Page 117 of Seale the Deal

I know, he says quietly. You’ll have me. But first… His fingers work the button of my jeans, unhurried. …I want to look at you.

He peels my jeans and panties away in one smooth motion. His gaze drags over me, unfiltered.

Fuck, he says under his breath. Your pussy is even more beautiful than I imagined.

A shiver runs through me at the raw hunger in his voice. I feel exposed, but not vulnerable. I feel powerful. Desired.

He settles between my thighs, hands guiding me open, his eyes still on mine. There’s a flicker of anticipation in his expression and a hint of sinful desire.

Have you ever been eaten out by a man with a beard?

I bite my lower lip and shake my head, my pulse thundering.

His mouth tilts. You’re in for a treat, then.

And then he lowers his head.

The first touch of his tongue pulls a sharp inhale from me, my back arching before I can stop it. The contrast of his beard, the warmth of his mouth, the sound he makes against me, low and pleased, like he’s enjoying this too much to hide it, hits all at once.

My fingers tighten in the comforter as he works me with intention, not rushing, not guessing. When he finds the right spot, he stays there, circling, pressing, building it carefully instead of chasing it.

When he slides a finger inside me, I break.

Oh—

He doesn’t ease up. He adds another, curls them just right, and keeps his mouth on me, steady, relentless. My orgasm builds fast and then hits hard enough to steal the breath out of me completely. My body tightens, then gives, the release dragging through me in waves that leave me shaking.

He lifts his head only after moving up my body, kissing me like he knows exactly what he just did. I taste myself mixed with him, and it only makes the ache return, sharper this time.

How long has it been? I ask, still catching my breath.

He hesitates, then says, A while.

How long is a while?

His brows lift slightly. Baby. He tucks a curl behind my ear, only for it to spring free again. This is a small town. Options are… limited. Then, quieter, And when we started this, it didn’t sit right. Being with someone else.

My chest tightens, but he softens it with a quick smirk. Mostly the small-town thing, though.

I shove his shoulder lightly. That’s bleak, I say. Maybe small-town life isn’t for me if it’s hard to get laid.

He circles my wrist, pulling me back in. You’re my wife. You will never be lacking in the department.

The way he says it does something to me I don’t want to unpack right now.

Instead, I stand, pulling my shirt over my head, letting it fall. My bra follows. His attention locks in immediately, his mouth parting as I run my hands up my sides, over my breasts, brushing my nipples just enough to make them tighten.

Wrenley. His voice is hoarse.

He reaches for me. I step back.

Your turn.

A quiet sound leaves him, somewhere between a laugh and something sharper. He stands, slower now, like he’s putting on a show for me.

His shirt comes off first, revealing muscle built from use, not for show. Then his jeans, his boxer briefs, pushed down and kicked aside.

His body is the eighth wonder of the world. I don’t bother pretending I’m not staring.