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Across the room, he appeared in the kitchen entrance, wiping his hands with a tea towel. It fell to the floor when he raised his focus to me. “Tell me my eyes aren’t lying, Mama. Are ye naked under that?”
I inched back. “Only one way to find out.”
“Don’t move a muscle.” He prowled over, moving more easily than I’d seen since his injury. He reached me. Set a big palm to my cheek. “Aren’t ye just a gift all wrapped up?”
Valentine stooped to press his lips to mine. My breath hitched, and I stretched to meet him, the kiss familiar and thrilling in equal measures. This was what I’d dreamed about all day. Having him home and waiting for me, knowing what we could do with an empty house and endless attraction. I loved his height and how he made me feel tiny and petite. I loved even more how his hands ghosted down my body to take two big handfuls of my breasts.
But he didn’t stop at his favourite place. With a grunt of pleasure, he slowly descended to kneel in front of me. “I’ve been dreaming about your sweet body all day. Let’s see if your pussy remembers me. Since that rubber version has been in play, I’ve been getting worried you’d prefer that over the real thing.”
Valentine slid his warm hand down my leg, encircling my ankle, then lifted, drawing my foot over his shoulder. Putting him face-on with my core. He delivered a kiss right to the centre of me, and I tipped my head back on the wall, gasping with a rush of desire and too urgent for more to feel self-conscious.
“Well, hello.” He took a long lick and groaned. “So wet for me already. Ye do remember who I am. Now buckle in, because I’m ready to prove the real man is better than the model. Oh, and I apologise in advance.”
“You’re apologising to my pussy?”
“Aye, for the pounding I’m about to give her.”
He licked me again, spearing his tongue inside before settling back to suck my clit. I shamelessly arched into his touch. I’d never needed anything so much as this moment with him. I wanted him touching me, holding me, driving into me, over and over. Like he could read my mind, Valentine upped the pressure, lashing me with his tongue while two fingers teased myentrance. He sank them home, a third adding to the mix on the next pass, stretching me, delighting my pleasure zones.
I knew what he was doing, besides wanting to make me come—priming me for his big dick. I was so ready I didn’t want to wait, but even tugging on his hair didn’t slow him. He kept up his movements, set on a pathway I wasn’t about to argue with.
Breathless, I grinded against his mouth, mindlessly matching his steady rhythm though my brain was melting. Heat wound tight inside me. I spasmed around his hand, and a moan escaped my lips. Valentine gave up an almost desperate groan of need, and that simple sound did me in.
Somehow, I’d become hard-wired to needing his pleasure. He was getting off on touching me and driving me crazy. That knowledge broke me. I braced my shoulders to the cold wall and came without any more warning.
Valentine groaned into my flesh, his fingers somehow thicker as they went inside me for a final time. Delicious feelings broke through my senses, and I finally drooped, unable to support myself properly for how boneless he’d made me.
“Fucking hell, woman,” he swore. Then he kissed my thigh. “Look.”
I gazed down. Valentine indicated to the hand he still had embedded inside me. “Four fingers. Next time, I’m going to get my whole hand in there and fist-fuck ye, okay?”
I whimpered, too turned on to give any more sensible words. Anything with him. If he thought it would bring either of us pleasure, I was sold.
He eased his fingers out of me, setting my foot on the floor. “But right now, I need to fuck ye more than I need air, water, or brain cells. Can I strip ye?”
I nodded, and he stood in a rush, taking the hem of the tabard in his fingers. He lifted it, standing back like the reveal was a gift.
“Ye have the perfect, gorgeous body,” he breathed.
A month ago, I wouldn’t have believed him. I’d never liked my belly rolls or the stretch marks that came with pregnancy and stayed, but Valentine had taught me to love myself. With a final tug, the single item of clothing was over my head, then he stepped back.
Holding my gaze, he stripped his shirt. His jeans went next, followed by his boxers. Though stunned by the sight of his dick, hard and bobbing for my attention, I touched my gaze on the plastic covering his sutures, and the image restarted my intelligence.
“Lie on the bed,” I ordered.
“I’d rather lie on ye.”
“We’ll try that later if this doesn’t hurt you.”
He worked his jaw but snatched my hand and pulled me after him into my bedroom. Or his bedroom. I’d confused the fact after almost a week of him in my bed.
On the big bed, he sprawled against the pillows, long and lean and ready for me.
I prowled up the bed, stopping to kiss beside his wound. Another to the base of his dick. Valentine made a sound of pleasure. Flattening my tongue, I slid up his dick then enclosed the end, taking him into my mouth.
“Fuck, no need to prime me. I’m so hard for ye I can barely think. Climb on top of me. Ride me.”
I smiled around his dick and sucked him. He’d taken me to the edge and over barely breaking a sweat. I wanted to tease him and get him so fired up for me he lost his mind.
