“Fingers,” I wheeze. “Give me your fingers. Inside me.”
He pushes into me with one finger, then two, shuttling them like he would his cock. I want to tell him to crook them, to hit my G-spot, but before I can, his mouth is back on my clit, and he’s working me with both hand and mouth.
It’s enough. I shatter with a hoarse cry, my body clenching with the force of my release. Murr continues to lick and pump his fingers into me, dragging the orgasm out in the most delicious way, until I’m squirming against his mouth and ready for him to stop. I push at his forehead with a low moan, and he chuckles, giving my inner thigh one last kiss. “Bossy good.”
I laugh at that. I feel spent, gasping for air, but loose and relaxed in body. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a really good, toe-clenching orgasm. I haven’t been with a man since the Before, and while I have a few toys furtively stashed away in my bags, finding the privacy is another thing entirely. This was very needed, and very, very enjoyable. I caress his face with one shaky hand. “You’re amazing, Murr.”
He grins, chasing my fingers and nipping the tips. While I recover, he keeps kissing me, leisurely roaming over my thighs and belly, pressing his lips to my skin. It makes me hungry for more, and when he moves up to kiss my mouth, I fling my arms around his neck and lock my legs around his hips.
“Inside me?” I ask, rocking up against his body suggestively.
Murr kisses my mouth again, tasting like me. His hand moves between us, touching my core briefly before he shifts his weight, his body surging upward. Then he’s pressing into me, filling me with his length, and it steals the breath from my lungs.
I knew he was big, but I didn’t realize how big. It’s not painful, just startling enough to make my tongue glue to the roof of my mouth. He lets out a hiss as he sinks into me, and I touch him. “You ok?”
“Amazing,” he grits. “Incredible. Life…” He trails off, forgetting the rest.
I clench tight around him, just because I can. “Good.”
He groans, drawing back and then surging into me again. It feels incredible, deep and marvelous and scratching that itch that only truly deep penetration can reach. I hold onto him as he starts a rhythm, moving in and out of me with slow, sure motions. He’s so big, his skin so warm that I can feel the heat of him shuttling in and out of me. The ridges that adorn his cock make every motion exquisite, and it doesn’t take long before I’m matching his movements, lost in the need for another orgasm.
“Please,” I breathe, arching up to meet him and to increase the friction. “Please, please. Oh, Murr. Please.”
His thrusts grow deeper, picking up in intensity, and he grips the back of my neck as he pounds into me, as if he’s pinning me in place. Ilovethat possessive hold, and when another, smaller orgasm ripples through me, I’m not surprised in the slightest. I want to live in this moment, bathe in it, revel in the feel of his powerful body claiming mine.
When I start to come, Murr immediately pulls out. I make a choked sound of protest, but then his mouth is on my throat, clamping down on the bite mark. Heat floods my thighs, and he’s coming on the blanket, not inside me. Just as we’d agreed. He drags his teeth over my throat, holding me there, but not biting through the skin, and I clutch him against me, wrapping myself around him and reveling in this moment.
Our breathing mingles, my deep gulps of air in harmony with his rasps. We smell like sweat and cinnamon and the musty, dusty bank.
And I can’t stop smiling. I laugh to myself, holding my lover tight. “My husband. My Murr.”
“Hus-band?” Murr’s head lifts and he gazes down at me with a hint of confusion. “Explain.”
A horrible feeling uncurls in my belly.
Please tell me this wasn’t all a big misunderstanding…
CHAPTER 74
DAKOTA
There’sdread in my gut like a heavy brick. What does he not understand? He’s been calling me wife, asked me to be his…how can he not understand? What if he didn’t want to be with me at all and I’ve grossly misunderstood…everything?
I will pull this blanket over my head and just die.
Trying not to panic, I give his shoulder a pat. “Explain what part? You’re my husband. I’m your wife.”
His mouth flattens as he regards me. “Murr not wife? Wife not…” He lifts both index fingers and then places them side by side. “Together? Family?”
I burst out laughing in sheer relief.
At his wounded look, I cup his cheek. “I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing because…well, I thought you changed your mind. Wife is me. I’m the wife, the female partner. Husband is the term for the male partner. They’re gendered, which really doesn’t matter. You can be my wife if you want, as long as we both know what it means.”
He digests this, then nods. “One…thing for ‘wife,’ drakoni.”
“Your people only have one word for it?” I grimace, because we’re diving into more about how tricky our language can be for him. “We have lots of words. Married couple, partners, mates, spouse, other half…”
“What word?” he asks, his expression one of patience.
