The meal proved he’d forgotten none of his prowess in the kitchen. After dinner they took the rest of the bottle of wine into the sitting room and watched a movie together, sipping slowly of the wine and of each other’s lips. When Xander suggested they go upstairs, she didn’t hesitate. As he rose from the sofa, where she’d been curled up against him, and held out his hand, she took it and allowed him to pull her upright.
He led her upstairs and into their bedroom. Filtered light from the street lamp outside drifted through the windows, limning the large iron bed frame and the furniture around the room and creating a surreal atmosphere. In some ways this did feel surreal. Knowing that they were going to make love again. To be what they’d promised one another they’d always be when they made their wedding vows.
Olivia’s fingers went to the buttons on his shirt, and she made quick work of them before pushing the fabric aside and pressing her palms against his chest. Her palms felt cool to the touch; beneath them his skin burned in response, as his entire body now burned for more of her touch. Or, more simply, more of her.
A shudder went through him as her hands skimmed down over his ribs, across his belly and then lower, to the buckle of his belt. He shifted, taking her hands in his and lifting them to his mouth to kiss her fingertips.
“You first,” he said, his voice rough with the strain of forcing himself to take it slow. “I want to see you again. All of you.”
Her delicious lips curved into a smile, and she inclined her head ever so slightly. It was enough to make his already aching flesh throb with need. She slowly unfastened each button of her shirt. When the last one was undone, she shrugged her shoulders back and allowed the garment to slide from her body. His eyes feasted on the sight of her. Her breasts were full and lush, pressing against the lace cups that bound them, swelling and falling with each breath she took. Olivia reached behind her, and he swallowed hard as, with the hooks undone, she slid down first one strap, then the other, before pulling the bra away.
He’d told himself he could wait, but he’d lied. He had to touch her again. Had to familiarize himself with the curves and hollows of her body. A body that had been imprinted on his mind and his soul over and over but that now seemed strangely different. He reached out to touch her—to cup her breasts in his hands and test the weight of them, to brush his thumb across the eager points of her nipples. And then, finally, to bend his head and take one of those taut tips with his mouth. She moaned as he swirled his tongue around her. First one side and then the other. Her fingers tangled in his hair and held him to her as if the very beat of her heart depended on it.
He made short work of the fastenings on her jeans and slid the zipper down before shoving the aged denim off her hips and down her legs. Xander slid one arm around her waist while the other dipped low, over her hips and to the waistband of her panties. Everything about Olivia felt familiar and yet different at the same time. There was a softness about her that he didn’t remember. Her hips, once angular, were now more gently rounded, and her breasts seemed fuller and more sensitive than he remembered, too.
It was crazy, he thought. He knew her like he knew the back of his hand. She was still the same Olivia he’d fallen in love with and married and made a home with. She was the same Olivia who’d rushed to his bedside when he’d woken from his coma and the same woman who’d brought him home and cared for him this past month. And yet she was slightly altered, as well.
His fingers hooked under the elastic of her panties and tangled in the neat thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs. His long fingers stroked her, delving deeper with each touch until he groaned into the curve of her neck at the heat and moisture at his fingertips.
“You’re so wet,” he said against her skin, letting his teeth graze the tender skin of her throat.
“For you, Xander. Always for you,” she murmured.
He felt a ripple run through her as he stroked a little deeper, the base of his palm pressing against her clitoris while he slid one finger inside her. The heat of her body threatened to consume him, to render him senseless with reciprocal need. He gently withdrew from her body and lifted her into his arms, ignoring her protest as he walked the few short steps to the bed and laid her down on the covers.
“You shouldn’t have done that—you might have hurt yourself,” she admonished in a husky voice that tried but failed to sound scolding.
“What? And miss doing this?” He wedged one knee between her legs and eased them apart, settling himself between them with the familiarity of the years of their love. He pressed his jean-clad groin against her and was rewarded with a moan from his wife.