Chapter 27
Ten days later, I’m sprawled out naked in bed, and Wes is doing something breathtaking with his mouth on my nipple.
When I say breathtaking, I mean it. I literally can’t breathe for a few seconds from the building need as I writhe and toss my head.
After a minute of working on the one breast, he lets the nipple slip from his lips as he lifts his head. “Good?”
“Good? Is that a joke? I’m losing my mind here.”
“Okay. Glad to hear it.” He chuckles as he gazes at me fondly. “I’m used to you making more noise than this, so I wanted to be sure.”
“It was more a case of me not being able to get my breath.” Then I pick my head up from the pillow and frown at him. “Were you implying that I’m loud in bed?”
“Certainly not.”
His expression belies his words, so I turn my frown into a scowl. “I’m not that loud.”
“You’re not loud at all. Not obnoxiously loud anyway. I’ve got no complaints about you expressing how good I make you feel.”
“Oh my goodness. You’re getting some sort of clichéd ego boost out of this, aren’t you?”
“Nothing of the kind.” He’s propping himself up on his forearms above me. His hair is mussed, and he hasn’t shaved in three days.
He looks like sex, and he’s absolutely adorable—at the same time.
“Yes, you are. You’re taking my natural talent for sex and deciding it has something to do with you.”
“Never. I’d hoped your enjoyment might have a very small part to do with me, but I’d never credit myself for your sexual excellence.”
I can’t help but snicker at his choice of words, and my pose of righteous indignation dissipates completely. “It actually has a lot to do with you. And the truth is I have no natural talent for sex.”
“What does that mean?” He looks almost offended even though my words were light and wry.
“Nothing. I’m just saying. No one has really thought about me as sexy before. I’ve always been as uptight and shy as you expected me to be. I’ve only had sex with three men other than you, but none of them were blown away by my performance.”
“That’s because it’s not supposed to be a performance. If those guys were expecting you to conjure sexiness out of the barest gestures of appreciation, they didn’t deserve a good time with you.”
I was playing with the messy waves of his hair, but my hands grow still as I think about what he said. “I never thought about it that way before.”
“Well, you should. It sounds like you were taking the responsibility for the sex entirely on yourself, but that’s not how it works. If it’s good—really good—it comes from the way two people connect. Not on how skilled or talented one of them happens to be.”
“Maybe so.”
“Definitely so.” He scowls grumpily. “Those assholes didn’t deserve what you gave them if they complained.”
“They didn’t complain. They just didn’t seem… excited.”
“They should have been.”
“Maybe. But maybe I’ve been different with you.”
“Ah. Well, I hope that’s true, but even so, I’ve now put all three of those assholes on my enemy list.”
“Do you have an enemy list?”
“Of course I do. It’s Judd from school and this woman in my company who manipulated her way into the promotion that I’d earned. And also anyone who has ever hurt you.”
I’m so touched by the self-conscious admission that I pull him down into a hug. It’s slightly awkward since his head is still at the level of my breasts, but I don’t care.
I have to squeeze him. There’s too much feeling inside me to do anything else.
When I loosen my arms, he levers up to press a soft kiss on my lips. But he doesn’t get distracted from his earlier task and trails his mouth back down to my other nipple.
The pleasure surges so quickly I arch up and cry out sharply.
He chuckles over my breast.
“Don’t laugh,” I tell him, eagerly holding his head in place. “It wasn’t that loud.”
He gives me a little nip, making me release another cry.
This one might not have been truly loud, but it’s definitely not soft.
I really do try to contain my vocal responses, but they get more shameless and less inhibited as Wes kisses his way down my body.
And when his face ends up between my legs, his lips and tongue accomplishing miraculous feats there, even I have to admit some of the sounds I make are loud.
After I come three times, I turn us over, climb astride his body, and ride him until he comes too.
He likes me on top. He likes to be able to see my naked body from that angle as I bounce and sway. That’s what he says anyway. And I have no reason not to believe him.
He’s liked every single position we’ve tried this week on our honeymoon, and so have I.
We’ve tried a lot.
I always thought it was an exaggeration when couples say they spent most of a week in bed, but we’ve definitely spent at least half of our waking hours in various stages of foreplay, sex, or the breathless aftermath.
It’s the aftermath we’re enjoying right now. I’m curled up at his side, and he has his arm around me. It’s a little hot, but I don’t care. I still want to be as close to him as I can get.
“Do we actually have to go home?” Wes asks hoarsely after several minutes. He’s finally caught his breath, but his body is still limp and sated.
“I guess so. I don’t really want to either.”
It’s true. This week has been like something out of a fantasy.
We’re at a Caribbean island resort, far more luxurious and expensive than anything we would have chosen if we were paying the bill ourselves.
But Natalie managed to get us one of the best suites at this resort for no charge on the condition that they’re allowed to use photos of us on their website and social media.
Our pictures are plastered everywhere else, so neither one of us had a problem with the resort’s request.
It has put a few demands on us through the week but nothing unreasonable for what we’re getting. And the rest of the time we’ve been able to lie on the beach, explore jungles and unique Caribbean towns, snorkel, and have a lot of sex.
Every day has been perfect, and there’s a weight in my gut that’s expecting all the new, special intimacy between us to change—to go away—when we get home.
Which is today.
Our flight leaves in a few hours, and we’ll be home in Blossom Park this evening.
Wes groans, holding on to a handful of my hair. “At least we’ll have the weekend before we really have to get to work again.”
My reluctance to return has nothing to do with work, so his words cause a small stab in my chest.
That happens sometimes. My insecurities didn’t all disappear because he’s been so warm and passionate this week.
Maybe this is a vacation thing.
Maybe he’ll go back to what he used to be when we next set foot in Blossom Park.
But maybe not.
I’m trying to do better and not manufacture sources of anxiety. I smile and press a few kisses against his chest before I pull away. “I guess I’ll take a shower.”
“Okay. That means I have until you’re done before I get out of bed.” He sounds deliciously lazy.
But I guess that means he’s not going to shower with me the way he’s done sometimes this week.
It doesn’t matter.
Today is a travel day. It’s not the end of everything.
And maybe the real life that comes next will be every bit as good as the honeymoon.