Taste good, Ana?
I shift so I’m lying on top of her, between her legs, and I rock against her, giving my cock some relief.
She groans.
Oh, wow.
I grind against her. “This what you want?” And I repeat the action, hitting her sweet spot with my erection.
It feels good.
“Yes.”
I tease her nipple with my fingers, tugging gently, feeling it lengthen beneath my touch. My teeth graze her jaw. She smells of Ana and jasmine and her arousal. “Do you know how hot you are, Ana?”
Her mouth opens, slack and wanting, as I tantalize her further, pushing at the junction of her thighs. She lets out an inarticulate moan and I seize the moment, tugging at her bottom lip, then invading her mouth with my tongue, tasting her arousal on mine.
It’s so fucking hot.
I release her remaining hand and her fingers feel their way over my biceps and over my shoulders and into my hair. She tugs and I groan, staring down at her.
“Do you like me touching you?” she asks.
Why would she ask me that now?
I stop rubbing against her. “Of course I do.” I’m breathless. “I love you touching me, Ana. I’m like a starving man at a banquet when it comes to your touch.” Kneeling up between her legs, I maneuver her to a sitting position and remove her top in one swift move. I do the same with my shirt, yanking it over my head and throwing our clothes on the floor. While still kneeling, I seat her on my lap and rest my hands on her behind. “Touch me,” I whisper.
She takes full advantage, brushing the tips of her fingers over my sternum and over my scars. I inhale sharply as her touch radiates through my body with the promise of fulfilment. My eyes stay on hers as she skims her fingers over my skin to my nipple, then to its twin; each react to her touch, hardening, erect, mirroring another part of my anatomy. She leans forward and presses her lips in a soft, sweet line across my chest. Her hands hold my shoulders, and she squeezes, and I feel her nails pinching my skin.
It’s heady.
And to think a few months ago I would have said this was impossible.
Yet, here she is. Touching me. Loving me.
And I welcome it. All of it.
“I want you,” I whisper, and her hands move to my head, her fingers in my hair. She yanks my head back and takes my mouth with hers. Claiming my tongue with hers.
Fuck. I groan loudly and push Ana back down on the couch, divesting her of her sweatpants in one hasty move, and freeing my erection at the same time. I move on her. “Home run,” I murmur, and fill her in one rapid move.
She lets out a deep, guttural cry and I still, holding her face between my hands. “I love you, Mrs. Grey.” And very slowly, I make sweet love to my wife until she cries out and falls apart in my arms, taking me with her and cocooning me with her limbs and keeping me safe.
Ana is sprawled on my chest. I think it’s the end of The X-Files.
“You know, we completely bypassed third base.” Her fingers trace a pattern on my chest.
I chuckle. “Next time.” I nuzzle her hair, inhaling her magical scent, and kiss her head. The end credits roll for The X-Files and, using the remote, I switch the sound back on.
“You liked that show?” Ana asks.
“When I was a kid.”
Ana goes quiet.
“You?” I ask.
“Before my time.”
“You’re so young.” I hug her tightly. “I like making out with you, Mrs. Grey.”
“Likewise, Mr. Grey.” She kisses my chest and the commercials start on the TV.
Why are we watching these?
Because I like being here, with her lying on me.
This is married life.
I could get used to this…
“It’s been a heavenly three weeks,” she says airily. “Car chases and fires and psycho ex-bosses notwithstanding. Like being in our own private bubble.”
“Hmm.” I tighten my arms around her. “I’m not sure I’m ready to share you with the rest of the world yet.”
“Back to reality tomorrow.” She sounds a little sad.
“Security will be tight—”
Ana silences me with her index finger. “I know. I’ll be good. I promise.” She leans up on her elbows, scrutinizing me. “Why were you shouting at Sawyer?”
“Because we were followed.”
“That wasn’t Sawyer’s fault.”
“They should never have let you get so far in front. They know that.”
“That wasn’t—”
“Enough.” Sawyer fucked up and he knows it. “This is not up for discussion, Anastasia. It’s a fact, and they won’t let it happen again.”
“Okay,” she says. “Did Ryan catch up with the woman in the Dodge?”
“No. And I’m not convinced it was a woman.”
“Oh?”
“Sawyer saw someone with their hair tied back, but it was a brief look. He assumed it was a woman. Now, given that you’ve identified that fucker, maybe it was him. He wore his hair like that.”