Chapter 23 #2
"Thank you," I whisper. "For choosing us over the fight."
"Always." His thumb traces my jaw. "You and this baby—you're everything that matters to me."
The ever-present pull toward him intensifies. His hand moves on my hip, fingers pressing differently now, and I feel his body shift against mine. The hardness of him. The heat.
"Avery." My name is coarse gravel in his throat.
"I know."
His hand slides lower, cups my ass, pulls me flush against him. There’s no mistaking his arousal now. No mistaking the hunger darkening his eyes.
"Right here," I breathe. “I need you.”
His reply is little more than a growl of agreement.
He spins me around, then bends me forward over the counter, one hand between my shoulder blades holding me in place.
The marble is cool and smooth beneath my palms, permeating through the fabric of my shirt.
My skirt rides up as his other hand slides between my thighs, pushing my panties aside.
"So wet already." His fingers find me slick and swollen, and he groans low in his chest. "Fuck, baby. You're soaked."
I can only whimper as his fingers circle my clit, teasing, not giving me what I need. My hips rock back, seeking more pressure, more friction, more everything.
"Nick—please…"
"My greedy girl." He drops to his knees behind me, hands gripping my thighs. "Let me taste you first."
His mouth seals over me. No warning. No build-up.
Just the hot, wet glide of his tongue through my folds, lapping at my entrance before circling my clit.
I cry out, hands scrambling for purchase on the marble, but there's nothing to hold onto.
Nothing but the sensation of his mouth working me with devastating skill.
"God, Nick. Mmm."
He responds by pushing two fingers inside me, stroking and stretching me, then finding the spot that makes my vision blur. His tongue flicks my clit in rhythm with his fingers push deeper, and pleasure coils in my belly, winding tighter with every stroke, every swirl of his tongue.
"That's it," he murmurs against me. "Let me feel you come on my tongue, baby."
His fingers curl harder inside me, hitting that perfect spot, and his mouth seals around my clit with focused suction. The pleasure intensifies, sharpening to a point so acute I can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but climb toward the peak he's driving me toward.
And then I'm there, spiraling over the edge.
The orgasm rips through me, sudden and consuming. My pussy clenches around his fingers, pulsing, pulling him deeper. Heat floods through my thighs, radiates up my spine. My mouth opens on a soundless cry as the pleasure peaks, holds, crashes in waves that leave me gasping.
He doesn't stop. Instead, he keeps licking, keeps stroking, working me through every aftershock until I'm oversensitive and trembling, until the pleasure tips toward too much and I'm whimpering his name.
Only then does he pull back and stand.
I’m still panting as I hear the metallic whisper of his zipper behind me. The rustle of his slacks falling off his hips. And then the blunt pressure of his cock at my entrance, hot and hard and exactly what I need.
His chest presses against my back, warm through his shirt. His cock nudges against me, and I push toward him instinctively, desperate to have him inside me now.
"So eager." His mouth brushes my ear, his stubble rough against my neck. "You want my cock that badly?"
"Yes. Nick, please—"
"Tell me who you belong to."
"You." The word comes out broken, desperate. "Only you. Always—"
He thrusts in with one long, deep stroke.
The stretch of him. The fullness. My body opens around him, welcomes him, needs him exactly where he is. A moan tears from my throat as he seats himself completely, his hips flush against my ass.
"Fuck." His groan is low, guttural. "So tight. You feel so fucking good wrapped around my cock."
He pulls back and thrusts deep again, setting a rhythm that steals every thought from my head. Hard. Relentless. Each stroke hitting places inside me that make my vision blur.
"This pussy is mine," he growls against my ear. "Right now and forever. All mine."
"Yours—"
His hand slides around my hip, finds my clit, circles it in time with his thrusts. The double sensation is too much. His thick cock stretching me, his fingers working me, his voice hot and filthy against my throat.
"My sexy wife." Another deep thrust. "The hot as fuck mother of my child." Another. "I'm going to make you come so hard. I want to hear you scream my name."
I'm climbing again. Already. The pleasure building faster this time, layered on top of the aftershocks still rippling through me. His cock hits deep inside me on every stroke, his fingers relentless on my clit.
"That's it." His breath is ragged now, his rhythm growing urgent. "I can feel you getting close. Feel your pussy squeezing my cock so good."
"Oh, God… Nick, don’t stop."
"I’m not stopping. Say my name when you come."
My orgasm slams into me.
"Nick—"
It starts deep, where his cock is buried inside me, and radiates outward.
Sharper than the first. More intense. My body clamps around him hard, rhythmic pulses that I can't control.
The pleasure rolls and builds again, climbing higher with each thrust until I'm nothing but sensation.
My arms give out and I collapse forward onto the marble, my cheek pressed against the hard surface as release tears through me in relentless waves.
He groans, loud and broken, and slams deep one final time. I feel him coming inside me, his cock pulsing, throbbing, flooding me with heat. His hips jerk against my ass as he empties himself, his fingers digging into the muscle of my hip, his entire body shuddering.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
His chest heaves against my back. His cock is still inside me, still hard, throbbing in time with his heavy heartbeat. My arms are trembling, my legs barely holding me up. The only sound is our ragged breathing.
His forehead drops to my shoulder blade. His lips brush my spine, soft, reverent, a counterpoint to the intensity of what we just did.
"Jesus," he breathes.
"Yeah." It's all I can manage.
He withdraws slowly, and I feel the loss of him immediately, followed by the slick evidence of what we just did sliding down my inner thigh.
“Don’t move,” he says, then I hear him wetting a paper towel at the sink.
He comes back with the cool damp cloth and gently cleans me up before pulling my panties back into place, then smoothing my skirt down over my hips.
Tender. Sweet. The same hands that just held me down and took me apart tending to me with utmost care.
I straighten on unsteady legs and turn to him. He's tucking himself back into his pants, zipping up, but his eyes stay fixed on my face. His gaze is warm and satisfied and full of devotion that makes my ribs squeeze tight.
"You should come home early for lunch more often," I say, grinning now.
His mouth curves. "I agree."
We stare at each other for a beat, and then we're both laughing. Breathless, disbelieving laughter. He pulls me against him, kissing my forehead, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. The laughter fades into quiet contentment.
"Hungry?" he asks.
"Starving."
He resumes pulling ingredients from the refrigerator while I adjust my bra beneath my blouse and settle onto the stool by the island.
My body is still humming. The stuffed elephant sits on the island countertop in front of me, its sweet, silly smile squeezing my heart.
I reach for it and hold it close, its fur impossibly soft against my fingers.
Nick slides a plate in front of me. He never does anything halfway, so of course the turkey sandwich is an architectural masterpiece that smells incredible. He settles onto the stool beside me with his own plate in front of him.
"I was thinking today," he says, watching me take the first bite. “I want you to myself for a while.”
I raise an eyebrow in question, my mouth full.
"Just us,” he says. “No cameras, no security, no wedding details to deal with." He pauses, and something shifts in his expression. It’s the careful lightness that means he's about to say what he's been planning. "So, I've made arrangements."
I set my sandwich down and give him a quizzical look. "What kind of arrangements?"
"A short trip down to the Keys. A few days, just the two of us. If you’re up for it, we can leave tomorrow morning. I’ve got everything lined up already."
I stare at him. "Nick. The wedding is twelve days away. We both have fittings, appointments, the final—"
"It will all be waiting when we get back." His palm wraps around mine on the counter. "All you need to do is pack a bag."
"But—"
"The doctor said minimize stress." His thumb traces circles on my knuckles. "This is me, minimizing your stress. Let me do this for you. For us."
More objections rise in my throat. The details I still need to handle. The calls I haven't returned. Not to mention the other hundreds of demands that pull us in multiple directions every day. How can we just leave?
But beneath all of those reasons why it’s not practical for us to go, need stirs.
The bone-deep exhaustion of carrying it all.
The desperate want to escape, to shed the weight of expectations and obligations and just be with him.
No paparazzi. No security details following my every move.
Just ocean and sky and time that belongs only to us.
I look at his face, recognizing the soft hope in his eyes. And something else, too. The private satisfaction of a man who has a secret he can't wait to share. Something's waiting in the Keys. I can see it in the way he's holding himself, three moves ahead and he won't tell me why.
Whatever he's planning, it's for us.
"Trust me," he murmurs against my lips.
I do trust him. Completely. With my safety, my heart, our future.
The last of my resistance crumbles. “All right. Let’s go.”
He leans in, captures my mouth in a kiss that's slow and deliberate, a promise and an invitation wrapped together.
The Keys. Sunshine and turquoise water. Days alone with the man I love.
Whatever's waiting there—whatever surprise he has planned—I'm ready for it.