I notice the disappointed look on his face as he cuts me off, furrowing his brow. “Did I tell you to put a shirt on?” His voice is strong, and I genuinely can't tell if he’s joking or not.
“No, I just—”
“Take it off. I haven't taken care of you just yet.”
Oh. This is new. I’ve never had a man be this focused on my pleasure before—at least, not when he wasn't the one getting something out of it.
“Why do you look so confused?” he asks, his gaze tracking every micro-expression on my face.
“Because I thought—”
“That I was a selfish prick?”
I shrug, a small, sheepish smile forming. “Well, if we're being honest? Yes.”
He grins, a flash of something dark and indulgent. “When it comes to you, Aspen Corinthia Chidubem—”
My heart nearly stops. Did he really just use my full government name? Combined withhis?
“With me, wife, you can have it all. Now, take off that fucking shirt and come back here.”
And I do. The shirt hits the floor before I even reach the edge of the rug.
“Since I can't exactly bend you over this sofa right now,” he says, his gaze dropping to the space between my legs, “do me the honors of standing over my face?”
“I... I’m sorry?”
This is officially beyond my pay grade. I had a boyfriend in college who tried to talk me into a sixty-nine once, and just the logistics of it made me so nervous I shut the whole thing down.
I amnotokay.
I’m a “standard” sex kind of girl. Give me missionary or a little doggy style for variety, and I’m good. I can suck dick like a champ, but the moment I have to maneuver into awkward, acrobatic positions, I usually draw the line.
“I understand that you’re used to men who can’t handle your strength—or that smart-ass mouth of yours.”
“Seriously?” I ask, taking a step back on my heel. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”
“No,” he says, his voice a low, gravelly register. “As I was saying, I know you’re used to small men, the kind who use false bravado just to take from you. But all I’ve ever wanted was to give you everything, Aspen. Even when I thought ‘everything’ meant a life without me in it.”
“Luca—”
He holds up a hand, silencing me before I can spiral. “Now, don’t get me wrong. I was a bloody idiot for letting you go. But make no mistake—if you’re here, if you’re baring yourself to me like this, I’m going to own every inch of you. But I’ll own you foryourpleasure, not just mine. I need to make you come. I needto hear you scream my name until you forget anyone else ever touched you. I need to lick and suck your clit until I drown in your wetness.”
“Need?” I repeat, panting.
“Need,” he confirms, his gaze unwavering. “You’re my wife, Aspen. The moment you said ‘I do,’ I became obligated to your pleasure.”
It feels like he’s proposing to me. But for real. It’s as if, even though we’re married, he wants me to know that he is tied to me. Attached. He wants me to feel his devotion, and I’d be lying if the look in his eyes and the sound of his voice didn’t say just that. That he wants me. That he loves me. That he’s sorry.
I let out a shaky breath, my heart hammering. “Big talk, Chillmonger.”
His eyes darken instantly, his hand moving in a rhythmic, punishing jerk up and down his dick. “Aspen, enough. Stand on the sofa, spread your legs, and bring your cunt...your pussy...to my mouth.”
But we’re past the point of me just following orders. I’ve decided he’s my equal, so I meet his gaze, my own eyes darkening to match his. “Tell me you love me.”
“I fucking love you,” he growls, the words strained by the sheer effort of his restraint.
He strokes himself more and I see the moisture of his undoing. Dripping.
