Chapter 5
I steal a glance at my husband.
He is staring straight ahead through the windshield, his knuckles pale around the steering wheel, his jaw locked so tight a muscle jumps in his cheek.
My throat goes dry.
I part my lips. “What—”
Xavier turns toward me, grips the back of my neck, and pulls me into a hard, desperate kiss.
A gasp bursts from me, swallowed by his lips as he deepens the kiss. It is fierce and desperate, tasting of apology, regret, and need all at once.
My mind goes blank, every thought surrendering to the heat of his mouth.
I melt into him with a whimper. He groans when I kiss him back just as hungrily, his grip tightening as he pulls me closer. He kisses me like he’s trying to consume me whole, as if letting me go would destroy him.
It’s messy and breathless, so intense a bolt of desire spears through me.
I taste salt on his lips—my tears, his, I am not sure—and the faint coppery trace of blood from where I bit my lip. Beneath it, there is the lingering sweetness of wine he drank hours ago, darker now. Headier. Unmistakably him.
Dizzy relief floods me as I realize how much I’ve missed this.
Missed him.
It’s been months since I’ve felt his touch, and I hate how greedy I am for it.
His hand slides into my hair, tugging just enough to send a sharp sting across my scalp as he pulls it free from the chignon.
He’s never liked my hair up.
Except when I’m on my knees for him—and even then, he prefers it loose, wrapped around his fist.
I clutch at the front of his shirt, fisting the crisp fabric, desperate to pull him even closer. To feel him. My pulse is hammering so hard I swear I can hear it between our mingled breaths.
A familiar heat is already unfurling low in my belly, spreading like wildfire through my veins. God, I’ve ached for this—for him to touch me, to want me—more than I can put into words. A ragged moan vibrates against my lips as I pour months’ worth of loneliness and longing into kissing him back.
Xavier tears his mouth from mine suddenly, leaving me reeling. I’m about to protest when I feel his lips trail hot and urgent along my jaw, then down my throat.
He drags his tongue over the sensitive hollow at the base of my neck, teeth scraping lightly in a way that makes me shudder.
“à moi.” I hear him whisper harshly against my skin, his voice strained. His free hand is roaming now, skimming down my side, fingertips digging in just enough to make me arch. It’s like he needs to touch every part of me at once.
His lips find the fluttering pulse at my neck and latch on. He sucks and bites at the delicate skin there, not hard enough to truly hurt, but enough that I know he wants to leave a mark.
Pleasure zings down my spine and I can’t hold back a whimper. I angle my head, giving him full access, silently begging for more. My fingers slip into his thick dark hair, nails grazing his scalp as I hold him to me .
“Xavier…” I breathe, my voice coming out in a shattered gasp. I’m not even sure what I’m pleading for.
He responds with a growl of my name against my neck, then continues his blazing path downward. His hand leaves my hip to tug pointedly at the knotted halter of my dress. He gives it a sharp pull and the knot comes loose, the silky fabric slithering down and exposing the tops of my breasts.
Xavier leans back a fraction, just enough for his heated gaze to rake over me. His golden eyes are nearly black with desire, lids heavy, and the sight of that raw hunger on his face makes my thighs clench.
“This fucking dress,” he rasps, voice thick with a mix of frustration and lust. His accent comes through stronger when he’s worked up, each syllable rolling off his tongue. “ ?Estabas tratando de matarme, esposa? ” Were you trying to kill me, wife?
A wicked little smile tugs at my lips, but I’m too lost in a lustful haze to form a clever retort.
I don’t want to tease or argue; I just want him. My head is spinning, my body already begging for more. So I answer him the only way I can: by lifting my hips and pressing my chest up toward his mouth in silent invitation.
Xavier doesn’t need any more prompting. He lets out a curse under his breath and yanks the neckline of my dress down further.
The cool rush of air-conditioning against my bare skin barely registers before his mouth is on me.
He devours my breast, closing his lips around my already hard nipple and sucking greedily.
A sharp cry tears from my throat. I slap a hand over my own mouth to muffle the sound as a wave of white-hot pleasure crashes over me.
He alternates between suckling and flicking the stiff peak with his tongue, while his free hand cups my other breast. He rolls my neglected nipple between his fingers, pinching just enough to send a lightning bolt of sensation straight to my core.
“Oh fuck—” I pant against my palm, my eyes fluttering shut. My back arches of its own accord, pushing more of myself into his hands, his mouth…whatever he’ll give me.
Xavier hums in appreciation, the vibration against my nipple making me shiver. He releases my breast with a wet pop, only to bite gently at the soft flesh just above it.
The mix of pain and pleasure makes my toes curl inside my heels. I can feel how hard he is against me, the thick length of his erection straining beneath his slacks and pressing into my thigh. The thought of it—of him, buried deep inside me—is enough to have fresh arousal flooding between my legs.
“Xavier,” I manage in a breathy whisper, removing my hand from my mouth to tangle it back in his hair. “We… we shouldn’t be doing this here.”
The words are feeble, completely lacking conviction.
My hips are grinding up toward him even as I say it, betraying me.
Honestly, the last thing I want right now is for him to stop, but a tiny voice of reason in the back of my mind notes the obvious: we’re parked at the entrance of his parents’ house, of all places.
Anyone could drive by or peek out a window.
Even with the windows tinted and the car hidden in shadows…
it’s risky. “What if… ahh… someone sees us?”
Xavier’s answer is a low, dark chuckle against my skin. He lifts his head from my chest, and the look in his eyes tells me everything.
Too late.
“Let them,” he drawls. His hand leaves my breast and moves to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there in a possessive hold that makes my pulse race even faster.
He brings his face so close that our lips are almost brushing as he speaks.
“I don’t give a damn who’s watching. You’re my wife.
Mine, ?entiendes? I’ll fuck you right here, make you mine all over again, and anyone who sees can burn in hell. ”
A hot flush blazes over my skin at his filthy words.
Fuck. I bite down on my lip. The thought of someone catching us should mortify me, but his dominance—his claim over me—only makes me burn hotter.
I can feel myself getting even wetter, my panties soaked and clingy.
Desire coils tight in my belly, obliterating any pretense of protest I had left.
A shaky laugh of excitement escapes me, and I can’t help but smirk as I gaze at the beautiful, feral man who is my husband.
“We really are a disaster,” I tease softly, echoing his words from earlier.
My hands leave his hair to roam down his broad chest, fingers fumbling eagerly at the buttons of his dress shirt and then lower, to the buckle of his belt.
“Lock the doors,” I manage to whisper. If we’re doing this, we might as well minimize the chances of actual interruption.
He doesn’t even hesitate. I hear the metallic click of the locks engaging a second before I get his belt unfastened. My fingers make quick work of the button on his slacks, and then I’m tugging down his zipper.
The second my hand dips beneath the waistband of his briefs and I wrap my fingers around his rigid, scorching-hot cock, he hisses a curse and drops his forehead against mine.
His cock jerks in my hand, thick and silky and achingly hard.
I grip him tighter and begin to stroke, running my fist from base to tip slowly, relishing the weight and heat of him.
God, I missed the feel of him in my hand, the way he fills my palm and then some.
A droplet of moisture beads at his slit, slicking my thumb as I swipe it over the tip.
“You’re so hard,” I whisper, marveling at the way he throbs when I say it. A strangled groan tears from his throat.
Xavier’s fingers dig into my thigh, just below where my dress has bunched around my hips. “Fuck, I’ve been hard since you walked out in this damn dress tonight,” he growls. “ Tuviste la intención de matarme, hmm? ” You intended to kill me with it.
He makes a sound that’s half laugh, half groan, and captures my lips in another fierce kiss. This one is hungrier, more frantic. Our teeth clash and I can taste the desperation on his tongue. It’s like feeling alive after years of being numb.
As we devour each other, his hand slides up my bare thigh. His touch is hot and a little rough, digging into my skin as he pushes the hem of my dress higher.
I shift in the seat, spreading my legs as much as I can in the cramped space to give him access. The leather squeaks beneath me when I lift one leg and drape it over the center console.
He doesn’t make me wait. My husband's fingers find the thin strap of my lace panties and he gives it a sharp tug, yanking the fabric aside. Cool air caresses my pussy, and I moan into his mouth .
Without breaking our kiss, he drags a finger through my slit, gliding between my swollen lips with infuriating slowness.
Every brush of his fingertips over my clit is devastating, but not nearly enough.
I try to wiggle closer, to silently beg for more, and he chuckles against my lips, clearly pleased by how desperate I am.