I was definitely looking now, though.
He was wrong about one thing. He was the deity in this room, not me.
He was lean but muscular, chest dusted with hair, abs that looked like they’d been carved from marble. He had scars I hadn’t noticed before—one just under his left clavicle, and another to the right of his navel. Evidence that he wasn’t perfect after all. Maybe even that he was as reckless as everyone said.
Then he was skin to skin, covering my body with his while his mouth found my cheek, my jaw, my mouth, exploring everywhere, tasting everything.
“Not that I don’t enjoy the lace, but you’re still rather inconveniently wearing underwear,” he murmured against my neck.
“Then take them off.”
He did, this time by sliding his entire solid self down my body until he was on his knees, taking the lace with him. There he remained. And just looked.
After a few long seconds, I peered down. “Everything okay?”
“You’re just…” He licked his lips. “You’re just so damn beautiful,wife.”
Before I could reply, he bent and placed his mouth where his gaze had been.
OhGod.
I arched. “Ronan?—”
He grabbed my thighs, pressing them into the blankets. “Be still and let me work.”
It wasn’t the first time I’d ever done this—or had it done to me. But the experiences had been less than satisfying. Derek didn’t enjoy it at all, and so the few times that he’d been willing to do it, I’d felt so self-conscious that nothing had come of it for either of us. The others were more like boys than men, college-era flings during one of Derek’s and my “off” periods, men who bumbled around a woman’s anatomy like a video game they hadn’t figured out how to play.
Ronan, however, knew exactly what he was doing. He knew what to do with his tongue, with his lips, with the delicious scrape of stubble.
“Oh.” I could only articulate gasps and hums. “Oh—oh,God.”
“Nope.” His chuckle vibrated over my clit. “Just your husband.”
The vibration—or maybe it was the word that came with it—sent me over the edge. I came with a shout, his curls in my fists, my entire body tense under that skilled touch.
Still, he worked.
“That’s one,” he said before diving right back in.
My first instinct was to fight it. “I can’t—Ronan, please—I need a minute?—”
“You don’t need a minute. You need this.”
One finger joined his mouth, then two slid inside me while his tongue continued its magic with my clit. I was already oversensitive, and before I knew it, his relentless touch had me climbing all over again.
“Ronan,” I gasped, twisting back and forth on the bed. “Please. I can’t?—”
“Yes, you can, baby. Show me. Now.”
The second orgasm hit harder than the first. Longer. Deeper. I actually saw stars, my vision whittling into darkness split by sparks of light from the lamp and my own ecstasy.
When I finally came back to myself, Ronan was standing again, condom in one hand while he stroked himself with the other. His expression blended satisfaction, possessiveness, and something deeper.
It was the same expression he wore when he called me his wife.
Somehow, I managed to push myself up on my elbows. Normally, I would have covered myself, but for some reason I was comfortable on display for that intent gaze.
“Hi,” I whispered.
