Beautiful Beginning(62)

            I exhaled, a shaking, tense breath. “I want you filthy. I want you wild and impatient tonight. It’s how I feel.”

            He twisted his wrist, and pushed a third finger into me so deep I felt the cool of his wedding ring against my skin, and I cried out from the sensation of the pressing metal, of being stretched tight. His thumb made teasing, maddening circles just around my clit, expertly never quite touching exactly where I wanted it. Traffic sounds grew to a crescendo and then ebbed into silence, and the steady thump of bridge spacers sounded beneath the wheels.

            “Are we leaving Coronado?”

            “Yes.”

            “Are we getting on a plane?” I asked again.

            “Does my hand not feel good?” Irritation simmering in his voice.

            “. . . what?” I asked, confused.

            “Are you distracted by the street, rather than the three fingers currently fucking you?”

            “I—?”

            He pulled his hand out and reached for my shoulders, pulling me off the seat and dragging me so I kneeled on the floor. I felt him shift around to pull me closer, and I realized I was positioned between his legs. The sound of his belt, his zipper, and his pants being shoved down his hips cut through the quiet.

            “Come here,” he said on an exhale, cupping the back of my head. “Suck.”

            Despite the single rough word, his touch grew careful as I began to lower my mouth over him, as if he wasn’t sure how to blend his pent-up need to come with the reality of our brand-new marriage. We’d talked for cumulative hours about how things would be in this very moment—the two of us finally alone, married, and faced with the reality that it might be different—but now that we were in it, I could tell Bennett was a little torn.

            We’d said no way would it feel different: it was just two rings, just a piece of paper.

            We’d said we’d never stop being hard on each other, or start having easily bruised feelings.

            We’d promised anything could always happen between us in the bedroom. We swore we’d never hold back, or be afraid to ask for whatever we needed.

            But as I worked his length with my lips and my tongue, I could sense that Bennett’s hands were fisted at his sides, not in my hair. His hips were pressed firmly into the seat beneath him, instead of rising up, arching toward my mouth.

            So I did the first thing that came to mind: with a quiet sucking sound, I pulled my mouth off his cock and sat back on my heels.

            His breaths came out in sharp gusts, but other than the sound of the road passing beneath us, the car fell silent.

            Finally, his voice rose from the quiet in a controlled rumble: “What happened?”

            What happened? So tame, Bennett.

            In this moment, I hated not seeing his face, but I knew he understood the point I was making when he took a deep breath and asked, “Why the fuck did you stop?”

            There he is.

            “You know why.”

            Strong hands lifted me off my heels and sat me back until my butt hit the floor of the limo and my spine rested on the seat opposite him. One of Bennett’s knees planted on the seat beside my head and without saying a word, he pressed the crown of his cock to my lips, forcing my mouth open.

            “Suck,” he said, and this time the word was coated in anger and need. I barely had time to adjust to the feel of him before a tight fist curled in my hair, holding me steady as he began to move in short jabs, not going too deep, at least not yet. Finally, his hands released my hair and left me only long enough to frame the side of my face, holding me steady for his longer, deeper strokes.