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His hand finds my mouth, three fingers curling over my bottom lip, sliding inside and my skinburns. I can taste him on my tongue and I reach blindly down to my clit, finding it swollen and achingly sensitive. With his hand still holding my mouth open, his thrusts still forceful and rhythmic, he leans over to the bedside table and grabs the glass of tequila he left there.
I’m hypnotized by the vision of him above me, his darkness rolling off of him in waves, his tattooed body gleaming with sweat and I think I’m going to come just by watching him. He takes a leisurely sip of his drink as if he’s not currently fucking me to absolute oblivion.
His heated eyes are so full of desire and intent when he slams the glass back where it belongs, leaning back over me. He takes the same fingers that were just splayed over my yearning tongue and squeezes my cheeks, spitting the tequila into my gaping mouth. My body flares and I eagerly swallow, the alcohol burning down my throat while his hips still piston into me.
I’m on fire.
I’m on fuckingfire.
His eyes track small droplets that have escaped down my face, his hand moving down to wrap firmly over my throat, and licks me clean.
His lips ghost over my own and I’m gasping for more, pushing my head up to catch his mouth with mine. I’m so eager to taste him again, swallow him down as my orgasm builds and builds and builds that I can’t do anything other than beg Connor to please—please, don’t fucking stop.
“Tell me who owns you, Lenix,” he says through clenched teeth.
But he doesn’t even let me answer before ripping the rest of the dress up the middle. A heady sense of freedom ignites bright in my chest at the sight, watching the ruins of the dress still clinging to me while he palms my tits with his hands like he’s always been meant to do just that. Like we’ve been here before and we’ll be here again and again.
My pussy clenches hard around him as my climax finally crests over me, the feelings so fierce and profound that I lose all sense of self for those few blissful moments. With both hands around my face, Connor kisses me with every smoldering part of him—I’m lost but then immediately found again.
He pulls out, stroking himself above me. His jaw clenches hard, his eyes black, hooded and with a groan, he comes all over my chest and neck, his head falling back while he spills and spills. Hot, dirty, andfuckingperfect.
I can’t stop watching him like this—black hair falling into his face, chest heaving with exertion, spent, satisfied and I wonder if this is becoming an obsession.
He leans over, dragging a finger in his own release, and grins like he’s the devil himself. “Look at you. So beautiful covered in your husband’s cum.” His gaze slices up to me, his smirk widening. “Would you follow me to hell for a necklace like this?”
His expression is darkness personified and I’m already yearning for more of him.
Then he’s off the bed, still naked—stillfucking glorious.
“Don’t move,” he says while walking up to the shelving unit near the window, strolling up to it as if he knows exactly what he’s looking for.
“What are you doing?” I ask slightly suspicious.
“Creating new memories.”
When he turns back to face me, I realize he’s holding my polaroid camera in his hands.
I blink in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”
“Deadly.” He raises the camera to his face and snaps a picture of me still breathless and splayed out on the bed. “And it’s mine to keep,” he says with a smile.
The whir of the small machine fills the silence between us, the polaroid slowly sliding out from the bottom. He pulls it out and gives it a little shake before placing it on the bedside table. He slips back beside me and pulls at the sleeves of the wedding dress, the only part of it still clinging to me, and I let him fully undress me. I watch in rapt attention as he uses the ripped fabric to clean me up. His touch is tender, caring and my heart nearly burst out of my chest.
“Let’s go home,” he says softly and my mind is so fried that I just nod.
Unable to really understand the weight of what he just said or what it might mean.
Chapter 36
Wewashoffbeforeleaving Lenix’s place. Her shower is really only meant for one, but we squeeze in together anyway. I’m having trouble letting her out of my sight. There’s too many emotions churning uncomfortably inside me. I don’t know what to do with myself, so I pin her to the shower wall and kiss her. She seems to have resigned herself to the idea of us kissing, and now I can’t get enough. Her skin is smooth and slick with water and it would just be so easy to fuck her again but instead I swallow one last of her moans and pull away.
Dragging my hand over her wet hair, I cradle her cheek. My thumb swipes over her kiss-swollen lips and she offers me a sad smile and my chest fuckingaches.
Why does it hurt to look at her?
These past three weeks have been a giant head-fuck. It’s getting hard not to see Lenix as exactly what she is.
My wife.
