But I also wanted her at my kitchen table.
In my shower.
Wearing my T-shirts around the house and my flannels when she got cold.
That second night…fuck, I didn't think it could be better than the first, but somehow, it was. She didn't hesitate to ask for what she wanted this time. Asked me to lick her pussy. Asked me to fill her up.
Asked me to bend her over and slap her hard, and she came screaming my name when I did that.
Right now, we were trying something new.
She was face-down on the bed, wrists crossed at the small of her back, and I was threading my belt through them—slow, making sure it wasn't too tight, checking twice. Haven had her cheek pressed to the pillow and she was watching me over hershoulder with those hazel eyes gone dark, her breath already short. It was sometime after two—we’d slept a while, then she'd woken me up with her mouth on my cock.
This was her punishment.
"Okay?" I said.
"Yes," she said. Immediately. No hesitation.
I ran my thumb under the leather to check the give. Enough room. I'd done a lot of things in my life I wasn't proud of but I wasn't going to be careless with her.
"You say stop, we stop," I said. "You say anything close to stop, we stop."
"Wyatt." Her voice had that edge—the one that meant she thought I was stalling. "I know."
"Humor me."
She let out a breath. "I'll say red. Like a stoplight. Can we please?—"
I brought my palm down hard on her ass.
She gasped into the pillow.
"That's for rushing me," I said.
She made a sound that was not even a little bit a complaint.
I did it again, other side, and she arched up into it—couldn't help herself, hands pulling at the belt. It held. She made another sound, higher, and dropped her forehead back to the pillow.
"Good?" I said.
"So good," she breathed. "Please don't stop."
I smoothed my hand over where I'd hit, felt the warmth already rising in her skin, and she shivered. I leaned down and put my mouth where my hand had been and her fingers curled helplessly.
"Wyatt—"
"I've got you." I straightened up and ran my hands up the backs of her thighs, over her hips, thumbs pressing in just enough. She was already wet—I could see it, which didsomething to my ability to think clearly. "You have no idea what you look like right now."
"Tell me," she said into the pillow.
"Like you were made for this," I said. "Perfect ass, all marked up from my hand." I ran my thumb down the crease of her, slow, and she choked on a breath. "And your pussy—" I pressed in just enough to feel her clench and pulled back. "Christ, Haven. Pink and swollen and dripping. You've been getting fucked for six hours and you're still this wet for me."
She whimpered into the pillow.
"Still want more," I said. "Don't you?”
"Yes," she said. Barely sound at all.
