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“Aslan...God...I’m going to. I’m going to—”
“Come, Neri. Fucking come all over me.”
She screamed as she broke.
Her core fisted me in hot, wet waves, not giving me a chance.
I broke with her.
I snarled and growled and couldn’t catch a breath as my body took over, and I came in the thickest, tightest rush.
Spurt after agonising spurt.
Pleasure ricocheted like thunder, throbbing in my bones, splashing into the only girl I ever wanted.
* * * * *
We spent the entire day in bed.
After our first round of sex, I went to make her breakfast. The ingredients I’d bought the day before were easy to turn into freshly grilled french toast, maple-baked bananas, and a bowl of sugar-dusted strawberries.
We ate.
We watched a movie with the sun bright outside with no guilt whatsoever.
We fell together again as the credits rolled and morning switched to afternoon. We moved slower, softer, wrapped up in each other and unapologetically obsessed. Once we came, our satedness turned to sleepiness, and Neri drifted off in my arms. My cock remained deep inside her, our limbs tangled as heartbeats slowed into dreams.
We woke as afternoon slipped into dusk, and I dragged my cosy-sleepy wife into the mermaid-tiled shower I’d renovated. I pushed her against the wall, commanded she grab the caddy holding her delicious frangipani shampoo, then drilled her hard and fast as hot water rained over us.
By the time we’d come for the third time and washed each other with soap and lingering kisses, I was ready to deliver the second part of Neri’s birthday gift.
One, two, three.
Three simple things stood between me and the death inching ever closer, unseen, unheard, unknown.
I’d enjoyed the first part of her birthday immensely. We’d never been lazy enough to spend an entire Saturday having sex and sleeping in. And now, it was time for another thing she’d never done.
Something linked to the dirty fantastical books she read.
I wanted her permanently.
I wanted others to see that permanence.
“Get dressed.” I patted her towel-wrapped ass as I strode out of the steaming bathroom. “Wear that sunset dress you bought last week from the night market.”
Neri stilled and looked at me in the foggy mirror. Her shoulders tensed as she turned around and continued brushing her damp hair. “You went quiet when I bought it. I didn’t think you liked it.”
I scowled, annoyed that she’d seen how much it’d affected me.
The dress was an almost replica of the one she’d hacked into ribbons. The dress she’d been wearing when Ethan raped her. The vibrant orange bleeding into bruised midnight had been one of my favourite dresses on her—a representation of her as the Australian sun and me as the Turkish night—yet after what Ethan had done to her in that dress?
Fuck.
I was grateful she’d strewn it all over the sea...
So I was shocked fucking silent when she’d bought a twin dress that would undoubtedly bring back memories.
Maybe that’s why she did it?
