His stride was purposeful, but leisurely. His breathing even and steady. He kicked the door closed with a graceful, easy push.
Oh God, it drove me insane when he was that controlled.
He tried to set me down on the bed, but I held on.
“I can’t take your clothes off if you don’t let me go.” Only the hoarseness of his voice betrayed his need.
I released him, tackling the buttons of his vest before he straightened. “Take your clothes off.”
He swatted my fingers away so he could take over. I stared, my breath held, as he started to strip.
The sight of his hands, tanned by the sun, glittering with the rings I’d given him, deftly unknotting his tie … How could that be so erotic?
The whisper of the silk as he tugged it off. The careless way he let it fall to the floor. The heat of his eyes as he watched me watching him.
It was the worst sort of denial, extreme self-torture, and I forced myself to bear it. Wanting to touch him but restraining myself. Waiting for him while coveting him. I’d tortured us both by making us wait, so it was the least I deserved.
I’d missed him. Missed having him like this.
The collar of his shirt parted as he slid the buttons from their holes, exposing the strong column of his throat, then a glimpse of his chest. He stopped at the button below his pecs, teasing me, switching to his cuff links.
He removed them slowly, one at a time, setting them carefully and deliberately on the nightstand.
A soft whimper escaped me. Desperation was a wild thing inside me, sliding through my veins, the most potent aphrodisiac.
Gideon shrugged out of his shirt and vest, his shoulders bunching, then relaxing.
He was perfect. Every inch of him. Every hard slab of honed muscle visible beneath the rough silk of his skin. Nothing brutish in any way. Not too much of anything.
Except his cock. Jesus.
My thighs squeezed together as he toed out of his oxfords and pushed his slacks and boxer briefs down his long, strong legs. My sex ached and swelled, the blood rushing to my core, my slit slick with wanting.
The rigid lacing of his abs flexed as he straightened. The muscles veed at his hips and pointed to the thick, long penis that curved upward between his thighs.
“Oh God. Gideon.”
Pre-ejaculate slicked the wide head. His testicles hung heavily, balancing the weight of his thickly veined cock. He was magnificent, beautiful in the most primal way, savagely masculine. The sight of him stirred everything feminine inside me.
I licked my lips, my mouth flooded with moisture. I wanted to taste him, to hear his pleasure when I wasn’t lost to my own, to feel him quake and shiver when I took him over the edge.
Gideon fisted his erection, stroking it hard from root to tip, pumping a thick pearl of moisture up to bead the tip.
“It’s yours, angel,” he said roughly. “Take it.”
I scrambled off the bed and started to sink to my knees.
He caught me by the elbow, his mouth a taut line. “Naked.”
It was hard to straighten my legs, my knees weak with desire. Harder still to resist yanking off my clothes in a rush. I was shaking as I untied my sleeveless wrap top, trying to pull open the loosened halves with some semblance of a striptease.
His hissed intake of air when I exposed the lace of my bra betrayed his fraying control. My breasts were heavy and tender, the nipples hard and tight.
Gideon took a step toward me, his hands sliding beneath the shoulder straps and pulling them down until I fell into his waiting palms. My eyes closed on a low moan as he squeezed gently, hefting the weight of my breasts before stroking over my nipples with the pads of his thumbs.
“Should’ve kept you dressed,” he said tightly. But his touch said something else. That I was beautiful. Sexy. That I was all he could see.
He pulled away and I cried out, missing his hands.
His eyes were so dark they seemed black. “Offer them to me.”
I shifted on my feet, my sex throbbing. Shrugging, I let my shirt drop, then reached behind me to unclasp my bra. It slid down my arms, freeing me to cup my breasts and lift them up to him.
Bending his head with frustrating patience, Gideon ran the tip of his tongue over my nipple in a slow, unhurried lick. I wanted to scream … hit him … something. Anything to break that maddening restraint.
“Please,” I begged, shameless. “Gideon, please …”
He sucked, hard. Drawing on me with deep rapid pulls, his tongue furiously lashing the sensitive tip. I could smell the animal lust on him, pheromones and testosterone, the scent of a ferociously aroused virile male. It called to me, demanding and possessive. I felt the pull of it, of him. Felt the melting inside me, the surrender.
I swayed and he caught me, tipping me back over his arms and moving to my other breast. His cheeks hollowed with the force of his sucking, my core clenching in rhythm. My spine ached with the strain of the pose I had to hold for him to take his pleasure, and that turned me on to the point of madness.
I’d fought for him. He had killed for me. There was a bond between us, primitive and ancient, that transcended definition. He could take me, use me. I was his. I’d made him wait and he’d allowed me to for reasons I wasn’t sure I knew. But he was reminding me now that I could walk far and try to keep my distance at times, but his hand would always hold the chains that bound us together. And he would pull me back when it suited him, because I belonged to him.
Always mine.
“Don’t wait.” My hands went into his hair. “Fuck me. I need your cock inside me—”
He spun me and bent me over the bed, pinning me down with a hand between my shoulder blades, reaching for the back zipper of my capris. He yanked on the pull, ripping it open and rending the cotton.
“Are you with me?” he growled, shoving his hand into the opening to cup the cheek of my buttock.
“Yes! God, yes …” And he knew it, but he asked. Always making sure to remind me that I had the control, that I gave him permission.
He destroyed my pants getting them down to my knees, using just one hand while the other fisted my hair. He was rough, impatient. He gripped the band of my thong and tugged, the material digging into my skin before breaking with a snap.
He pushed his hand between my bound legs, cupping my sex. My back arched, my body trembling.
“Christ, you’re wet.” He pushed a finger inside me. Pulled out. Pushed in with two. “I’m so fucking hard for you.”
The tender tissues grasped at his plunging fingers. He withdrew, circling my clit, rubbing it. I pressed into his fingertips, seeking the pressure I needed, soft pleading sounds pouring from my throat.
“Don’t come until I’m inside you,” he growled. He grabbed my hips with both hands, pulling me back as he notched the broad head of his cock into my slit.
He paused a moment, breathing hard and loud. Then he shoved inside me. I screamed into the mattress, stretched wide and too full, writhing to accommodate him.
He held me aloft, my feet leaving the floor. He rolled his hips and claimed that last little space inside me, his penis tunneling deep. I squeezed every inch of him, pulsing around him in frantic pleasure.
“Okay?” he bit out, his fingers kneading restlessly into my flesh.
I pushed back with my arms, so close to coming it hurt. “More.”
Through the roaring of blood in my ears I heard him groan my name. His cock swelled and lengthened, jerking as he orgasmed in hard spurts. It felt endless and maybe it was, because he started fucking through his climax, pumping me full of hot, creamy semen. The feel of him coming sparked my orgasm. It rushed over me in powerful spasms, racking my body with violent shudders.
My nails clawed at the comforter, trying to find purchase as Gideon pounded his cock into me, lost in a hot furious rut. The slickness of his semen wet the lips of my sex, then rolled down my legs. He groaned and thrust deep, rolling his hips, screwing into me. He shuddered, coming again, only moments after his first.
Folding over me, Gideon kissed my shoulder, his breath gusting hot and fast over the sweat-slick curve of my back. His chest heaved against my spine, his bruising grip on my hips easing. His hands began to stroke, to soothe. His fingers found my clit and massaged, stirring me, rubbing me into another trembling climax.
His lips moved against my skin. Angel … Over and over he said the word. Brokenly. Desperately. Breathlessly.
Forever yours.
While deep inside me, he remained hard and ready.
I was lying on the bed, tucked against Gideon’s side. My pants were gone and he was nude, his magnificent body still damp with sweat.
My husband lay sprawled on his back, one thickly muscled arm arched over his head, while the other curled beneath and around me, his fingers running absently up and down the length of my torso.
We lay naked atop the sheets, his legs spread, his cock semierect and curving up to his navel. It glistened in the light of the bedside lamps, wet from me and him. His breathing was just beginning to slow, his heartbeat calming beneath my ear. He smelled delicious, like sin and sex and Gideon.
“I don’t remember how we got on the bed,” I murmured, my voice throaty and near hoarse.
Gideon’s chest rumbled with a laugh. Turning his head, he pressed his lips to my forehead.
I curled tighter into him, my arm draping across his waist and holding on tight.
“You good?” he asked softly.
Tipping my head back, I looked at him. He was flushed and sweaty, his hair clinging to his temples and neck. His body was a well-oiled machine, used to the strenuous mixed martial arts he used to condition it. He wasn’t wiped from fucking; he could do that all night, tirelessly. It was the effort of holding back as long as he could, reining himself in until I was as wild for him as he was for me.