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“Find me a script then, Mrs. Walker,” he orders, before sinking between my thighs and pressing his cock an inch inside me.
“I’m so sore,” I plead as he eyes me, weighing my protest. I never deny him, I never want to, even when we’re fighting.
Lucas dips his head, warm breath hits before eager lips trail over my skin. I grip his firm ass and drag him inside of me letting out a whimper. He stills, pulling back to peer down at me.
“I missed you,” I say because that’s all I can voice. It’s the worst possible time to ask him how he’s feeling. I know he’s avoiding it, but I don’t know how much longer I’ll let him. I’m not the type to skirt around anything important and he knows that about me. He rears back and presses in hard, rolling his hips and lighting me up. My body pimples with gooseflesh and I hook my ankles around his back.
“No matter how many times I fuck you,” he grits out, building his pace, “I need more.”
Moaning in response, I meet his thrusts knowing full well I’ll be in pain for the next few days. He’s got the cock to match his smirk, but it’s never been a problem for us. Before I met Lucas, I’d always been a fan of men who knew what they wanted, and because of that, I’m definitely a fan of my husband. Tracing his etched chest with my fingernails, I stare up at him as he gazes down at me with lust-filled eyes. It’s always the particular way he looks at me that gets me, like he’s constantly conveying possession. It’s as if I’m the thing he’s wanted most in the world and he’s found it. My answering stare relays the same greed. I’m just short of being obsessed with my own husband.
He works me thoroughly, biting the shell of my ear as I come around him. Convulsing with pleasure I loosen my grip, my thighs falling open, and he dives, thrusting like a madman, skin on skin the only sound in the room. Lucas doesn’t stop until he’s covered in effort, his skin glistening when he pulls out and covers my stomach with his release, fisting himself until sated. I watch enthralled while his body draws tight and then relaxes before he falls to my side on his stomach.
Tracing lazy circles on his shoulder, I lean over and press a kiss to his bicep.
“Talk to me. Tell me.”
He’s already shaking his head buried in a pillow. “Tell you what? It hurts? That I’m pissed off? That I’m trying not to think about it right now?”
Leaning over, I nod into his shoulder.
“It hurts. I’m pissed off. I’m trying not to think about it right now.”
“I don’t want to fight.”
“Good,” he replies, still catching his breath, “then let’s not fight.”
He moves to get up, and I pin him down with my bare sex on his back straddling his waist.
“No.”
“This is oddly arousing,” he jokes, while I remain tight-lipped.
He exhales a weary breath. “Dame, don’t. I just can’t put words to it yet.”
Seconds tick past before I concede. “Okay,” I say moving off him to stand next to the bed.
Still on his stomach, he tosses a confused look over his shoulder and reads my posture.
“Don’t treat me differently,” he warns.
I guffaw while crossing my arms. “You want me to push you about something you don’t want to talk about?”
“No, I don’t want you to walk around on eggshells, you’ve been doing it since we got the call.”
“So now you’re going to tell me how to handle you?” I ask incredulously. “You must want to fight.”
“You have cum running down your stomach,” he says, nodding toward my body. “I can’t take you seriously.”
My nostrils flare a little at the demeaning remark, and his lips upturn when he sees my aggravation. He pushes to his knees and steps off the bed.
“Yep, you do, you want to fight. So, let’s fight,” I say, following him into the bathroom. He sighs when he realizes he’s not getting out of the conversation, so I start. “He left because he was in pain.”
“He killed himself because he was a narcissistic asshole.”
“No, that’s you being an asshole. You calling him a narcissistic asshole makes you selfish.”
“He was selfish.”
