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The only thing that puts a damper on the whole erotic scene is that I can’t see her face as she falls apart. My cock bobs in agony on my stomach, and precum coats my stomach as she falls into the wall, sated and trembling with aftershocks. Giving her pretty, tasty pussy one last lick, I pull my thumb free, making her whimper and fall back. I catch her and sit up, cradling her in my lap, feeling her round ass rubbing across my cock as she slumps into my form.
“That was . . . That was . . .” She’s unable to find the words to describe what we just did.
“Perfect, wife. That’s the word you’re looking for.” I smile, kissing the tip of her adorable nose.
“Yeah, perfect,” she breathes, her gaze turning so soft that my heart literally breaks at its beauty.
I love her.
I’ve known it for a long time. It’s a dangerous weakness for a man like me to have, but I could never resist Layla, and now that she is truly mine, I’ll kill any motherfucker who tries to steal her away from me.
I did it once.
And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
I lean in closer and press my lips to hers, loving how she parts them for me to truly claim every inch of her. I let her taste her release on my mouth to show her how fucking sweetly she came for me. When she deepens the kiss, her tongue ravishing mine, I pull away, knowing that if we continue on, then I’ll end up fucking her shape into our mattress.
I try to ignore the hurt look she gives me for ending our kiss sooner than she would have liked.
“How about a quick shower before breakfast?” I smile, caressing her cheek with my knuckles.
Layla gives me a little conceding nod before nuzzling her face against my chest. I stand up from our bed, keeping a firm grip on the woman who has changed my life so completely. I stride to the bathroom and turn on the shower, holding her the entire time as it heats up. When steam fills the room and I’m happy with the temperature, I plant her feet on the tile floor of our shower. She lets out a relaxed sigh as the jets of water hit her tired limbs, but while Layla is good and content, my frown is stitched in place when I inspect the bruises decorating her creamy skin.
“What’s wrong?” she questions, looking perplexed at the stern expression on my face.
“This doesn’t bother you?” I ask, tweaking her nipples with my index finger and thumb before showing her my bite marks.
“No.” She almost laughs, slicking back her hair as she tilts her head at me.
I grind my molars when I see the inside of her thighs also bear my mark.
“And this?” I snarl.
“No,” she answers cheerfully.
I wrap my hand around her throat and drag her closer to me. Tilting her head back, I get in her face with a snarl on my lips and my eyes narrowed dangerously.
“If this marriage is going to work, Layla, you need to be honest with me. If there is anything I do that upsets or hurts you, I need to know.”
She pushes up to the balls of her feet and places a tender kiss to my lips.
“You told me last night that you couldn’t make love to me slow and gentle. I knew what I was getting into.”
“Still—”
“Alaric, you’re not listening to me. Last night was one of the best nights of my life. I don’t say that lightly. Now shut up and take your shower. Zoey should be awake soon, and I need to make breakfast.” She huffs in annoyance.
I pull my grip off her throat and let Layla do her thing. That dark side of me that whispers I shouldn’t be left alone with nice pretty things continues to taunt me as she pours soap into her hands and runs it across her lithe body. When she repeats the action with shampoo to wash her hair, I’m still reprimanding myself for unleashing my most depraved urges on her. Layla stops rinsing the soapy suds off her creamy skin to gawk at me.
“You haven’t even started,” she begins, only to stop when she sees my hands curled into two tight fists at my sides.
Understanding washes over her, but instead of soothing my concerns, she pours a healthy amount of soap on her palms and begins to rub my chest with it. The lump in my throat refuses to go down as her gentle touch spreads all over my body. When her eyes fall to the hard, bobbing cock slapping against my stomach—I’m unable to resist her beauty, even in my anger and self-hatred—she throws me a mischievous grin.
“I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that you hurt me last night. That you’re too much for me and that I can’t handle a man like you. Let me show you just how wrong you are,” she purrs, gliding her hand down to my stomach as she speaks.
Before I can get a word in, my jaw slackens as Layla falls to her knees before me, her tiny hands gripping my huge thighs. She digs her nails in slightly to hold me in place.
“What are you doing?” I croak, precum already coating the tip of my cock with how close her mouth is to it.
