Chapter 22 #3
“Make all the mess you want.” The words are pressed against the strong lines of his rippling abs as I brace myself on his thighs and nuzzle the soft skin there. “As long as you clean it up.”
“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck!” He draws out a curse again when my lips trace the length of him in small, fleeting kisses. “I’ll clean whatever you want, just don’t stop. Please don’t fucking stop.”
“Oh, I’ve only just begun, husband.” I hold his hips and press my lips to the hard lines of exposed muscle.
For a moment, I close my eyes and breathe him in.
I love the way my husband smells. The way his muscles dance beneath my touch as his lungs struggle to feed him air.
He fights for each breath even harder when my tongue begins a slow descent to the thick root of his shaft.
“God Almighty, wife,” he pants. Encouraged by his reaction, I relax a little more but avoid taking him fully into my mouth just yet. I want him to enjoy his first time for as long as possible.
From beneath my lashes, I look up and my heart almost stops.
Even though Warren’s shirt hides his chest from view, his entire body is a work of art.
A work of art with powerful thighs and shoulders straining against the clothes imprisoning them.
Almost obsessively, he watches my lips slide up and down his length, and when I get too close to his leaking cockhead, he tears his shirt off and throws his head back, corded tendons in his neck flexing.
A slow, burning need builds in my core as his low, deep groan travels through me and lands at my center, and I tighten my thighs to heighten the sensation. I hadn’t expected to crave doing this for him so much. Not after…before. Maybe love and choice make all the difference.
“Fuck, Mara.” Warren drags my name out when I cup his balls and roll them between my fingers. Ready to give him more, I tease him with open-mouthed kisses pressed everywhere except his tip until he’s almost panting with need.
The sofa may not be in as much danger of punctures from his fingers as it is from collapsing beneath his weight, because the moment my lips wrap around his leaking cockhead, his legs buckle.
And when I suck while using my tongue to polish the sensitive head, he almost falls back with a guttural bellow.
A thrill of triumph courses through my blood at how easily this big, strong man is undone by my touch.
He’s never shared this intimate act with anyone else.
Only me.
And I want to make it so very good for him.
“Don’t fall!” I laugh around him. “And don’t wake Emmaline or we’ll have to postpone this until later.” I grip his thighs to bring him closer, to worship his body and show him how much I love his every part.
There is so very, very much of him to love.
“Fuck…” Thick fingers wind clumsily through my hair. “This okay?” Warren asks with uncertainty, his gaze bolting between my lips and my eyes as if he can’t bear to miss a moment of either sight.
“Just don’t pull too tightly.” I take him deeper, using my hands and mouth to show him what he means to me.
How I accept his love and give my own in return.
I close my eyes and allow myself to simply be in this moment with him as my lips coax him to release.
To breathe in the fresh, clean scent of him.
To relish his sounds of desire and know that he is mine.
“S’good,” Warren slurs. The poor man is bad off, fighting to keep his hips still—or trying his best to—as if any wrong movement would make me stop. “So fucking good. You’re so beautiful, Mara. Love you. Love your lips.”
I come off his tip with a sucking pop that makes him hiss.
The veins on his thick cock are even more prominent than before.
The next time I do this, I’m going to trace each one with my tongue and see how long it will take to drive him over the edge.
But for today, I tell him, “It’s okay. You can move just like when we’re in bed. ”
Although I give him permission, his thrusts are shallow and considerate. Gentlemanly, even, just like the way he holds my hair. I’m not as circumspect. Whatever doesn’t fit in my mouth receives vigorous attention from my hands, and I swirl my tongue around the head of his cock.
“Close,” he gasps out, stomach muscles contracting and hips stuttering as he tries to back away. “Mara—I think…”
One hand tightening around his base, I slide the other down and lightly use my nails on the underside of his balls in silent encouragement for him to finish inside my mouth.
That small movement is what decimates the last of his restraint.
He spills into me, sweetly cursing my name, and I swallow all he has to give.
“Goddamn,” Warren manages, out of breath and staring down at me in wonder. “I don’t even know how I managed to keep standing with the way you almost sucked the life out of me.” He pulls me up and into his arms. The heartbeat I love so much to hear thumps wildly beneath my palms.
He frames my face, intently thumbing the tingling lips that were stretched around him mere moments ago. “This mouth of yours is my undoing, wife. You didn’t even leave anything for me to clean up.”
Not on my face, but the wetness between my thighs…
My thoughts must show, because he crooks a dark brow upward with a rascally grin. “Or did you?”
I take his hand and move it down my front. “Maybe you’d better find out for yourself.”
He does just that, and the last thing I remember thinking before he makes a meal of me is that marrying a man with a penchant for cleaning after himself certainly has its benefits.