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“You’re the reason for everything. Everything I do.”
That made her eyes fill with tears again. Because of course she’d known that. Deep down, beneath her fear, she’d known. When she’d seen him in the bar tonight, she’d been surprised and not surprised. He was hers. He was Tony.
She’d missed him so much.
Amber kissed him softly on the mouth. She lifted her hips and squeezed around his cock. “Come on.”
Tony smiled.
That smile that rocked her world.
Then he thrust, and the smile fell off his face, wiped away by the bliss he found in movement. He thrust again, grunted, rearing up, palming her breast with one hand. “This isn’t gonna take long,” he said. He sounded so amused with himself, so strung up and desperate, that she found his ass and raked her fingernails over it.
“Whatever you need.”
He started slow. Long strokes, with his eyes trained downward at the erotic sight of the place where their bodies joined, so bare that he could see everything. She brought her hand between them and toyed with her clit, because it felt good, and it made him push harder.
“God, Amber,” he groaned. He dropped to his elbows and thrust faster, his mouth at her neck. He kissed her, tongue deep and dirty, taking what he needed.
She’d lay beneath him like this before, closed her eyes, waited for him to be done. She’d had nights when she couldn’t bear to give him anything. Couldn’t bear to give anyone anything—not without resenting it.
But there was no resentment in her now. Only joy, and wonder that it was possible to feel it.
“Whatever you need,” she said again, and he pulled out. She thought he would come. Instead, he slid down the bed and put his mouth on her. He did it for himself—she recognized from the first lap of his tongue that this was the purely selfish sort of head that he gave her sometimes when he couldn’t sleep and he wanted to get lost between her legs. Making a humming sort of noise under his breath, working his hand over his cock. Unbearably turned on at the sloppy, wet mess he’d made of her, licking and sucking at it, drawing her own arousal out until she knew she could come again, that she would—and when he hit the right spot on her clit, the right pressure, she pushed his head down and held him there until she could feel it winding up tight.
“Tony,” she said.
“Use your hand.” He pulled her wrist. Made her take over.
Her toes curled. She stiffened and lifted up off the bed, and then he was above her, his palm a heavy weight on her ribs, his hand stroking as he came on her stomach, her hand, her cunt.
When she closed her eyes and went over, she held Tony’s face in her mind’s eye. The strain in it. The ecstasy.
Her beautiful husband’s beautiful face.
CHAPTER SEVEN
She awoke to the room fully lit, a breeze blowing the curtains and cooling the backs of her thighs.
Tony’s clothes lay in a pile on the bamboo floor, and she could hear the shower going.
Amber felt sleep-heavy and relaxed, face in the pillow.
Until the phone rang.
Tony’s phone. He was old enough to not approve of ringtones, so he used the ring that sounded most like a telephone. Tinny and sharp.
She hated that ring.
He’d had a carry-on bag last night that he’d left by the door, but the ringing wasn’t coming from the muffled depths of it. She rolled over and confirmed what her ears told her—the phone sat on the bedside table. He must have retrieved it this morning while she slept. Sat up against the headboard beside her naked, prone body and checked his email. His voice mail.
The ringing cut off, but it was in the room now. A third party that she’d never invited to join them.
The water stopped in the other room. She listened to Tony bumping around in there. The sink running, then silent.
His feet padding over the floor. A zipper.
He came to the bed in a towel, his hair wet, and sat down on the edge of the mattress, dropping a small pile of clothes on top of the sheet by her feet.
