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“There’s fresh bread on the counter and stew in the pot.”
His lips find my throat, teeth nipping my skin, and I breathe in the scent of masculinity--sweat and dirt over the faint aroma of the soap from his shower this morning. “I wasn’t talking about food.”
Smiling, I glance over to see Valdys bury his face in Cali’s neck, oblivious to the two of us. “Then, you can put your daughter to sleep, so mama can get in a quick bath.” I’d never taken a bath in my life, before coming to Harmony Hills, but being as most of the solar power here isn’t being used to carry out grotesque experiments on innocent people in some massive facility, they’ve been able to use it to enhance the offerings in this community. In some ways, I’m living the life my mother once lived. Maybe the life she dreamed of for me and my siblings.
“Gladly,” he says, before planting a kiss to my forehead. When he stands upright, Valdys offers him a handshake.
“See you tomorrow, brother.” Taking Cali’s hand, he heads toward the house they share in the next lot. One just as big, with as many amenities.
When Six turns around, the roguish grin on his face reminds me of the mute boy I knew all those years ago.
The one who still makes my stomach flutter.
Finished in the bathroom, I lean against the doorframe, and smile when I catch sight of Six. Across our bedroom, he stands freshly showered with damp hair, holding our little girl in his arms. She looks so much smaller tucked against his massive chest and bicep, so safe and protected.
Planting a kiss to her forehead, he lowers her down into the moses basket beside the bed, and he stares down at her for a moment, like he can’t bear the thought of not holding her.
“I can’t decide what’s more attractive. You without a shirt, or you wearing a shirt with spit-up stains all over it.”
Snorting, he twists toward me, and the smile on his face fades to something else. Something he doesn’t need to say in words, because from the way his eyes rove my body and his tongue sweeps across his lips, I know exactly what’s on his mind.
With one more glance down at Sarai, he strides across the room toward me, and without so much as a hello, he tugs the robe from my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Lips devour mine in a kiss that steals my breath, stirring a dizzy sensation in me, and I have to wrap my arms around him to keep from falling. A groan rumbles in his throat, and my body is lifted up into his arms, my legs straddling his waist.
He carries us to the bed, where he sits on the edge, running his hands up and down my thighs. Mouth plundering. Silent. Aggressive. This is what I love most about Six. When he wants something, he doesn’t mince words, because he doesn’t speak them, at all. He takes and gives just as equally.
Edging himself back onto the bed, he nudges me with his groin.
I lift up just enough for him to yank down his pants, and he kicks them off somewhere behind me. I didn’t bother to wear anything beneath robe, which places my naked lower half against the ridges of his stomach, which glide beneath my sex as he urges my hips back and forth, fingers curling into my flesh. His thumb slides down my seam, tickling the sensitive nub that stirs my desires in a way that only Six can. Head tipped back, he clenches his jaw, while he spreads my arousal over his skin.
His torment.
My torment is wanting him inside me so much my thighs ache.
Reaching between us, he angles his tip so that it hits my entrance every time I drag myself down his stomach. I dare say he loves the game of holding out, the anticipation of sex more than the act itself, but he would disagree.
He tells me frequently there is nothing in the world he enjoys more.
Except maybe holding his little girl.
He runs his hands over my body, down my hips, to my thighs and across my belly, until his big palms find my breasts. Brows winged up, he looks like a man pained by his own pleasure as he teases my nipples that jut out at his wicked touch.
Arching into him, I run my fingers through his short-cropped hair, mind focused on the prod of his tip sliding across my seam, begging for entrance.
“Six, please.” I whisper the word mindlessly, my sodden core desperate to be filled and stretched.
Eyes closed, I feel the first notch inside of me, when he gives a small thrust. Another notch. Thrust. And another, until he’s so deep, it’s as though he’s breached my womb.
He lets out a long, agonized groan, stirring his hips beneath me, and he guides me up and down, along his shaft.
“Goddamn, Wren.” Veins in his neck pop as he slams his head into the pillow, eyes closed.
The sight of him possessed by pleasure goads me on, and I grind into him, hands planted against his chest. Thighs locked, he rolls me onto my back, and as I squirm to lie on my stomach, he grips my chin, holding me in place.
“No. I need to see your face.” He doesn’t release his hold, as he stares into my eyes while driving into me.
I reach up to touch the scar across his eye, and down to the one at his throat. How far we’ve come from that day, when I first saw him on the other side of the wall. Starving and alone.
In many ways, we’re different from the young boy and girl who stole away and kissed all hours of the night, until the sun came up. Who lay beneath the scorching sun at midday, exploring each other’s bodies.
