21. Sully
Sully
I have a second to consider whether she’s ready.
A mere heartbeat to determine whether this is lust or a rekindling of our love.
If I was asked to assess what my wife was thinking, whether she was ready and maybe whether I was, I’d say that the same look she wore the day I asked her to be my wife is the one she’s wearing now as I lean in for this kiss.
It’s hope. It’s need. It’s uncontrolled want.
Want for a future that lasts beyond just a few minutes. Want for pleasure that can’t be fulfilled through mere touch.
I don’t question whether we’re ready. In this moment, I know what my wife needs because our souls are finally aligned.
Maybe it makes me selfish, but I absorb that feeling.
I sink into it, slide down, and get comfortable.
The deep ache that burrowed within my every nerve, that made simply existing painful when she was no longer mine, is soothed the moment her lips touch mine.
It’s not enough for her, though. Tiny fingers dig into my pajama top, and she tugs me closer. Her warm breath tickles my lips as she lets out the softest of sighs.
“I missed you.” The words are quick, muttered against my lips. “ God, I fucking missed you,” she says again, like the sheer act of saying them is healing.
“Sweetheart.” I cup her cheeks and breathe her in, needing to ground myself just as much as she does. She’s my anecdote. The calm to my restless heart. I stare into her eyes and promise: “I’m not going anywhere.”
Like the words aren’t enough, she climbs onto my lap and wraps her arms around my neck. The quick intake of breath leaves me smiling. My wife just smelled me. Inhaled me.
She presses her lips to my neck, and the smile slips as my body shudders and a moan escapes me.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say again.
Sloane shifts on my lap, and the slight movement, the friction, feels decadent.
“Fuck,” I rasp.
Stilling, she looks into my eyes, her lips parting. Then she does it again, rolling her hips forward.
Fuck . I grunt in satisfaction. In frustration. In need . “ Sloane .”
She does it again.
Her blue eyes are dreamy in the glow of the Christmas lights. She’s a vision. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever set my sights on. And she wants me.
That knowledge encourages me to slide my hands across her arse and squeeze.
Still holding her tight, I lean up and take her lips in another kiss.
This one is longer. Slower. Our tongues mingle, and I loosen my grip and let my hands roam.
I relish the ability to touch her. I reacquaint myself with the feel of her warmth on top of me, beneath my fingers, and against my tongue.
I delight in the sounds she makes and the way she tastes.
I remember every little thing, as if I could have forgotten. How did I lie in bed next to this woman, have a life with this woman, and not do this every moment she asked? How could I have let her doubt that she was the very air I sought, the joy I lived for, and the pleasure I needed ?
Whimpering, she plucks at my waistband.
“Wait,” I mutter, grasping her wrist.
Her eyes fly open and she breaks into a mischievous grin. “You worried I’ll ruin your pajamas?”
I can’t help but smile. It’s been so fucking long since my wife and I fooled around. But it’s been even longer since we smiled during it. Since we laughed with one another.
That knowledge has me grasping her hands and holding them still, afraid I’ll fuck this all up. “We should take this slow, sweetheart. Kissing you is enough.”
Sloane huffs. “But what if it’s not enough for me? What if I need this? What if I tell you—” She inhales sharply, surveying my face, a war raging behind her eyes, like she’s trying to decide just how honest she wants to be.
“Tell me. You can tell me anything,” I plead with her. I’m truly not above begging.
“As much as I missed you,” she admits, her voice going soft. “I’ve missed me even more.” She rolls her tongue over her lip. “I need to feel like me again. I need to know that you aren’t just doing this—” She huffs like she’s annoyed that she doesn’t know how to properly express herself.
I squeeze her wrists quickly and then release them, giving her complete control.
When she settles her palms against my chest, likely feeling my pounding heart, a thrill shoots through me.
Maybe it’s my nerves that give her strength.
Or maybe it’s the way I look at her. I hope she can see just how badly I yearn for her.
That she can sense the complete and utter desire I have for her every thought.
“I need to know it’s not just because I’m pregnant. I need to feel like us again. I don’t want to just do this for the kids. Yes, I’m glad you want to be a better daddy, but I also need you to be a better partner. My partner . My husband. Be my husband, Sully. Show me I’m yours.”
“You are mine,” I growl as an innate understanding of precisely what my wife needs takes over. I lift her into my arms, feeling like fucking Hercules. Like I can do anything.
She squeals as I carry her toward the bedroom.
Maybe it’s not our bedroom, not like the one at home, and maybe we’ve been sharing it with our child, but tonight it’s ours.
Tonight it’s just her and me, and it’s time I remind her that until my dying breath, no matter what the circumstance, her and me is what I want it to be.
“This outfit is ridiculous,” she says as she tugs on the bloody elf costume I was roped into wearing.
I settle her on the bed and pull the ugly top over my head. As I toss it, I stride for the door to lock it. There are too many people in this house, and I have no interest in being interrupted tonight.
“Don’t plan on wearing it for long.” I turn back and, smirking, slide the ridiculous pants down and fist my hard cock.
“Yes,” she hisses, her eyes zeroed in on my dick.
That look alone is enough to make it pulse and my spine tingle.
She kicks at the covers and pushes herself back, like she’s settling in for the little show I’m providing. She gave me one hell of a performance last week in the doctor’s office. Mine isn’t nearly as sexy, but I take my time, drag it out.
“Get over here.” Her voice is needy, desperate.
God damn, I love that she’s the one begging for once. I’ll gladly beg, and I’ll put in the work to get her back, but it’s good to know she’s just as desperate for this. Just as desperate for me.
With intention, I walk toward her, slowly stroking my length, holding myself in an excruciating limbo. I want to live in this moment. In this point in time when Sloane looks at me like I’m the answer to her every wish. Like nothing else in this world could satisfy her.
It’s the way she’s looked at me since we were stupid, na?ve twenty-two-year-old law school students. Even then, she made me want to be better. She’s always made me want to be better. To deserve her. To earn her. Tonight is no different.
I prop my knee on the bed beside her, only to wobble when the pregnancy pillow is in my way.
I growl, annoyed that she even needs it.
When she was pregnant with T.J., that thing spent more time on the floor than anywhere else.
Back then, all my wife needed at night was my body. All she craved was me.
“I’m taking back my spot,” I say as I push it over.
Eyes flashing, she kicks it to the floor. “I hate that thing.”
I pause, studying her. “What?”
Face lowering a fraction, like she’s avoiding eye contact, she says, “I never liked it. Not when I was pregnant with T.J. and not this time. But I haven’t had you.” She shrugs, finally dragging her eyes up to meet mine.
“Sloane Marie Murphy, you always have me. I just wanted you to be comfortable, and I knew that you weren’t comfortable with me.
I thought—” It’s tempting to look away, but I make myself hold her gaze, lose myself in the blue eyes I’ll spend my last seconds on earth chasing.
“I thought you didn’t want me in your bed. That you didn’t need me anymore.”
Sloane lets out a breathy laugh, taking me by surprise. “God, if we just talked, where would we be? If we just said what we meant rather than putting words into one another’s mouths…” She grins at me. “No more, Sully. No more distance, please.”
Every nerve in my body lets out a sigh. I feel it to my toes. Even my heart seems to relax. I lean down, caging her between my arms. “No more distance,” I murmur, my lips a breath from hers. “From now on, we talk.”
She takes me in, her eyes dancing over my face. I can’t help but think she’s memorizing everything about this moment just like I am. “Less talking right now, though.”
“Yes, less talking,” I rasp. Finally, I take her mouth. I kiss my wife the way I’ve been wanting to for months. The way I’ve craved for years. I take back my space in her bed and hope that I’m taking up residence again in her heart.
She presses her warm hand to my chest, though the touch is tentative .
Eager for more, I growl into her mouth. “Stop being so careful with me. You own me, sweetheart. Act like it.”
Her eyes widen in surprise, and then a delicious smile finds her lips. “Okay, then.”
Almost instantly, both of her hands are on my chest, electricity zapping through me at the contact. I take her lips again, and as she explores, another groan slips out of me.
Finally, she begins to act like the wife I remember.
That I so desperately wanted for all these months.
The one whose touch burned me. She brands me with her hands against my skin, warming every delicious inch, and when she goes even lower, I engage my core muscles and break the kiss, my forehead pressed to hers, so I can watch her finally take my cock in her fist.
The first touch is so shocking, I hiss through my teeth. “Oh fuck.”
Sloane hums in delight, squeezing my dick tighter, like she’s reacquainting herself with me.
“Oh god.” She’s the one who whimpers this time. My wife fucking whimpers at the mere feel of my length in her hands.
I can’t help but pump into her fist, and in response, she gasps and focuses on my face again.
“I want to feel that down my throat.”
I leak into her hands. My wife has always loved sucking my cock. And she’s fucking phenomenal at it.
But I can’t remember the last time she begged for it.
I’m so keyed up by her touch, by the thought of her tongue, that I thrust into her hand again. “Tonight’s about you.”
She licks her lips, eyes down, lusting after my cock. “Exactly. Now give me what I want.”
I drop my head to her shoulder as my dick literally weeps in her hands. Begging for me to give her what she needs. Relieved that it’s still me. “Need you naked first,” I say with a kiss to her neck.
Forcing myself up onto my knees, I give her room to wiggle out of her pajamas. She doesn’t go slow, and she doesn’t try to give me a show, but still, the moment her smooth skin is bared to me, my heart races.
“Bloody hell, Sloane, you’re beautiful.” I cage her in again and suck a nipple into my mouth, drawing a keening cry from her. I play with the sharp peaks, giving them equal attention.
“Oh god, I think I could come from just that,” she babbles, thrusting her hips up into my knee.
“Not a chance,” I tell her as I climb up her body. “You come around my cock.”
She knows what I want. I want her lips around my shaft when she comes.
She loves it like this. She loves when I settle my knees on either side of her head and feed her my cock.
When I fuck her mouth nice and slow until she’s ready to take me down her throat.
She loves to moan around my dick while she plays with her clit.
And I love to clean up the mess she makes the moment she shatters.
It happens quickly. She wasn’t lying. When she detonates, moaning around my shaft, I have to squeeze my arse cheeks to keep from coming with her.
As her delicious tongue dances around my crown, I clench my eyes shut.
I only give myself a second to savor it before pulling back and working my way down her body.
She widens her thighs for me, but I palm them and spread them farther, then take one long, slow lick, relishing the taste of my wife’s orgasm.
“Fucking perfect.” I press a kiss to her clit, and when she squirms beneath me, I suction my mouth over her clit and suck. I tease her with my tongue, back and forth, back and forth while she humps my face, babbling about how badly she wants me to finger her pussy. Or her arse. She likes both.
I haven’t gotten my fill of watching her writhe, though. Or the begging. First to kiss me, then to touch me, and now for my cock. Heart thundering, I growl into her flesh. I’m lost to the blood pulsing through my veins, the word mine on repeat in my head.
“This pussy is mine,” I tell her as I finally give her a finger.
She spasms, moaning and fisting the sheets and bucking up into me.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Give me another one. Come all over my fingers.” I give her another one, and she cries out at the intrusion. “Fuck, Sloane, you are so bloody tight. You’re going to strangle my cock.”
She nods violently. “Yes, that, please now.”
With a shake of my head, I position my mouth over her clit and suck again. Fucking hell, I want it too. I’m desperate to slide home again, to bury myself in my wife, but she needs to come again first.
I drag my thumb through her pussy, collecting her arousal, then drift down her perineum and over her arsehole. “Gonna take this again too.”
She cries out again. My wife loves anal.
I push in and play, fucking chuffed that I’ve now had all my wife’s holes. With my lips sealed over that bundle of nerves, I finger her pussy and thumb her arse until she’s a wreck, squirting into my mouth and crying out my name.
Only when I’ve wrung every last delicious drop of her orgasm from her do I climb up and press my mouth to hers, making sure she can taste what I’ve done to her.
“Mine,” I snarl into her mouth.
She claws at me and wraps one leg around me, trying to force me to fuck her.
“Then show me,” she pants. “Be my husband, Sully. Fuck me.” Her words are desperate now. Exactly like I need them.
And when I sink into her, just that first inch, finally feeling the tight heat that I’ll never not crave, I kiss her in the exact same way. Desperate to hold on to this moment. Desperate to hold on to her. The only woman I’ve ever loved. And the only one I ever will.