“Oh yeah?” I murmured as I rolled my head to look into the deep blue-black eyes of my husband. Normally they were lighter, clearer, but sex darkened them to midnight every time. “Well, I like being with you more than anybody too.”
“Good,” he said, pressing his face into the side of my neck, at the same time stroking my cock with a deliberateness that had all my attention. The motion had changed from something he was doing as an afterthought to something he wanted.
“Ian,” I barely got out, unable to stop myself from pushing up into his fist.
“Yes, Miro?” he asked, his breathing rough in my ear as he kissed over my collarbone, grinding against my thigh, his cock having slowly thickened.
I slid my hand over his ass, letting my middle finger press between his asscheeks and then deeper until I heard the hum of satisfaction I was after. As I added a second to his tender opening, a shudder ran through his powerful frame.
“Pass me the lube,” I ordered.
“No, I’m good.”
“Ian, are you sure you—”
“Yes,” he whispered, rolling to his other side.
I followed like I was glued to him, notching between his cheeks, the slide in easy, smooth, the stretch and give almost more than I could bear, needing to thrust deep and hard inside of him but instead willing myself to move slowly until I was buried to the hilt.
“Fuck, you feel good,” I groaned, wrapping one arm under him and around his chest so he could feel me holding him, then sliding my other hand over his hip to take hold of his cock.
He bowed in my arms, pressing back into me, and my body took over, pistoning forward, plunging deep as I used my hand to wring his pleasure from him.
“Don’t let me go,” he cried out before he came over my fingers and wrist, just a few spurts, but enough.
His muscles clamped down on me, and I was done, mindlessly grinding inside of him, my body shuddering, the orgasm annihilating my control as I came for the second time with my man wrapped around me.
We lay there panting, trying to push air through our lungs, neither of us moving.
“Do you think I could ever do that?”
Nothing from him, only his stubbly cheek rubbing against mine.
“Ian?”
“Sometimes when we’re doing our thing, I feel like we’re one person.”
“Me too,” I agreed. The way my skin was plastered to his felt so much better than good. “But you didn’t answer the question.”
“No,” he whispered until his voice leveled out. “I don’t think you’d ever let me go.”
“That’s good because I won’t. You’re stuck with me now, and I don’t ever want to be in bed with anyone but you.”
Deep, contented sigh from him. “Okay, yeah, so turns out I needed to hear that.”
I knew he did. It had been simmering there below the surface since he saw me in the club. His bravado was a defense mechanism, and I knew that. He was everything in my life, but really, truly, I was the same for him. He feared losing me, and he had to stop because I was never going anywhere.
“There’s only you,” I vowed.
“I know,” he rumbled, still not so great at discussing his feelings, better at showing me how much I was loved.
“I should pull out,” I said after several long minutes.
He grunted his agreement.
“I wasn’t gentle with you either time,” I mumbled into his hair. “I’m worried you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”
“You’ve never—hurt me,” he gasped as I eased free of his still-clenching channel.
His hand was instantly on my ass. “Stay here. Don’t get out of bed.”
“We killed it, and we’ll be cemented here by morning.”
“I don’t care, just—hold tight.”
I wrapped him in my arms, my chest plastered to his back, the front of my thighs wedged to the backs of his, and the curve of his ass settled against my groin. “I don’t want to squash you,” I murmured into his nape. “You need to be able to breathe.”
“Breathing is a secondary consideration.”
I chuckled softly as he tried to push back against me and tightened my arms a bit so there was no more give.
His sigh made me smile. “I love you,” I said because it was as true in that moment as it was over coffee every morning. He was my whole life, and as long as I had him with me, loving me, everything would be all right.
Chapter 6
IAN WALKED into the bathroom and set a mug of coffee down for me as I put product in my hair, raking my hands through it. I looked at him in the mirror and noted the crossed arms and scowl, the lines between his furrowed brows I always found sexy. I was getting the serious face, and so I took a sip of the French roast with the perfect balance of cream and girded myself for whatever he was going to say.