Instead, he took his hand away. Kneeling between her legs, he pulled her hips up and sank into her, deeply but not quickly. She took a strained inhale, and her body released a flood of wet and began its clenching undulations. She tried to come up onto her elbows, but he pushed one hand between her shoulder blades and held her chest flat on the bed. And then he moved, but slowly. He wanted her to feel the full slide of their bodies together. He wanted to feel it for himself, too. And he wanted this climax she was riding to last forever.
He kept his pace slow, focusing on every twitch and clench of her body around his, every sweet sigh, earthy grunt, and pleading cry from her throat. In this position, she was wide open to him, and, fascinated, he watched his body slide in and out of her, watched her body accept him, saw her swell and pulse as her enduring climax rolled through her again and again.
By the time she was easing down, her skin was flushed red, and tendrils of her hair were plastered to her face. Her back heaved high with each gasping breath. But he wasn’t done. He pulled out, slowly, maximizing each sensation, and turned her to her back. Scooping her thighs up in his arms, he sank deep inside her again. He wanted to come with his eyes on hers.
He cupped her scarred breast, bending over to kiss the length of the mark. She only sighed, having grown used to his need to pay homage to her this way. Then he bit the nipple, drawing up on it until she responded, arching and gasping. He could feel the skin tightening against his lips. It was important to him to give her this sensation, to nullify this lingering numbness. With a light kiss, he let it go and brought his head up to look down at her lovely face.
She was dazed from her climax, her eyes nearly closed. “Look at me, bella.” She did, and she smiled, and he moved, sliding with slow purpose in and out of her eager body.
All his life, he’d thought of gentle sex as boring. Frigid, even. He’d wanted the rough vigor of a bestial rut, the sharp pleasurepain of a release torn from his body and from hers. He wanted the freedom from control that rough sex entailed. That had been passion to him.
He would always love rough sex. But it wasn’t passion, not in and of itself. It wasn’t until this night, this moment, his wife’s sated blue eyes staring up at him with adoration, that he understood. Passion wasn’t in the act. It was in the bond.
She came again, quietly but no less responsively, her body twined around his, her head lolled back, her chest heaving with her little grunts. When he came, he pressed his face tightly against her neck, as close as he could get to her, and groaned his throat sore.
~ 24 ~
Bev lay in bed the next morning, snuggled on her husband’s sleeping chest, feeling dazed with happiness and too restless for more sleep. Nick, though, was out. Even walking her fingers back and forth across his hard belly wasn’t stirring him, and that usually got at least one part going.
She slid carefully out of the bed and went into the bathroom. They’d never gotten around to playing in here last night. But during her first call of nature trip, she’d noticed a lingerie box on the counter. She hadn’t bothered to open it then, because she’d been in a hurry. Now, though, she opened it and found a gorgeous white silk set, a little spaghetti strap nightie with panties and a sheer robe to match. With a pleased little giggle, she took a minute to wash up and then put it on.
Gorgeous and perfect, as usual. Her man liked to spoil her, and she was getting used to it.
She caught her reflection in the mirror—ooh, her hair was a mess. So she took a few more minutes and made herself presentable for possible seduction endeavors.
But he was still sleeping like the dead. She must have worn him out. Feeling especially pleased about that, she decided to see what this house he was ready to buy was like.
Gorgeous and perfect, as usual. Every room was amazing. Five bedrooms, two of which, including the master suite, had little sitting rooms as well as their own bathrooms. Three and a half other bathrooms. Living room, formal dining room, both huge. Gleaming hardwood floors. A stone fireplace in the living room, and another in the master bedroom. Study. Huge gourmet kitchen with a breakfast nook bumped out into a glass-enclosed bay. Finished cellar with a wet bar—though that would need a remodel before Nick was happy with it. The décor was aggressively Eighties.
She stood in the empty breakfast bay and looked out at the back yard. It was wide and fenced, with three big trees. And a pool—small, but enough. Plenty of room for a garden, too. The view from this window was mostly just blue sky. Thinking about the geographic orientation of the house, Bev knew that if she walked to the back gate and went through, she’d see a steep slope down to the beach below. She went to the back door now and opened it to hear the waves crashing rhythmically against the shore.