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And the secret part of me that longed to be held, loved, protected, claimed filled with relief and satisfaction, and deep, fulfilling pleasure. As my body wound tighter, my soul seemed to exhale a breath of relief, and the combination of the two was ruinous.
“Oh fuck. Tor!”
“That’s my girl,” he groaned, tongue lashing my clit. “That’s my wife.”
“I’m close,” I gasped, grabbing fistfuls of the sheets so I didn’t grab his head and keep his mouth where I needed it. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”
Tor’s next exhale was deep and growling and so sexy that my back arched. “That’s it, Cat. Come for your husband. Come all over my tongue, sear your taste into my tongue so I’ll taste your pussy all day.”
I couldn’t take the dirty talk. I screwed my eyes shut, my breathing rupturing as pleasure drove into me. My hips slammed up into him, and butterflies filled my belly when his arm pressed to my stomach, keeping my ass to the bed so he could keep eating me. Hot little breaths left him, each one a groan, a growl, perfectly synced with every bolt of pleasure that clenched my pussy, throbbed in my clit.
I squirmed as he kept licking me, my skin as hot as fire, the sheets rasping every sensitive inch of it and the places where our bodies met fucking bliss. I loved his hands on me, loved the feeling of him pinning me down, and it was that edge of control that made me come harder than I ever had before.
When pleasure’s chokehold released me, I melted into the bed with a groan. “Fuck.”
“Mm.” Tor kissed my clit, the seam of my thigh, my hip bone. “I think my wife likes being held down.”
My inner muscles throbbed, a deep clench of pleasure that squeezed a whimper from me. It was answer in itself.
Warm hands glided up my waist and under my fuzzy pyjama top. Kisses graced every bit of skin he bared—the curve of my stomach, the plain of my ribs, the lace trim of my cotton bra.
He made a soft sound of protest. “I’m mortally offended that you sleep in a bra.”
“Sorry,” I said, but I was smiling. “My boobs have a mind of their own while I sleep; they’re too big so they flop around all over the place.”
Oh, god.
My face burned. Why did I say that? What the hell was wrong with me? Here I was with the hottest man I’d ever been in bed with, and I was talking about boob flops!
But Tor wasn’t looking at me like I was insane. His eyes shone with insanity. “I want them to flop all over me,” he groaned.
I blinked. I wasn’t used to my weirdness being a turn-on. In the next moment, I grinned. “That could be arranged.”
He groaned again, deeper, louder, and pulled himself up my body as his hands wandered higher. Hot lips met my own, and I opened for him, his tongue greedily stroking mine, filling my mouth with my own sweet, smoky taste.
“Fuck,” he moaned, and kissed me harder. One hand ripped from under my shirt so he could cradle my face, turning me to kiss deeper, fiercer, while his other hand dove under my bra. The heat and rasp of his fingers over my delicate skin made me groan into his mouth, and he turned feral at the sound of it.
I’d never been kissed like this—like Tor was starving for me, like he would die without another taste. His powerful body shuddered against me, and he sucked my tongue into his mouth in a desperate plea I answered by memorising the contours of his mouth, crushing my lips into his between rough, impassioned strokes.
“Oh, god,” he cried, his dark-jean-clad hips driving into me, the friction and texture of it against my bare thighs making me kiss him harder. Tor gasped between each rough press of our lips, his thumb and forefinger catching my nipple and pinching until I arched up into him with an answering cry.
“This is madness,” he groaned, his eyes especially dark when he tore away from my mouth only to kiss my jaw, my throat, the hollow at the base of my neck. “This is addiction. This is everything.”
“Tor,” I gasped when he returned to my mouth, taking control of me until I was arching up into him, greedy for more pleasure. He indulged my desperate need, but a glimmer of bright, out-of-place colour caught my eye and I dragged my lips away.
There was a lime-green tulip sitting on my desk, beside a plate full of fruit and pastries. My heart melted. “You brought me a tulip…?”
He kissed my cheek. “Not me. Death.”
I startled, giving Tor a wide-eyed look. “Death was here?”
“He was,” he confirmed with a kiss to my opposite cheek. “He’s every bit as in love with you as I am.”
“Love,” I echoed, laughing a little hysterically. “You’ve known me a day, Tor.”
“More than long enough to know you have my heart,” he agreed, scattering a bridge of kisses across my nose. “And I’m sorry I didn’t bring you a beautiful flower, but I did bring a better gift.”
Cold rushed into my body as he climbed off me, my skin pulsing where he’d left kisses and touches. He approached the desk, where his gift had been laid flat beside the rose, and—I startled, sitting up in a rush when he came at me with a knife.
