Chapter 51 #2
“That’s very romantic but also potentially medically inadvisable,” I point out.
He kisses me again. Softer this time. “Trust me. I know my limits.”
Trust. Right. The thing we’re rebuilding brick by brick.
“Okay,” I breathe. “But the second it gets bad, you tell me.”
“Deal.”
I pause. Then say: “I do want to.”
He looks at me uncertainly. “Mmm?”
The words tumble out before I can overthink them. “I do want to move back in. As your partner.”
Something in his expression softens. Cracks open.
“Good,” he says quietly. “Because Ben’s been asking for you every night. And I’ve been... I’ve missed the hell out of you, Jess. The house just doesn’t feel right without you in it.”
My chest goes tight. “I’ve missed you, too. Both of you. More than you know.”
We kiss again, then I break away long enough to unclasp my bracelet. I set it on the nightstand.
His eyes track the movement and darken further.
He moves then. Backs me toward the bed with purpose. Not aggressively, just confidently. Like he knows exactly what I want and is done pretending he doesn’t.
My back hits the mattress. He follows me down, careful of his shoulder.
“I need you to know something,” he says against my mouth. “I’m going to take my time with you. Going to make you feel everything. And when you’re ready to cum, you’re going to ask me for permission first.”
Oh.
Oh fuck.
That should not be as hot as it is.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I manage.
“Good girl.”
The praise sends heat straight through my pussy.
His lips trail fire down my neck. Slow, open-mouthed kisses that make me arch into him.
Each one feels like a vow whispered against my skin.
He takes his time peeling off my sweater, his fingers skimming my ribs as he lifts it over my head.
When it’s gone, he pauses, his gaze raking over the lace of my bra like he’s committing every detail to memory.
“Perfect,” he breathes, tracing the swell of my breast with his thumb.
Then his hands drop to my jeans. He unbuttons them with agonizing slowness, knuckles brushing the sensitive skin below my navel. I gasp as he slides the denim down my hips, and I bend my knees to help him ease them past my ankles.
His eyes never leave mine, dark and hungry, as he tosses them aside.
Now I’m in nothing but my soaking wet underwear, trembling under his scrutiny.
Vulnerable and exposed.
His.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs again, but this time it’s with reverence.
His palms glide up my thighs, over my hips, skimming my waist until they cradle my face. He worships every inch... the curve of my shoulder, the dip of my collarbone, the flutter of my pulse beneath his thumb.
When he finally cups my breasts, still inside the bra, I whimper.
“So fucking perfect, Jess.”
He rises then, standing before me to strip off his Henley in one fluid motion.
The dim light spills over him, and I suck in a breath.
Jesus Christ.
His body is a masterpiece, mostly as I remember it. Corded muscle sheathed in golden skin. Sculpted abs that ripple as he moves, hard and defined like carved stone.
My gaze follows the deep V-cut of his obliques, that seductive trail leading beneath his waistband.
The new scars on his face and shoulder only amplify his raw power, those silvered lines a map of survival that make him look like a warrior.
I drink him in. The breadth of his chest. The tight ridges of his abdomen. That V, sharp and primal, drawing my eyes lower.
Desire coils hot in my belly, and I bite my lip. My panties get even wetter, if that’s possible.
“You’re staring,” he says roughly.
“You’re worth staring at,” I whisper back. “All of you. These muscles.” My hand lifts, trembling, to trace the grooves of his abs. He shivers under my touch. “These scars.” I brush a finger along the one spanning his collarbone. “You’re... you’re breathtaking, Marco.”
Something in his expression softens.
Then he reaches into his nightstand and pulls out a small vibrator.
Oh we’re doing this.
We’re absolutely doing this.
“Check these out,” he says.
He shows me the padded cuffs attached to the headboard. Quick-release.
“What do you think?” he asks. “Or do you prefer the ties?”
“These work,” I shrug, trying to feign indifference, when all I can think is:
Just fuck me!
He grins. “That’s my girl. And yes, I’ll fuck you shortly.”
I redden.
Yep, he can definitely read minds.
He secures my wrists gently. Tests the releases twice. Makes sure I can free myself if needed.
Then he’s touching me again.
His fingers reignite every nerve. One hand skims my ribs, teasing the lace edge of my bra while his mouth claims the slope of my shoulder.
He sucks lightly, then soothes with his tongue.
I writhe against the cuffs, the restraint only heightening the ache.
His other hand slips lower, tracing the waistband of my panties with agonizing slowness.
“Marco,” I whimper, arching off the bed.
“Hush, my vixen.” His breath ghosts over my sternum as he nips at the swell of my breast through damp lace. “I’ve dreamed of this.”
His palm cups my groin fully, his heel grinding against my clit through the fabric while his thumb circles my nipple through the lace bra. The dual assault makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
He drags his mouth downward, leaving a trail of hot, open kisses along my trembling abdomen.
His teeth graze my love handles, and I gasp.
When he hooks his fingers into my panties, he doesn’t remove them yet.
Instead, he teases the soaked fabric against my folds, creating friction that has me bucking against his hand. “Please—”
“Tell me what you need,” he commands, lifting his head. His eyes are black fire in the dim light.
“You.” The word tears from me. “Everywhere.”
He rewards me with a groan against my inner thigh, his tongue licking a path toward my core. Through the lace, he bites down gently where I’m throbbing, and I cry out.
The vibration of his low chuckle against my skin is pure agony. “Patience. I’m savoring you.”
When he finally unhooks my bra and slides off my panties so that I’m completely naked, I’m trembling like a leaf.
“Please,” I gasp.
“Not yet.” His voice is dark. Commanding. “You cum when I say.”
He settles between my legs, and the vibrator finally hums to life. He runs it over my inner thigh. Teasing. Building. Never quite where I need it.
“Marco.” His name comes out as a whimper.
“I know, my vixen. I know.” He finally presses it where I need it and circles slowly. “Feel that?”
“Yes!” I pull against the cuffs. Not to escape. Just to move. To do something with the energy building inside me.
He works me higher. Right to the edge. Then pulls back.
I make a sound of pure frustration.
“Good girls ask permission,” he reminds me.
“That’s evil,” I pant.
“That’s edging.” He sounds pleased with himself.
He builds me up again. Slower this time. More deliberate. Until I’m shaking and desperate and ready to beg.
“Please,” I finally gasp. “Please, Marco. I need to cum. Really bad!”
“Not yet.” But his voice has gone rough. Strained. Like holding back is costing him, too.
His hand leaves my clit just long enough to fumble in the nightstand drawer. A foil packet crinkles as he tears it open.
I watch, breath caught, as he sheathes himself with deliberate slowness.
His eyes never leave mine, dark and possessive, while his thumb strokes the length of himself through the latex.
The visual is obscenely intimate: the flex of his forearm, the swell of his bicep, the way his abs tighten with the movement.
“Look at you,” he rasps, shifting back between my thighs. “So fucking ready for me. So fucking wet. Are you going to squirt for me tonight?”
The broad head of his cock nudges my entrance, slick and insistent. He presses just enough to make me gasp. A teasing stretch that promises oblivion.
All the while, the vibrator stays at my clit, humming at its highest setting. He circles it relentlessly, igniting sparks that race up my spine.
“Now,” he growls, surging forward.
The invasion is exquisite. A burning, incredible stretch that steals my breath. I feel every ridge, every pulse of him as he fills me inch by torturous inch.
He bottoms out, his hips flush against mine, and holds there. Deep. Claiming.
The vibrator never stops, its buzz syncing with the hammering of my heart.
“Cum for me, Jess.” His command is raw, a velvet whip in the darkness. “Let me feel you shatter.”
Oh God.
The combination of him filling me and the vibrator still humming against my clit sends me over the edge hard.
My climax tears through me, feeling like a white-hot detonation that sears every nerve. I scream his name, thrashing against the cuffs as warmth gushes from me, soaking the sheets beneath us.
“Marco! Oh God, Marco!”
He groans at the sensation, and I can feel his huge cock pulsing inside me as he finds his own release just as quickly. My pussy is clenching against his throbbing member, but then he abruptly pulls out.
Before I can process the loss, he rips off the condom and dives between my thighs. His tongue laps hungrily at my release, drinking me down as I quiver uncontrollably beneath him.
“Sweet fucking hell,” he rasps against my soaked skin, his fingers digging into my hips. “You taste like pure candy.”
I’m still spasming when he tears open another condom, rolls it on swiftly, and slams back into me. No teasing this time. He gives me deep, punishing, jackhammer strokes that steal my breath.
“Marco Marco Marco,” I say in time to each thrust. My brain has gone numb.
The vibrator finds my clit again, and he quickly drives me to the brink.
Yes—
Yes—
Suddenly he says, “Cum again. Now.”
Yes!
My body obeys his command and a second orgasm rips through me. There’s less gushing than before, but wetness still slicks my thighs.
He doesn’t pause, fucking me through the wet tremors until he too is quivering on top of me, and we’re cumming together.
Finally he collapses on top of me, panting.