Chapter 37
Quentin
I kiss her firmly on the lips, then move toward the bathtub. I run the taps, making sure to add something that fills the air with the scent of roses. I hold my fingers under the tap, then nod. Just the right temperature for my wife.
I return, scoop her up, then step inside the bathtub and sink down. I cradle her against my chest. With the hot water lapping around us, I slowly relax. Steam fills the room. I wrap my arms about her and soak in the warmth.
When the water reaches the level of her nipples, I reach up with my foot and shut off the tap.
Making her come is the greatest feeling ever.
I can’t wait to give her more orgasms. The thought sends the blood draining to my groin.
Nope, I need to let her rest and recover.
Unfortunately, my cock doesn’t get the memo, for it extends and insists on settling against the cleavage between her arse-cheeks.
I’ve never felt this young, this alive, this turned on, this hopeful about the future as when I’m with her.
I hold myself still, not wanting to disturb her, content to watch as her eyelids shutter down and she melts into me.
Her blonde curls stick to her forehead from the steam, her lips turned up slightly.
That flush on her cheeks is not only due to the hot water; it's the orgasm I gave her that relaxed her completely.
She looks so serene and sweet, and so well-fucked in my arms, it seems like a pity to wake her.
No matter that having her curves pressed up against me has given me a raging hard on.
I want to bury myself in her pussy, I want to squeeze the plumpness of her fleshy thighs, I want to mark the perfect swell of her bottom, then bend her over and fuck her arse.
I want to lick and suck and possess every hole of hers.
I want to make her come so hard, she forgets every man who came before me.
My thoughts send the blood draining to my groin and tighten my balls.
I want to be inside her so badly, but hearing her sigh and watching her parted lips and the softness of her features, I don’t want to rouse her.
We could spend the rest of our lives in this bathtub with her in my arms, and I wouldn’t complain. My dick, sadly, has other plans.
She draws in a sharp breath, and I know she’s back with me.
I cup her pussy, and a whimper escapes her. And when I push aside her hair and drag my stubble across the curve of her shoulder, she shivers.
I trace my fingers up the cleavage between her pussy lips, then down to play with the rosette between her butt cheeks. She gasps, then spreads her legs, giving me more access. When I bring my fingers back to her clit to trace the swollen bud, she writhes and rubs up against my erect shaft.
I have been erect since the first day I saw her. And this, despite wanking off every opportunity I’ve had. Nothing’s going to compare to being inside of her. And I’m not letting myself take her until I’ve ensured I’ve made her come enough times.
I pause.
I’ve never been as concerned about satisfying a woman before this.
I’ve never wanted to care for someone else like this before.
Never wanted to protect anyone else from the world—except for my son, but that's a different emotion. This, what I feel for her, is dangerously close to something I’ve never felt before.
It’s the kind of love that would make me want to burn down the world if it would make her happy.
The kind of love where I wouldn‘t hesitate to give her anything she wants and stop anything or anyone from ever hurting her.
The kind of love that heats my blood and makes my heart stutter. And ties my insides up in knots.
I freeze with my fingers inside her pussy.
She squirms against me, and when I don’t react, she turns her head and looks at me over her shoulder. Her lips are parted, her breath coming in pants, but when she peruses my features her eyebrows knit, “What’s wrong?”
I stare deeply into her eyes, taking in the naked emotion in them.
A mixture of need and lust, and a yearning so strong, it hits me in the chest like a steam roller.
I want to tell her what I realized. That despite my best efforts not to, I’m falling for her.
That I’ve never felt this way about anyone else.
I open my mouth to tell her, but nothing comes out.
“Q?” She pulls away, then turns around so she’s positioned on her knees between my legs. ”Is everything okay?”
I will never be okay. I’ll never go back to being the person I was. You’re already changing me. Out loud, I say, “Why wouldn’t I be?” I manage a smirk. “I was simply thinking how I can’t wait to fuck your arse.”
She flushes, then firms her lips. “I want to believe you, but something in your eyes tells me it’s more than that.”
She searches my features again, and I resist the urge to look away. This woman sees me, and it strikes a chord of fear in my heart. I feel like I've bared my soul to her. Another first.
It's taken a woman less than half my age to bring me to heel. She’s one of the most caring women I’ve ever met.
Someone who feels responsible for her family and lives up to those expectations of herself.
Felix’s mother destroyed my faith in humanity when she left her child, but my wife is beginning to restore it, brick by brick.
“Baby”—I cup her cheek—“you’re one of the few people who sees through my bullshit.”
“I am your wife, after all.” She snorts.
“And there's no one else like you.” No one else—not my fellow Marines, not my father or my brothers or my nephews, and definitely not my son’s mother—can look past my facade, to the sentiments that lurk underneath.
She blushes further, then bites down on her lower lip. I can feel the tug all the way to the crown of my cock. I can’t stop myself from bending my head and covering her mouth with mine.
Her taste is drugging, and evocative, and the stuff my dreams are made of. It shifts something in my chest, then turns my thighs to iron and my balls into obsidian.
When I tear my mouth away, both of us are panting.
I search her eyes. Can she tell what she already means to me? That my life will never be the same again. I’m no longer Quentin Davenport. I’m first and foremost, my Raven’s husband. Her protector. Her defender. Her lover. Her dominant.
She must sense something of my thoughts, for her eyes widen. Her lips curve in a soft smile. She dives in again for a kiss, but I evade her mouth.
I can't tell her what I feel for her. It's too much, too soon. It makes me feel too vulnerable. But I'm so grateful to have her in my life, so grateful that she’s gotten me in touch with my emotions again, the least I can do is make her come. So what, if I’m avoiding talking about feelings by making her orgasm, I will tell her what I feel for her. Just not yet.
“Q, please—” she begins, but I grip her hips and lift her up. Thanks to our height difference, I'm able to position her over my face. She balances her knees on my shoulders, clutches my head for support, then stares down at me. "Wh— What are you doing?"
"I'm contemplating my wife’s cunt; you have a problem with that?" I stare at her glistening pussy, and her stomach muscles clench. I press soft kisses up one thigh, then down the other, before I pull her close to my mouth. “Ride my face."
"What?" The shock in her voice makes me chuckle.
"Press that sweet little slit into my mouth and let me lick it until you come."
"You already did that,” she squeaks.
"This time, I won’t use my fingers."
When she hesitates, I apply enough pressure, so she has no choice but to bend her knees and bring the flesh between her legs close to my lips. I instantly latch onto her clit and suck.
She cries out, throws her head back, digs her fingers into my shoulders, and tugs.
A burning sensation sparks down my neck, my spine.
My cock jumps in anticipation. I growl against her cunt, and her thighs quiver.
I slide my hands down until I’m cupping her butt cheeks. I squeeze them, and she whimpers.
The sounds she makes form the symphony of my life.
Her lips, her pussy, her fingers, the touch of her skin on mine, the sound of her voice, her scent, the way she smiles, her little moans when she’s aroused, the way she doesn’t hesitate to go toe-to-toe with me, how she cares for the people in her life, how she embraces her submissive side and doesn’t hesitate to open herself up to new experiences—all of it has chained my heart and locked it, and she has the key.
I’m hers. Does she realize that? Can she sense it in how I handle her body? And she is mine. She belongs to me.
That fire under my skin turns into a blaze.
I begin to lick between her pussy lips, around her clit, then down to her slit, where I stuff my tongue inside her warm, wet channel.
She whines and squeezes her thighs around my face, and fuck me, but this is heaven.
Between her legs, with her thick thighs suffocating me.
I slide my fingers down the valley between her butt cheeks and play with her back hole.
At the same time, I curl my tongue inside her and her body bucks.
She curves her back, throws her head back and screams. Moisture bathes my mouth, drips down my chin, and she convulses as she orgasms.
When she goes limp, I bring her down to my chest, where she curls in.
We stay that way until the water begins to cool.
Her shoulders twitch, and she snoozes. I don’t want to wake her up, but I also can’t stop myself from trailing my fingers over the curve of her shoulder.
I bend and sniff her throat, inhaling the scent of her body now infused with the notes from the rose-scented bath salts especially for her.
For her, I’ll allow myself to smell like flowers.