She was half-limp in my lap, eyes fluttering open just enough to meet mine. “Mmm,” she hummed. “And here I thought you weretaking your time.”
I gave a breathless laugh, dragging my hands up her back, holding her close. “I was.”
“You sure about that?” She shifted just slightly — a wicked little roll of her hips — and I flinched. Hard.
“Juniper.” My voice broke. My cock twitched under her, soaked through, my pants a goddamn mess. I didn’t even try to deny it. “I fuckingwarnedyou.”
She smiled, smug and gorgeous. “Thought you were gonna hold out. Be patient. Make it last.”
“Iwas,” I panted. “But then… you came in my lap with your tits in my mouth and I didn’t stand a fucking chance.” I leaned forward again, nosing at her collarbone, trailing soft kisses up to her jaw. “Not when you sound like that. Not when you ride me like you weremadefor it.”
She melted against me, boneless and warm, her hands driftinginto my hair again. I kissed her throat, murmuring filth like it was worship.
“You’re so goddamn perfect, Juniper. I could come just looking at you. Every inch of you—” I kissed one breast, then the other, so slowly it bordered on reverence. “You’re better than any fantasy I’ve ever had. Better than any wet dream.”
She shivered, despite the heat. “You’re such a mess.”
“Only for you.” My mouth closed over her nipple again, gentle this time, just a soft flick of my tongue before pulling back to whisper, “Only ever for you.”
She stroked my hair, tracing behind my ear. Her voice dropped to a murmur. “You gonna change your pants now?”
“Eventually,” I said, grinning into her chest. “But right now I’m busy thanking God for your tits.”
She laughed, low and lazy, and kissed the top of my head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m in love,” I whispered. “I can’t be held responsible.”
CHAPTER 50
Iwas still straddling him, the heat of his body a furnace beneath me, my limbs gone syrupy and light.
His mouth was on my breast again — not hungrily this time, not teasing — just soft, reverent kisses like he could memorize me through his lips. “God, you’re perfect,” he murmured. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”
I didn’t have the strength to answer. I just held him, burying my face in his hair as the aftershocks ebbed. My thighs were shaking. My chest was damp with sweat. I feltused upin the best way, the kind of tired that came with being wanted. Worshipped.
He shifted, brushing his hand along my spine.
“Stay still, baby. Let me—” He hesitated, like he wasn’t sure I’d let him finish. “Let me take care of you.”
I blinked down at him.
“What?”
“You’re a mess,” he said softly, but it wasn’t teasing. His eyes tracked every inch of me, so warm it made my throat catch. “Let meclean you up.”
I froze. Not because I didn’t want it, but because no one had ever offered before. Not once.
I’d always cleaned myself. Pulled my clothes back on in silence. Sat in the bathroom, waiting for my legs to stop shaking while whoever-it-was scrolled on their phone or rolled over to sleep.
While myhusbandpassed out, alone.
But Ansel was already wrapping his arms around me, holding me as he stood —stood— like carrying me wasn’t even hard. He set me down gently on the couch like I were breakable. Like I was worth being careful with.
“I’ll be right back,” he whispered, brushing the hair from my face. “Don’t move.”
I could only nod.
A minute passed. Then another. I sat there, half-naked and dazed, my thighs still slick with the mess we made, my chest still flushed from where he’d had his mouth.
