I wrap my fingers around my cock and pump myself. Once. Twice. Thrice. My balls feel like they’ve turned to stone.
I think of my wife. Of her sweet lips. Her delicious curves. Her scent, which is so uniquely hers.
That’s all it takes for my orgasm to shoot out from the base of my spine. For her nickname to spill from my mouth. “Ember.”
My cum decorates the wall.
My chest rises and falls, my breathing unsteady. I push my forehead against the tiled wall, struggling to get my heartbeat under control. When I feel composed, I turn off the shower, dry myself, then wrap the towel around myself.
I head out of the room and pause. My jaw drops.
There, seated on my bed, is my wife. In the light from the bathroom, the material of her blush wedding dress turns sheer. I can make out the curve of her breasts. The hard buds of her nipples are outlined against the thin fabric. I swallow.
Goosebumps pop on my skin. A zip of lust slams into my chest andarrows to my groin. I’m instantly hard. All the work I did earlier to bring my longing under control snaps.
The craving, the need, the hunger I have for this woman propels me forward. I take a step. Another. Until I reach her.
She drags her gaze down my torso to where I’ve knotted the towel around my waist. Her lips part. Her pupils dilate.
The air in the room heats until I’m sure the water droplets on my torso are about to steam up.
"Why are you here?" I clear my throat.
She visibly starts, then jumps up to her feet. “I... Uh... There were no towels in my room.”
She still hasn’t removed her gaze from the one around my waist. I want to chuckle at her fixation, except I feel myself harden. I turn away before she can spot the tent over my crotch. I head toward my walk-in closet. I take a few breaths to calm myself, willing my cock to go down. I stay out of sight for the few minutes it takes to get myself in control. Then I grab a few towels and head out.
She’s lurking by the bed, her arms behind her, literally squirming with discomfort. Only the light from the bathroom outlines her lush figure in more detail.
It’s like she chose that specific position to show off the flare of her luscious hips and the thickness of her thighs. My scalp tingles. My cock twitches. Jesus. Christ. I need to stop being a horny teenager around her.
I march up to her and hold out the towels.
When she takes it from me, our fingers brush.
Goosebumps shoot out from the point of contact up my arm. My thigh muscles bunch. Jesus. How could I be so turned on by such a small contact?
A gasp emerges from her mouth. which tells me she felt the electricity from that brief touch too. Which only makes me want to close the distance to her, gather her in my arms, and kiss her. Then throw her down on my bed and—I hastily drag my thoughts away from whatever scene my overactive imagination is about to paint.
“Next time, knock on the door before you enter.” The words are out before I can stop myself.
Hurt paints her features.
She pivots and walks toward the door. Her back is straight, her shoulders stiff. Damn, I pissed her off.
"Ember, I’m sorry.”
She pauses at the doorway but doesn’t turn.
“I…didn’t mean that.”
“Yes, you did.” She turns to me, her lips pinched. “Just for the record, it was you who suggested I move in with you.”
“And I stand by it. It’s important for?—”
“—your investors and your grandmother to believe you. I get it.” Her lips turn down. She seems exhausted and frustrated, and more than a little pissed. She looks so fucking adorable. I want to go over and lick her lips and kiss her back into a good mood.
But that’s not a good idea.
