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His mouth assaults mine again and now we're kissing, hard. His finger circles my clit with firm pressure. The most delicious ache builds and blooms in my core. It spreads until I'm chanting the wordplease.
I turn my head so I can gulp in a few breaths.
"I'm so close."
"I know, baby girl. You can let go now. I'm here. You don't have to do this alone anymore, with just your vibrator. I've got you. I've got control of your pussy now, and I'm going to spend the next week making you come again."
He slides two fingers into me. "And again."
He slides them out and continues circling my swollen nub. I feel like I'm going to explode, and I tilt my head back.
"And again."
"Fuck," I whisper.
"That's right, girlie. Fuck is right. I'm going to fuck you all night tonight. Are you ready?"
He whispers something about how, if he was a betting man, he'd bet that I'll squirt from his touch. His words make me flash hot, because he's probably correct. He's the only man I've ever done that with, and I'm so desperate for him tonight.
Then instead of circling, he gently rubs directly on the top of my clit with the pad of his index finger, and I shatter. He knows what that little motion does to me, and I let out a cry that probably wakes everyone on this floor.
I sob his name, a few swear words and some unintelligible moans.
But he doesn't stop there. While keeping one hand firmly on my stomach, which effectively stops me from writhing in ecstasy, he moves between my legs. Just as I'm coming down from one orgasm, his tongue inspires another ascent of that familiar ache.
"All night, Kate. All night," he murmurs in between kisses of my swollen pussy lips.
I sigh and grin in the darkness, running my fingers through his thick, dark hair as he goes down on me. I'm a little sated and a lot edgy, because I want to come again. I'm also so incredibly joyful because I've got one week with Damien.
Seven precious days with my husband, who is on leave from his military contractor job in Syria.
I haven't seen him since the week of our wedding.
That was six months ago.
Six months without his tongue in my mouth, without his fingers pinching my nipples, without his cock filling me.
Six months without his smile. Without his kisses. Without waking up in his strong arms, warm and safe and loved.
DAMIEN
In the weeksbefore our wedding, Kate and I had sex a lot. Almost every day.
This week, here in Italy? We're like a living, breathing porn website. She's insatiable. I'm voracious.
Being in Syria on assignment for six months does that to a guy.
I swear to Christ, we didn't get out of bed for the first twenty-four hours. We sucked and fucked and barely slept. Relied on room service for when we wanted food and not each other's flesh.
Yesterday, exhausted and sex-sated, we ventured out for a few hours of touristy stuff. You know, the Colosseum, the Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon. We ate pizza and laughed our asses off, walking around the city. Rome's vibrancy is a far cry from what I've been exposed to in dusty, beige Deir al-Zour.
Yeah, there have been a few tough moments, like the silence that descended on us when we both realized that seven days won't be enough (we changed the subject quick and made a joke about the Roman drivers).
Like when I came inside of her last night and I had a powerful, primal urge to get her pregnant (I didn't share that with her, not yet).
Like this morning, when I watched her sleep. How did I get so damned lucky? I'm married to the woman I've been in love with since I was a teenager.
Today we're visiting the ruins of Pompeii and overnighting at a bed and breakfast in Amalfi. I'd have been happy staying in Rome, but my brother Max — he owns our family's resort — put together this itinerary for us, and it involves three different luxury hotels.
