Chapter 30
thirty
. . .
Riley
Al is quiet on the drive back to the house. The snow is falling steadily, so even though I want to touch him, I force myself to keep my hands to myself. I don’t want to imagine a wreck where Emmy loses all three of her parents.
When we finally walk through the front door, Brigitte is on the couch, reading a thick textbook, the baby monitor on the coffee table. The faint crackle of the white noise proves Emmy is sound asleep, and I sigh with relief.
“How was she?” Al asks, rushing over to the monitor and peering at the grainy picture on the screen. The tension in his shoulders loosens as the device relays Emmy’s soft, steady breaths. My stomach flutters at how adorably overprotective he is.
“She was perfect. Fussed a little at bedtime, since she was off her routine, but nothing I couldn’t handle,” she reports.
Within a few quick minutes, she has packed up her things, we’ve paid her, and she’s gone.
Al looks exhausted. It’s easy to forget he played a full game today.
“Let’s head to bed,” I say, taking his hand, and his eyebrows shoot up.
All my earlier nerves come flooding back as I lead him up the stairs, bypassing my room and heading directly to his. The snick of the door closing after us is loud in the otherwise quiet room, the only sounds his ragged breathing and the pounding of my heart.
I want this. Want him. And that’s confirmed the moment I turn to face him, drinking him in. The way his broad chest fills out the custom suit, his thick thighs and powerful frame.
“I have no expectations here,” he says, his voice hoarse. “If you want to go to sleep—”
My heels click on the floor as I step forward, reaching for his suit jacket.
I slip it off his shoulders, and he helps me shrug it off, then his tie, before I reach for his shirt.
Slowly, I unhook each button, revealing his wide, furry chest. Body hair has never really drawn me in, but something about the scrape of his against my knuckles drives me wild.
I turn to give him my back. “There’s a zipper.”
His thick fingers brush against the nape of my neck, smoothing my hair out of the way. He presses a kiss to the notch at the base of my skull as he drags the tiny metal tab down, down, down my spine. The fabric gapes and I step out of my dress, letting it pool to the floor.
I face him again, and his eyes dart between my lips and my black lace bra. When I reach for him again, he helps me discard his shirt, and then I push lightly on his chest until he sits on the bed. Al stares up at me, his eyes dark.
There’s no sexy way to take off a pair of tights. But the heat in his gaze proves he isn’t turned off by how the spandex digs into my belly, leaving red marks behind.
He snags my hips, pulling me closer until I’m standing between his spread thighs. His fingertips run over the edge of my panties, leaving tingles in his wake.
“Are you okay if these come off?” he murmurs, his tone husky with need. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“I want to,” I whisper back. I don’t know why I’m whispering, though.
This moment feels big. Heavy. Like I’m walking on a tightrope, high above the ground, and he’s the only thing keeping me from tipping over. I know he’ll catch me if I fall. When I fall. For the first time, tumbling off the ledge and into his arms doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world.
Reaching behind me, I unclasp my bra, letting it fall to the floor. Then I hook my fingers in the waistband of my panties and shove them unceremoniously off my hips.
Al is still wearing his suit pants, the crotch tented by his erection.
Warmth floods between my legs at the visible proof of his arousal.
We have an emotional connection, a legal obligation to each other, but knowing he wants me in this way…
I can finally relax a little. I’m not alone in this.
Whatever happens between us will happen, one way or another.
I don’t need to be afraid and hold myself back any longer.
He’s promised me the moon. Now I have to trust that he’ll deliver.
His hands land on my hips, his thumbs caressing the divot of the joints as he pulls me closer.
I take a step forward, then another, and straddle his lap, bringing my chest flush with his.
The rapid-fire pounding of his heart hammers against mine, sending my own into overdrive.
His coarse chest hair tickles my breasts in the most delicious way that makes me wet.
Threading my arms around his neck, I sink onto his thighs, his hard cock pressing against my ass. He lets out a groan, the sound pained.
“Riley…”
Holy fucking hell.
I never thought my name on his lips would sound so good. It soothes my soul in a way I didn’t know I needed.
His arms loop around my waist, holding me to him, and then he surges upward, twisting, and tosses me onto the bed. I bounce on the mattress, and he grins, hunger in his eyes.
He wastes no time in whipping off his belt, the whistle of the leather through the loops sending a shiver down my spine. Shoving his pants and underwear down his thick thighs, he steps out of his clothes and stalks toward me, climbing onto the bed and settling beside me.
For a beat, we stare at each other, greedily drinking each other in. His cock bobs against his sculpted, hairy abs, twitching the longer I look at him. I can’t decide where I want to start first.
Realization hits me that this might be our first time, but it won’t be our only time. Not when we have forever together. We’ll get to do this again, and again, and again, and I can’t fucking wait.
He stretches out, lying on his side, and draws one of my legs over his hips, opening me up. There’s a good foot of space between us, but it feels like a mile.
I trail my fingers over his pec, down the center of his chest, and over his abs.
His body hair scratches my fingertips, the coarse hair tickling.
I don’t hate it, though. It’s sexy as hell.
He is one hundred percent confident in who he is and what he looks like, and that is the sexiest thing about him. More than his face or his dick.
Although… I quite like his face. And I love his dick.
I continue my journey and wrap my hand around his cock, thick and hard, his length throbbing in my grip. Sticky precum gathers at his slit, and I run my thumb over it, spreading the viscous fluid over him.
Al groans, his fingers flexing into my hip before he moves to my ass, kneading the flesh. His mouth seals over mine, kissing the breath out of me. It takes everything in me to remember to stroke him, so overwhelmed by all the sensations coursing through me.
I never thought a kiss could be like this: so right, so perfect. Soul-consuming. His tongue strokes into my mouth, tangling with mine, and I allow myself to sink into this, into him. Giving myself permission to live in the moment instead of hyperanalyzing every fucking second of this.
His fingers tiptoe over the curve of my hip and down to my mound, then lower to my clit. Sparks of pleasure burst through me as his thumb brushes against me, and I shudder, letting out a soft moan in the back of my throat. The touch is too light, too brief. I want more. I need more.
Rolling onto my back, I pull him with me. He nudges my hand away from his cock and then brings his fingers between my legs. His fingertips dip low, gathering the wetness at my core, before brushing over my clit again.
“What do you like?” He trails kisses down my neck, over my chest. The soft hair of his beard abrades me, leaving my skin pink and tingly in his wake.
Self-consciousness threatens to take over, but I shove it aside and take his hand, directing him exactly where I want him, with the exact right amount of pressure. He takes over, his fingers drawing quick, hard circles over my sensitive skin.
With his mouth on me, his fingers stroking me, pleasure floods through my system. My body feels disconnected from my brain as the sensations overtake me, and I fall.
I fall and I fall and I fall. But he catches me. Just like he promised.
As I come down, he continues to kiss my neck, nibbling at a spot beneath my jaw that makes me gasp. I shake my head a few times, trying to concentrate. We need to have this conversation before I throw all caution to the wind and do something we’ll both regret in the cold light of day.
“We should talk,” I say, shoving his hand away from between my legs.
His eyes widen. “Now?” His voice is rough and gravelly, but there’s no denying the hurt there.
Fuck, I’m doing this wrong. The bed jostles as I sit up, folding my legs, and he props himself up on his elbow.
His gaze is heavy on me, the weight of his stare sending warmth flooding between my legs again.
Almost against my will, my hand finds his chest, and I lay my palm over his pounding heart. The rapid-fire beats soothe me.
Blowing out a breath, I level with him. “I don’t usually come from penetration. It doesn’t do it for me.”
He hums, thoughtful. “Okay, then.”
That’s it? That’s all he has to say?
“I know it’s an ego thing for some guys, to try to make it happen, but it probably won’t for me. You can still fuck me. It means I won’t—”
His palm lands over my mouth, silencing me. I should hate it, him taking my voice away, but the serious look in his eyes settles something deep within me.
“Do you trust me?” he murmurs.
I nod. Absolutely. With every fiber of my being.
Removing his hand, he kisses me again, quick and hard. “Be right back.”
Blinking, all I can do is watch as he pulls away. He gets out of bed, buck naked, and leaves the room. What the hell?
But then I hear him rummaging around next door. Why is he in my room? What is he doing in there?
I have my answer a few moments later when he returns, holding my hot-pink vibrator in his hand. My face heats, a flush spreading over my cheeks and down my chest.
“What are you doing?”
He knew it was there. Does that mean he’s heard me? Oh, fuck.
Al stalks toward me, his hard cock bobbing between his legs. He climbs onto the bed, tossing the vibrator beside me, and covers my body with his again.
“Toys are friends. They aren’t a threat. Not to me, not to my ego.” His lips twist in a smirk. “If that’s what it takes to get you there, I want all the tools in my arsenal.”
My heart beats a little faster. He’s not offended or put off… but that doesn’t mean he’ll like what I have to say next. I take a breath, then exhale slowly. The contraception talk might be even more embarrassing than my husband knowing I use a vibrator while I think of him.
But if we can’t have these conversations, we have no business having sex.
“My last test results were negative, and I have an IUD.”
“Me too.” He laughs awkwardly. “Not the IUD part. The test results. But if it would make you feel better…” Leaning over, he rummages in the bedside table, coming up with an unopened box of condoms. “We can be double protected. Make sure nothing happens until we’re ready for it.”
Until. Like it’s a given that we could have children together. Like he wants to expand our family.
Not right now. We can talk about it again later, when we’re not so lust-blind to the consequences.
But it doesn’t sound terrible. Having more kids. Giving Emmy a sibling—or more than one. I’ve never really thought about having kids myself, but now that I have her in my life, I wouldn’t trade her for the world.
Warmth floods over me, and I heave out a sigh of relief. “I think I want that.”
“We’re new. Just because we’re married doesn’t mean we can’t use them. It’s not a matter of trust or commitment. It’s protection—for both of us. IUDs aren’t infallible.”
He gets me. In a few words, he’s summarized what I’ve been struggling with. He makes me feel seen. Heard. Appreciated.
Taking the box from him, I rip it open and snag a foil square off the strip. I push it into his hand, his fingertips brushing mine and sending shockwaves through me.
All finesse is brushed aside as he tears open the condom, his knuckles brushing the inside of my thigh while he gets himself situated.
I expect him to roll on top of me right away and get down to business, but he surprises me by cupping my cheek, his thumb stroking over my nose.
“You’re sure about this?” he murmurs.
“I’ve never been so sure about anything.”