Maximalist
LILA
Ithought Slade would be careful in bed, measured and controlled the same way he is about everything else.
I was so wrong.
He is relentless.
Against the wall with the water pouring down on us and the steam rising everywhere, his hips drive into mine with a force that knocks the breath out of me on every thrust. His body is pinning mine to the wall and holding me there as he pounds into me.
His hands grip the backs of my thighs hard enough to bruise and I want the bruises. I want the evidence of this on my skin tomorrow. I want to feel him for days.
His lips drag along my throat. Open-mouthed and hungry, his stubble rasping against my wet skin, and then his teeth find the curve where my neck meets my shoulder and he bites down. I gasp from the shock of it, and he does it again in exactly the same spot like he’s staking a claim.
He fucks me like he’s been starving for it.
Like fifteen years of moving on and keeping everything at arm’s length built up a pressure that only this can release.
Like some part of him that has been locked down and leashed and carefully controlled for as long as he can remember has finally, finally been let off that leash and has absolutely no interest in being put back on it.
His hips drive into mine, hard and deep, each thrust pushing me up the tile wall. I hold onto his shoulders and feel everything, the cold tile and the hot water and his mouth on my throat. The fullness of him, the building pressure that is rapidly becoming unbearable.
Then without warning he pulls out and sets me down. My feet find the tile and his hands find my waist steadying me. Before I’ve processed any of it, he’s scooping me back up, both of us dripping wet, completely unconcerned, and moving.
His mouth finds mine in the steam and he kisses me as he carries me out of the bathroom, still hard against me, and I wrap myself around him and kiss him back as the cold air of the bedroom hits my wet skin.
He lays me down on his bed. On his white duvet, his fluffy pillows, everything I picked for him. This room that smells like cedar and him, and I barely have time to register any of it before he’s over me, all of him, his full weight settling between my thighs, his forearms bracketing my head.
I stare into his deep green eyes. We’re still both soaking and neither of us care.
He notches himself at my entrance. In one thrust, he drives his cock into me again. I gasp at the sudden fullness of him again, deeper somehow in this position, hitting me deep in a way that makes my toes curl.
He swallows the sound with his mouth, his hips finding a rhythm immediately. His pelvis rolls into mine on every thrust and I feel the friction on my clit, feel the pleasure building at the base of my spine, my whole body yearning for everything I know he’ll give me.
His weight pins me to the mattress and I feel completely surrounded by him. His size, his warmth, his scent, and I pull him closer anyway because I’ll never get enough of him either.
“I want to come inside you.” His hips drive forward. “You want that, baby?”
“Please,” I gasp, my inner muscles clenching down at his request.
He drags his mouth to my ear. “That’s right. I can feel how much you want it. Fuck. You make me lose my mind.”
My fingernails rake down his back as my legs wrap even tighter around him.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes. “I’m gonna fill you up so full it drips down your thighs. And you’re gonna squeeze every last drop out of me.” His teeth graze my earlobe. “You gonna do that for me?”
“Yes,” I breathe. “I’m on the pill. You can. Yes.”
He shifts his weight, hooks my knee up over his hip, pushes deeper as he gazes at me, something hot and desirous moving through his expression.
“Someday,” he says, “you’re going to go off it.” His thumb drags across my lower lip. “Someday I’m going to breed you for real. Fill you up and keep you that way.”
As he gives me a hard, almost punishing thrust, I see stars behind my eyes.
I don’t put any stock in what he’s saying. He’s out of his mind with arousal right now—he just told me as much—and it’s got him saying all kinds of things. And yet something in me wants to hold onto every word of it.
I don’t let myself.
He leans down to kiss me again before continuing, “But for now…”
“For now?” I repeat breathlessly.
As he slams his cock inside me in slow, hard, rhythmic thrusts, he grunts against my throat. His lips are open, teeth grazing my skin, breath hot. “For now I’m going to make a mess of your pretty little cunt,” he says. “And you’re gonna take it.”
His hips drive into mine with a force that makes the bed pound against the wall, that drives the air out of my lungs on every stroke and I don’t care, I want more. Any pretense of control is gone now.
With my my legs locked around him, I pull him closer, my whole body arching up to meet him. My heel slams into his thigh. My nails sink into his back and drag down and I feel the skin raise under them.
“You feel so good,” he grits out. His jaw is tight. His arms are shaking slightly with the effort of holding back. “So fucking good. I’m not going to last.”
He’s fucking me so deep that my head bumps up against the headboard and I don’t care. I’m barely aware of the sounds I’m making, how loud I’m being, and I don’t care about that either. Not when every noise I make seems to inflame him, to drive him even wilder.
“I’m so close,” I pant. “Come inside me. I want to feel you come.”
My words make him groan. His hand slides between us. His thumb finds my clit and that’s what it takes to send me over the edge.
I’m coming again when he grabs the back of my head and forces my face harder to his. Our noses bend. Our teeth knock.
The climax hits me all at once, sudden and total and overwhelming, my back arching off the mattress, his name tearing out of my throat.
His hips drive forward hard. His forehead drops to mine and his eyes close and he groans. His body shudders and I feel his cum pulse inside me, hot and deep.
I hold him with my arms locked around his shoulders, his full weight pressing me into the bed. I take his face and angle it up so our open mouths meet and we breathe each other’s air. Even with him buried inside me, I can’t get enough of him.
Then he lifts himself up on his arms and kisses me.
Deep and almost bruising, his hand cupping the back of my head, and when he pulls back his eyes are very dark.
When I first met him I thought him unreadable but I can read him now, can read the affection and possessiveness and something that looks like wonder in his eyes.
“I can’t believe you’re my wife,” he whispers. “Can’t believe you’re mine.”
Mine.
I am his. Completely. His ring on my finger and his cock deep inside me and his name the only thing in my head. Claimed in every way two people can claim each other, joined as intimately and completely as it’s possible to be. Married, body and soul.
If only for this brief moment in time.
I swallow against the tightness that thought puts in my throat. Because this is real right now. Whatever comes after, right now, I am his and he is mine. This is the version of Slade no one else gets to see. My husband, fierce and passionate and tender all at once, just for me.
“Believe it,” I tell him softly.
I stroke my fingertips along his jaw. The stubble rasping under my fingers. His pulse thrumming at his throat.
His eyes close for just a second.
When they open they’re very green. Sharp, now, like the haze of lust has receded and the alert, ever watchful Slade is back.
They move over my face with that assessing look, except this time it’s not checking my ankle or my riding stance.
His expression shifts from satisfaction to concern as he asks suddenly, “Did I hurt you?”
I blink at him in surprise. “Of course not.”
“I was…” There’s something uncertain moving across his face that I’ve never seen there before, almost nervous. He withdraws his softening cock and rolls off me, putting a forearm over his eyes.
I can still see his grimace beneath it.
“I don’t know what came over me,” he says, still not looking at me, but his arm extended, still touching me as though he can’t stop himself. “I just snapped. Couldn’t control it.” He swallows. “I didn’t mean to be so rough with you. You’re so much smaller than me, and soft everywhere, and I’m…”
“Slade.” I catch his hand where it’s moving up my arm and hold it still. “Look at me.”
Taking his arm off his eyes, he looks at me.
“I feel amazing,” I say. “You’re amazing. That was…” I exhale. “That was a lot. In a good way. Intense.”
“Too much?”
“No such thing.” I shift closer to him, closing the distance between us until we’re chest to chest, his heartbeat under my palm. I tease, “I’m a maximalist, remember?”
He doesn’t smile yet. Still watching me with that careful attention, still checking.
“There is nothing you could do that’s too much for me,” I assure him, stroking his chest. “I love the way you hold me. The way you kiss me.” I slide my fingers into his damp hair and push the strands off his forehead.
“I love the way you fuck me.” My hand cups his jaw, as gentle and comforting a touch as I can give him. “I can’t get enough of you.”
I never will.
He lets out a breath. “Okay,” he says. “Good.”
He reaches for me, pulling me against his side. His hand finds my hair, smoothing it back from my face, slow and gentle.
His lips press to my forehead. My temple. The corner of my eye. Featherlight kisses of pure affection.
This is what I wanted that first night. What I stood in the hallway and ached for through a closed door on our wedding night.
The sex, yes, but this too. Being held like I’m loved. Like I’m something precious to him.
I press my face into his chest and close my eyes and pretend that’s true.