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He reached between us and guided his cock into my pussy. I felt the round head slide past my entrance and heat filled the emptiness inside. Moving deeper and deeper until his groin pressed against my clit. Until my lashes fluttered with the satisfaction of having my husband inside me.
It didn’t really hit me until that moment.
My husband. From now on.
Lucien wasn’t the sort of man who walked away without a fight. I was his and there was no going back. I felt that deep possession in the slow thrust of his hips into me and the ice cold stare boring into my sleepy gaze.
At first, that had scared me. But slowly he showed me that belonging to him didn’t mean abuse, control, and negligence the way I was conditioned to believe.
It meant the safety to finally make my own choices and become the person I’d been too scared to even dream of. The bubble of his protection was where I learned to be loved.
He’d fucked me gently. The thick, veined length of his cock slid in and my spine arced to push my hips up to his, relishing the silky heat. He pulled out to the head, took a beat just to watch me squirm before thrusting back in.
Neither of us spoke. I just panted and he groaned in his chest as he pushed to the hilt and came. His jaw tensed and his eyes fluttered shut. His hips ground slowly until he was done. Then he pulled free of me and sank down, halfway on top of my body.
My lips parted. I needed to come, but my entire body was weak and tingled. The weight of his head on my chest was beautiful and perfect.
The room smelled of roses. They covered every surface, all fully bloomed. He reached up to the bouquet on the bedside table and tore two roses free. I shifted so I could look down at his scarred fingers. He played with the blossoms, tearing them apart and letting them fall in the hollow of my lower belly.
“Tell me you love me,” I whispered daringly.
I felt a little rumble in his chest.
“I love you,” he said.
His tattooed hands closed and crushed the remaining petals free of the stem. He scattered them gently from my navel down to the mound above my pussy. Soft, cream petals littered my upper thighs and his fingers slipped between them.
My hips tensed. “Oh,” I breathed.
I was wet with arousal and slippery with his cum. He used it as lubricant and began circling my clit with his middle and pointer fingers.
Around and around.
My thighs parted and trembled. The petals on my stomach shivered. He shifted his head up to look at me as his mouth closed around my left nipple. Warm pleasure centered deep inside my pussy and began growing.
My feet arced, my toes digging into the bed. His tongue flicked my nipple and sucked it in the most perfect rhythm. His fingers slipped into the tight muscles of my pussy and his thumb began working my clit with steady pressure. I fisted my hands in the sheets. Holding on for dear life.
“Come on my hand, Olivia,” he said, his voice husky.
“Yes, sir,” I panted, my eyes rolling back.
His fingers picked up the pace and my orgasm hit me hard and tore through my body. My hips bucked and the velvet petals showered down on the sheets around me. He sucked my nipple through my orgasm. As it ebbed away, he lifted his head.
“That’s my good girl,” he said quietly. “Mine is the only hand you’ll ever come on, the only fingers you’ll ever drip your sweet wetness down.”
“Yes, sir,” I whispered again, limp with satisfaction.
He shifted until he lay beside me and put his fingers to my lips. In the quiet, rose scented half-darkness, I obediently cleaned my arousal from his fingers and his scarred knuckles. He played with me, making me reach for his fingertips with my tongue.
We lay together without speaking, wide awake. Surrounded by rose petals. Edged with ice.
Now, draped in the windowseat, watching the empty horizon, I longed for that night. It was the first time I realized the intensity of his ability to love me, even if I never saw it in his eyes.
My fingers slid down my silk slip and pushed between my thighs. Just the memory of him touching me had gotten me wet. I ran two fingers down the seam of my sex and pushed the tips into myself. The inner muscles of my pussy pulsed as I found my G-spot and began working it the way Lucien did. Little circles of pressure and gentle tapping.
My hips moved, grinding my pussy against the heel of my hand.
I came quickly because he’d trained me to finish that way so he could get me off in stolen bits of time. In the car before events. In the bathroom with one knee up on the sink. In the kitchen behind the counter before the boys woke. In his lap at his desk, facing him with my arms wrapped around his neck.
