Sliding my hands up his chest, I slowly slid the sleeves of his jacket down his shoulders until it fell to the floor. His hooded eyes watched as my fingers worked his tie, pulling it free from his neck, until it joined the growing heap of fabric below. Silently and with slow precision, I bent my head to each cuff link and kissed the turquoise stone before removing them from his crisp white shirt. He said nothing. He just watched with intensity as I undressed him, taking one button at a time, until my hands touched the smooth skin of his chest. Much like his jacket, his shirt dropped from his shoulders and floated like a white dove until it landed softly below us.
If we lived to be a hundred or older, I didn’t think I’d ever get used to the sight of him standing before me like this. His height towered over me, and when I collapsed into his arms, I fit perfectly within their embrace, like I had been created to be tucked inside them for safekeeping. His body was fierce, toned, and physically strong—thanks to years of solitude, which had been spent doing endless hours of jogging and lifting weights. It was something he’d lightened up on since I moved in, choosing time with me rather than an abundance of time spent in the gym, but somehow, the minimal time he put in worked.
Of course, thirty or even fifty years from now, if I were lucky enough to still be walking this earth with him by my side, I wouldn’t think any different.
My hands met at the center of his rib cage as he lazily watched my exploration of his body. I caught the small note of surprise the second I pushed him back, pushing his large body onto the bed.
Male laughter followed.
It was not exactly what I was going for.
His eyes glittered with joy and light amusement as I crawled onto the bed to straddle him. I reached behind my back and unhooked my bra, letting it fall to the ground. All laughter and humor died as his eyes suddenly darkened, and I felt his body go rigid. Rotating my hips, I ground myself against his pelvis. A low growl vibrated from his throat.
“What are you doing, Lailah?” he asked, his voice ragged and breathy.
Over the two years we’d been together, I’d mastered the art of flirting. I could flirt my way to the bedroom like a pro. A dirty comment, a sexy move—I had all of that down to an art form. But once we got to the bedroom, it would be all Jude. I’d occasionally have moments of spontaneity, but it was rare. He’d lead the show, and I’d gladly comply. We never talked about it, but we both knew that Jude had the experience, and—well, I didn’t. I never asked how many girls he’d been with before Megan, but I imagined it was more than one. I was completely fine with letting him take charge when it came to sex, but sometimes, I wondered if he was.
Did he ever want more?
“Taking what I want,” I whispered, hoping I wasn’t ruining my wedding night by pushing something that maybe wasn’t wanted.
His nostrils flared as his cock twitched between my thighs.
I mentally gave my budding seductress a high five.
I bent forward, taking his mouth in a fevered kiss. Grabbing his hands, I placed each one on my bare breasts. With my small hands over his, I felt as he cupped and rolled my tender peaks, his thumbs rubbing the taut nipples before pinching the tender tips. I’d felt him do this a hundred times, but with my fingers resting over his, it was much more intimate.
Breaking our kiss, I redirected one set of our merged hands over the puckered skin that rested between my breasts. His eyes met mine as his lips found the pink skin of my scar, leaving a trail of kisses. My stomach fluttered, as I watched him lower our hands until they drifted over my belly button. My breath faltered when our fingers slid beneath the lace of my thong and sank into the warm heat of my core.
The invasion sent me skyward, as Jude kept my body pinned against him and slowly worked my clit.
“Oh God,” I panted, feeling every move he made as my finger followed his lead.
“Shh . . .” His free hand tenderly touched my chest, pushing me against his raised knees. Removing the scrap of fabric around my waist, he freed me of my thong, never removing our joined fingers. His darkened gaze centered on me. “I’ll follow your lead,” he said.
I mentally gulped.
I had grown up in a hospital. Most of the time, the door had either been open or ajar. It wasn’t until I was over a certain age when I’d demanded more privacy, and even then, I’d still had nurses walking in on my half-dressed body nearly daily. Add in a controlling mother who had barged in on me at home, and it hadn’t been the best environment to . . . explore myself.
After I’d met Jude, I hadn’t really had a need.
Seriously, he was sex on a stick. Who needs a vibrator when you have that sleeping next to you every night?
So, the M word . . . we weren’t well acquainted—at all actually.
The brave little seductress cowered in a dark corner of my mind.
I couldn’t do this. I’d come so far, so fast, but I’d always be that girl in the hospital—naive, shy, and meek.
I looked up at Jude. His breath was ragged, and his eyes were so intense that they were nearly black.
I’d done that—not the girl or the woman or whatever label I was seeking to place on myself.
Just Lailah, his wife.
My fingers tightened around his, guiding him slightly upward, which sent a zing of fire to my belly. My head fell back, and I moaned.