Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
A sacrament, not a sin. I guess it makes sense, given fucking her feels like a religious experience. She feels like heaven.
“Fuck.”
My wife. I love fucking my wife. And I love it when my wife gets off on me. In my mind, I hear the sound of our bodies joining. Skin against skin. Moaning and taut, tortured breaths.
What I wouldn’t give to have Mila on her knees in front of me, her fingers digging into my thighs and her pretty mouth stretched wide around my crown.
I tip back my head and groan her name, the rough sound echoing, and the sky above the only witness to my need.
“Fin.”
I press my hand to the wall and drop my head. I’ve got it bad. I’m so obsessed I can actually hear her.
“Fuck. Oh, fuck.” My arm works a little harder. Her mouth. Pussy. Nipples diamond hard. A familiar sensation begins to build in my core.
“Fin.”
The second time, her tone sounds less tentative. In fact, it prickles down my spine. I run my fist to my crown and squeeze, turning my head over my shoulder just to indulge my curiosity. Because she can’t be . . .
Here.
Yet she is.
Twice. She called my name twice. This is no accident.
Her eyes dip deliberately to my ass, her full bottom lip tortured by the press of her teeth. I take my chance, my heart beating so hard I can hear it.
“Have you come to watch me shower? Or to watch me get myself off?”
“I didn’t know.” Her cheeks flame. “Are you . . .”
“Hard?” I turn to face her, my cock pounding as her eyes dip, then widen. “Am I fucking my fist while thinking of you?” I give a husky groan at my next slow, torturous stroke. Not entirely for her entertainment. “Look at me. I’m so fucking hard for you, Mila.” Her eyes are wide as I press into my hand. “You did this to me—made me like this. You were whispering my name, so wet and so ready for me. I’m sorry it freaked you out. But I’m not sorry I’m in your head. Look at me,” I demand. Her eyes rise to mine as the water continues to cascade behind me. “I’m a man on the edge. Take fucking pity.”
“You want me to pity you?” Her voice is 90 percent purr as she steps closer, her hips a hypnotic sway. It’s around about then I realize she’s just wrapped in a towel, my brain working on a fucking delay.
My cock is so engorged, I’m maybe just a few minutes from blacking out.
“Or are you asking me to pity fuck you?”
Joy bursts from my chest. Her question, her conflicted expression, and her come fuck me body language. How did she get to be so perfect? Like she has one thing to be insecure about.
My laughter eases. My smile falls. She’s in touching distance, but I don’t reach out. “I’d take your pity fuck, but not your regret.”
Not again.
“You called me a good girl.” Her lashes are a dark sweep as she keeps her gaze from me, her finger tracing the vivid-orange birdlike head of a heliconia. “In my dream, I mean.”
“Maybe it wasn’t a dream but a memory.”
“I liked that you said it,” she admits without lifting her gaze.
“I know.” A pause. “Tell me, Mila, why did you come out here? To watch. Or to be part of this. I need to know, sweet girl.”
The flower bobs as her finger retracts. She takes a step, a provocative goddess with hips built for that sway. I tighten my grip on my cock, so fucking ready for this. I’ll take the dregs—if she wants to watch, I’ll give her such a show.
Another step as she reaches for the fold of her towel.
Then she pulls.
Chapter 18
Fin
“Damn.” I shake my head as though I might be seeing things.
“I don’t want to watch.” Her tone is cool, her delivery supremely confident, but the tilt of her chin betrays her nerves. “I want you to touch me. I want to feel you inside me. I don’t want to just imagine it anymore.”
I give my head a shake, overstimulation causing a break in my neural wiring.
“Fin . . . please say something.”
“Have I blacked out?”
She glances away, hiding a shy-looking smile.
“Mila . . .” I make a groan of her name, drinking her in. “You look like a fucking dream.” She has curves for days. Silky skin and jet hair. I feel like I should drop to my knees, humbled in the face of all that is her—that I should give thanks for her.
She steps onto the shower platform. I suck in a shocked breath when our naked bodies collide as she slides her arms around my neck.
“A holiday romance,” she says softly, her cheek pressed to my chest.
My heart dips, then rallies, banging so hard that I wonder if she can hear its bass thump thump thump, the sounds of the shower its backing track.