Page 46 of Endless Depths

God, I’m such a selfish asshole to deprive him for so long. I rove my hands through his chest hair, then down his abs on my way to free the top button of his pants. Kissing his neck, I wrench the zipper down, trying to break it so I can loan him a pair of my pants, and keep his to savor his scent any time I want. I shove my hand inside his boxer briefs and wrap my hand around the only other cock I’ve known aside from my own.

“Oh my god,” Morgan groans, head tipping back.

I swear I can feel his cock throbbing against my palm. I can’t wait to feel him inside me. It’s probably going to hurt, but it will be worth it. I want the memory of his touch to haunt me for days.

Stroking him slowly, I hover my lips over his nipple and blow, then pull back to watch it harden, before sucking it into my mouth. Morgan has the sexiest pecs, all tight and plump with muscle. He doesn’t even have to work that hard in the gym. He’s just gifted.

He sucks in a stilted breath and wets his bottom lip as I milk pre-cum from his tip and sip it from my fingers. One taste isn’t enough to sate me.

“Fuck, I’m famished for you.” I sink to my knees, dragging his pants and boxer briefs down only enough to take him out, and look up with contrition. “Can I?”

He strokes my hair, then nods.

An exhale escapes my tight chest. I didn’t realize how heavily the threat of his rejection weighed on me until it lifted. Is this what I’ve been putting him through? I’ll show him the truth then, show him I never stopped wanting him.

I nuzzle my way up his jeans, wishing I’d taken the time to strip him after all, but too impatient to stop. My mouth waters as I kiss and lick his balls, hanging heavy like he saved a big load for me, then swirl my tongue around his tip and swallow him down.

Morgan’s eyes slam shut, face anguished with lust. I take nothing for granted, memorizing every sensation, filling in the details I forgot—the velvety vein traversing his length, the perfect fit of his tip notched in my throat, the sexy soundtrack of sighs and soft moans.

“That feels amazing.” His hand falls to my head. “But you’re wearing too many clothes for what I want to do to you.”

My muscles tense and pain seeps back in. This is the first time my husband is going to seeallof me since we separated. He liked what he saw at Seb’s, but what if I disappoint him? What if I can’t take him? By the time he undresses me completely, I’m trembling.

“Fuck me. You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he says.

Heat floods my face. I exhale a quivering breath.

Morgan cups my cheek. “Nervous?”

I nod.

“Don’t be. You’re perfect.”

I resist the urge to argue.

“Perfect,” he repeats, holding my gaze.

He roams his hands down my sides, igniting goosebumps in his wake, then palms my ass and wraps a hand around my cock. I rise onto the balls of my feet, nearly levitating with ecstasy before returning to earth.

Morgan freezes. “What the fuck?”

“Huh?” I follow his gaze to the row of boxes stacked against the wall. Shit.

Eleven boxes. That’s all it took to erase the evidence of ourmarriage. Packing each one was like cutting my heart out with a rusty bait knife.

He swivels slowly, scanning the loft for any trace I left behind. He won’t find anything. I packed all but a few hoodies and sweatpants tucked away in a drawer for when my yearning is too painful.

He pulls his pants up, and walks to the row of boxes.

“Outerwear,” he reads off a box I labeled with a ballpoint pen because I was in too much pain after packing to find a permanent marker. “Welding equipment. Miscellaneous tools. Shoes.”He shakes his head, reading each one until he stops at the one labeledUs.

“Us,”he whispers, then looks to me and asks, “Us?”

Two letters, a single word, a bomb dropped.

“Morgan, I’m sorry.”

“Quiet.” He slides his fingers under the top flap of the box and huffs in irritation.