Attached
SLADE
As I slide my hand down her belly, she inhales. Bites her lip.
Then she stops my wrist. “Not yet.”
I stare at her, bewildered.
She raises an eyebrow, sweet and completely merciless.
“You said you’d work for it,” she says. She leans in and presses her lips to my jaw, my throat, and keeps her hand moving and I tip my head back and let her. She murmurs, “So work for it.”
I drop my head back against the headboard. A laugh comes out of me before I can stop it. I did say that. Fuck my life.
Of course Lila would have way too much fun holding me to my promise.
Then I get both hands back on her breasts because if she’s not going to let me touch her pussy, I’m going to make her want me to.
“You’re so good,” I tell her, squeezing her tits. Playing with her nipples until they get red and puffy. “So good to me. You feel so good.”
As I play with her tits, her breathing changes.
Her strokes get less steady. Her free hand braces against my abs and her hips shift forward looking for friction that isn’t there and I feel her getting desperate and I keep going, my thumbs moving in slow circles, my mouth finding her throat, her collarbone, the curve of her shoulder.
“Slade,” she gasps. “Touch me.”
My teeth find the shell of her ear and graze gently. “I am touching you, sweetheart.”
“Slade.” Breathless now. Her hips roll forward again. “Please.”
Her cheeks are flushed and her lips are parted and her hair is falling around her shoulders. She’s so beautiful I feel it like a physical pressure in my chest. I can’t believe she’s in my arms. Can’t believe she’s touching me and letting me touch her.
“Please what,” I say.
She holds my gaze. “Touch my pussy. Please.”
Fuck. I nearly come right there.
I slide my hand down, finding her already so slick and hot and fucking perfect.
“Sweetheart,” I murmur. “You’re so wet. All this for me?”
“Only you,” she says. “Always.” Her voice comes out unsteady because my fingers are moving and she’s already so close. I’ve been thinking about this for months but the reality of her is so far beyond anything I imagined that I lose track of everything except her.
Her hand has stilled on my cock.
I keep going. Keep sliding my fingers from her slit to her clit, circling there, dipping into her wet tight heat.
“Keep stroking me,” I say against her throat. “I’m gonna fuck you with my fingers until you soak my hand. I want to feel you doing it while I come all over you.”
She starts moving again, her grip unsteady, losing her rhythm every time my fingers curl inside her and find something that makes her breath stutter.
I work her with two fingers in her deep, my thumb circling her clit in steady passes that make her hips chase my hand.
She’s dripping with every stroke, her inner walls fluttering.
I can practically see the tension coiling in her entire body.
“That’s it,” I say roughly. “I can feel your pussy gripping me so tight.” I press my thumb harder against her clit and feel her clench around my fingers and my cock pulses in her hand. “Such a greedy cunt. Squeezing me so hard. Like you don’t want to let go.”
She bites back a moan, her teeth sinking into my shoulder instead, and her inner muscles pulse around my fingers in long rhythmic waves. Her hand goes tight on my cock as she tips over the edge.
She comes with her face buried in my neck and my name in her mouth. Her cunt locked around my fingers so tight I feel every single pulse of it, every wave. The feel of her, slick and tight, is too much to withstand.
I come hard. Harder than I expected. The pressure that’s been building since she first wrapped her hand around me releases all at once. I groan into her hair and spill hot over her hand, spurting across my abs, and she holds me until I’m empty and breathing ragged against her shoulder.
She looks up at me with those dark eyes, satisfied and warm, and brings her fingers to her lips.
I watch as she licks them clean, slow and lingering, holding my gaze the entire time.
“Holy shit,” I breathe. “Baby, what was that? Are you kidding me?”
She just smiles. “Feeling better?”
I exhale slowly. “Yeah. Okay. I’m the luckiest husband in the world.”
She grins. Full and bright and completely pleased with herself, her cheeks still flushed.
I’m officially a goner.
“Come here,” I say, and flip her onto her back before she can respond, her laugh swallowed by the pillow.
I brace above her and take her in. Pink hair spread across my sheets, bare from the waist up with her skirt bunched up around her hips.
Looking up at me with that smile that’s made me weak in the knees from day one.
“What’s that look in your eyes?” she says.
“You tell me.”
Her warm brown eyes search mine. “You look like you want to devour me.”
She’s not wrong.
I run my hands up the inside of her thighs, slow, feeling her warmth, watching her breath change.
“Ain’t had my fill yet, baby,” I say, cupping her pussy. “Been dying for a taste of you. And I’m going to take my time.”
“You don’t have to…”
I put a finger on her lips. “You’re going to lie back and let me take care of you. And you’re going to keep those pretty eyes on me the whole time. Yeah?”
“Yes,” she breathes.
“That’s my girl,” I say, and work my way down.
I hook my fingers into her black lacy panties and pull them slowly down. I nearly moan at the sight of her naked before me. Those lush thighs, that gorgeous pussy, and it’s finally mine to touch and taste.
“Fuck, sweetheart.” I take her hand and press my lips to the inside of her wrist, where her pulse flutters against my mouth. I press another kiss higher, on the soft skin of her inner arm. She’s so warm and so soft and I’ve wanted my mouth on her for so long.
“I want you,” I tell her, rough and a little desperate. I’m past caring about that. “Please.”
“Yes,” she breathes, and that’s all I need.
Then I’m on her, parting her thighs. I force myself to take it slow, because yes, I do want to devour her, but I also want to savor this.
I press my lips to the inside of her knee. Her inner thigh. Higher. I feel her muscles jump under my mouth and I take my time getting there, dragging it out, pressing open-mouthed kisses up the soft skin of her inner thigh until she’s squirming and her hand has found my hair.
She’s soaking and swollen and she tastes like everything I’ve been thinking about for months and better. Her hips press up against my mouth, her grip in my hair going tight.
I get both hands under her, palming her ass, tilting her up, and I take my time. Long slow strokes of my tongue, learning her. Finding what makes her gasp and coming back to it.
Her thighs are shaking against my shoulders and she’s saying my name and God’s in pieces, broken up by her breathing, and her hips keep rolling up against my mouth like she can’t help it.
“So perfect,” I tell her. “You taste so good. You’re doing so good for me, baby.”
Her back arches and her eyes flutter shut. She’s close to coming again—I can feel it—but I’m not ready to stop yet.
I take my tongue out of her cunt to nip at her soft thigh.
She makes a sound of protest that goes straight through me.
“Slade—”
“I said I wanted to take my time,” I murmur against her inner thigh.
“Slade.” Desperate now. Her fingers twisting in my hair. “Please. I need… please.”
Even though she can’t articulate it, I know what she needs.
And I can’t help but give my wife everything she’s ever needed or wanted.
No more teasing. I give her it all: my tongue, my lips, two fingers curling inside her finding the spot that makes her back arch clean off the mattress.
I feel the moment she tips over, feel her clench around my fingers and her thighs lock around my head.
Her whole body shaking through it while I work her through every last wave, until she’s pulling at my hair trying to get me to stop and I press one last kiss to her and let her pull me up.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and come up to kiss her again, messy and hard and lingering.
I brace above her and look at her. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Her hair spread across my pillow, lips swollen, eyes hazy and cheeks flushed.
I did that to her. The burst of smug male pride that rolls through me is pure instinct.
I roll off her and pull her in against my chest, her back to my front, the way we’ve been before, the way that already feels like ours. I reach down and drag the duvet up, tuck it around her shoulders, make sure she’s warm before the cold of the room finds her.
Outside the windows night has fallen, velvety and dark, the stars winking through hazy patches of clouds. I lie in the dark with my wife pressed against my chest and feel something I haven’t felt in a very long time.
Settled.
Like every city and every season and every night in a rental apartment in a city I didn’t choose was just the long way around the barn to this.
From down the hallway, the doggy door swings open and shut. Lucky’s claws click on the hardwood. She comes back into the bedroom and barks at us once.
I cut her a look. “Mind your business.”
She sneezes in a way that somehow manages to sound disgruntled. Looks at the general state of the bed with an expression I can only describe as judgmental.
Then she gets in her bed and puts her back to us.
“She’s deeply offended,” Lila jokes.
“She’ll be fine. She’s got her mama home.”
“And her stern daddy,” Lila adds, a smile in her voice.
“I’m not her daddy,” I say. I press my lips to the back of her neck, feel her shiver. “But I’ll happily be yours, if you’re into that.”
She bursts out laughing.
I’m smiling before I’ve decided to. Her laugh does that, makes me smile before I’ve had any say in it, like a reflex I can’t override.
The house settles around us, cool and warm.
I lie there in the dark with my wife and think about tomorrow.
About the trail that runs up through the back pasture to the ridge where you can see the alpine lake where all us Rhodes kid used to swim in the summer.
Still do, sometimes. About the lunch and the cold beers I’m going to pack and the look on her face when she sees what’s up there.
“Ten o’clock,” I say into her hair.
“Ten o’clock,” she agrees.
I feel her go soft against me as she drifts to sleep. I stay awake a while longer, her breathing slow and even against my chest, Lucky snoring in her bed, the last of the light gone from the windows.
Somewhere deep in my head, the warning klaxons begin to sound.
Attachment is the root of all suffering.
And I’m getting extremely attached to my wife.