Suddenly, she’s pulling away from me, and I growl.
“And where do you think you’re going.”
“What’s yours is mine, right?” She tosses back with a sassy look, her hair wild as she winks at me and slings her leg back over my face.
My hands grab her ass, bringing her back to my face though she’s facing the other direction now. I groan into her wet heat as I feel her fingers push my briefs down my thighs, freeing my cock and wrapping both hands around it.
I can feel the metal of her wedding ring against my shaft, and damn if it doesn’t get me even harder.
I feel her weight shift as she leans forward, and I groan as I feel her slowly wrap those perfect, velvety lips around my head. Her tongue teases the very tip, swirling round my crown as I push my own tongue deep into her pussy. My hands grab her ass, planting her firmly on my mouth as she starts to bob up and down, sucking me as she moans.
I’m in fucking heaven.
We’re moving together, her hips bucking against my mouth and my tongue as she muffles her moans around my cock. Her hands stroke me, reaching down to cup my balls as her hot, wet mouth sends me into fucking orbit.
I slip a hand down between us, cupping a breast and letting my fingers tease her nipples. My tongue dances across her clit, swirling around and around until she finally pulls away from me and cries out.
“Oh, God…”
And I want to tell her how I want her to come for me. I want to tell her that I want her to explode on my tongue until her honey covers my chin.
Instead, I just use my tongue to shove her screaming over that edge.
Natalie cries out, stroking my cock in quick, wet strokes as she reaches back with her other hand, grabs my hair, and just fucking explodes against my mouth. She moans, her whole body shuddering as she comes - shattering, exploding, breaking for me.
She suddenly drops her mouth back down and inhales as much of my thickness as she can, and it’s the last thing I can take.
I roar out, fingers digging into her skin as I explode into her mouth. She moans, swallowing my cum as I grit my teeth and groan, her lips bobbing slowly and coaxing every drop from me.
Holy. Sweet. Hell.
Natalie moans as she rolls off of me. She turns, sliding against me, throwing one leg over mine, and letting her hand rest on my chest.
And it’s damn near perfect.
“That…” she trails off, her finger tracing lazy circles across my chest. She grins, burying her smile in my shoulder. “That was a necessity,” she finally says, blushing as she looks up into my eyes.
“I could not agree more.”
What I don’t say, because I don’t feel like pushing this or making her weird, is that the other necessity is that we do that again.
We need to do that a lot, again.
25
Natalie
I wake up sometime during the night. There’s a slight chill across my bare back from the wide open French doors, but the other side of me - the side pressed against Austin - is warm.
The side pressed against Austin.
Right…that.
I slowly bring my cheek away from his sleeping chest, rubbing my eyes with my hand as I scrunch my face up.
I’m apparently making a habit out of getting drunk and waking up naked in bed with Austin Taylor.
I shake my head, wincing at the thought.
No.
Because I know damn well what happened earlier - what I wanted to happen. And I may have been drinking, and still buzzed from the champagne from earlier, but I wasn’t drunk, that much I know.
Just drunk off the heady rush of letting myself go with the stupidly attractive scoundrel with his arm around me right now as he sleeps.
I glance down at his chiseled face, illuminated by the moonlight - his tattoos etched across his skin. His chest rises and falls with his sleeping breaths.
God he’s beautiful. Everything from the messy and yet somehow perfectly messy mop of hair on his head, to his dark brows, shadowed eyes, and perfect, utterly kissable lips. The hollow of his cheeks, the strong lines of his jaw, the scruff of his five o’clock shadow.
Or his finger, or his tongue, or that perfect cock that took every single ounce of my restraint not to jump on top of.
I’ve never felt like that. I’ve never had my body played like that.
Perfect - utterly in tune.
He’s just a man when he’s asleep. There’s no reputation, no broken background, no highly-publicized track record. No arrangement, either. It’s just me, and my beautiful cowboy, in bed.
If only it was that simple.
And as much as I hate to even think it, the truth is right there, waiting to pounce on me: that shouldn’t have happened, because this isn’t real.
This might feel good right now, just him and I, and pretending the rest of it isn’t a thing. But that’s a fantasy - a fantasy more fantastical than this sham marriage.