of her spread beneath me. But it’s dark in here, meaning I can’t see much more than her shape. I haven’t had sex in months, which isn’t helping matters.
Scarlett isn’t exactly slowing things down. She writhes beneath me until the tip of my cock slides through her wet heat. Her hips rise, teasing me. Pressing us closer together. Fingernails dig into my back. My name breaks the silence in a ragged moan.
I start to sink inside her and realize what feels different.
I pull away, trying to remember where I left my luggage.
“Don’t stop.” Her voice is unlike I’ve ever heard it. Desperate. The vocal equivalent of stepping in someone’s way.
“I need a condom.”
“No, you don’t.”
It’s not the response I’m expecting. We haven’t discussed birth control or kids—aside from her saying she isn’t ready to have them. Not to mention, there’s the surgeon she’s supposedly screwing. I’m clean, but she doesn’t know that. All things we’ll need to discuss eventually, but not right now.
Her answer is reckless and irresponsible, neither of which are adjectives I’d normally use to describe Scarlett.
My shock must show on my face. Abruptly, she drops her hands from my back, lying on the white sheet like she’s about to make a snow angel. Open, but not vulnerable. “Forget it. Get one.”
She’s silent as I stand and locate my suitcase. I can feel the annoyance radiating clear across the room. I feel like I missed something and I’m not sure what. There’s a good chance I won’t need the foil packet I return to the bed with.
“We don’t have to do this tonight.”
In answer, she takes the condom from me, rips it open, and rolls it down my dick. Then she straddles my lap and sinks down. Her heavy exhale is half-whimper, half-moan as I fill her. I mentally recite every finding from the latest quarterly report to keep from immediately coming like a horny teenager. She’s wet and hot andScarlett.
I let her control the pace. Let her take me deep and fast and frantic. Let her use me like a toy to get herself off. Part of me is pleased she wants me as much as I’ve been wanting her. Part of me is just caught off guard. I don’t give up control—during sex, when it comes to anything.
Except when it comes to her, apparently.
When Scarlett doesn’t care, she shuts down. Her desperate movements aren’t indifference. She wants this, and she’s showing me just how much. I trace the length of her throat with my tongue, tasting the hint of salt on her skin from our trip across the waves. She smells like lemon and something floral, almost sweet.
When I trail my tongue down between her breasts, she gasps and circles her hips. I grunt. “You’re close, Red. I can feel you clenching around me.” Wet, greedy sounds fill the room as she impales herself on me over and over again, chasing her release.
“Crew.” She says my name like a curse.
“Are you going to come on my cock, Red?”
Our lips meet in a dirty, messy kiss. And then she’s convulsing around me, making sounds that almost push me over the edge after her.
I flip her over so she’s beneath me and lift one of her legs as I sink back inside her. My lips find the shell of her ear. I don’t look at her face, I just use her body the same way she just used mine. “You came fast, Scarlett. Do your boy toys not get the job done?” She yanks my mouth back to hers and bites my bottom lip so hard I taste blood.
Scarlett can’t be owned or tamed or controlled. It’s part of her appeal. Wild, raw beauty is the most devastating sort. She’s a storm, the cataclysmic kind you can’t help but respect even as you mourn its upheaval.
“What’s it like to fuck your wife, Crew?”
Adrenaline floods my system. I’m high—on sensation, on thrill, onher. I rub her swollen clit as I keep fucking her with quick, brutal thrusts. “Do you always get this wet, or is it for me?”
Scarlett fights it, but I hear the moan slip between her lips. Goose bumps pebble her bare skin, despite the fact the air conditioning isn’t on in here. I take and take and take, speeding up the pace of my thrusts with each stroke. And she spreads her legs as far as they’ll go, letting me in deeper. Begging without words.
I pound into her like I’m winning our battle of wills, like I’m claiming her as a prize. Scarlett claws at my back and meets my thrusts, spurring me on. She can lie to me all she wants, but her body can’t engage in the same deception. Setting aside the mess of other emotions between us, the things we haven’t said, our chemistry is the combustible sort. It crackles in the air like a summer storm.
She’s wearing my ring, but she’s never felt like mine. This is the only way I can claim her, fucking her as hard and as thoroughly as possible. The headboard taps a cadence against the wall. Sweat builds between our bodies.
