“Did you do pushups in the museum before I got there or something?”
He laughs. “They actually frown on using the place as a gym as well as an illegal wedding chapel.”
“So you just look like this…always?”
That can’t be the case. We’ll never leave the house. I can’t be married to someone with this kind of body. People will pass us on the streets and wonder why he settled.
“What about you?” His hands are on my waist and he’s tugging me to the edge of the counter. I stay perfectly silent while he touches me, scared of the strange primal noises that could slip out of my mouth if I let them. “Are you this smooth everywhere?” he asks, dipping the tips of fingers into the waistband of my panties.
My stomach clenches and I dig my fingers into his shoulders.
Dirty questions like that will get him mauled. He really should be careful.
His head tilts down to rest on my shoulder and he sighs. “I’m losing my head here, Sam.”
My fingers thread through his hair and I let him hold me for a few seconds before I remember my goal. “You can continue now. I want to see the rest.”
“You saw me naked in the shower,” he reminds me, stepping back and unbuttoning his pants.
“That was ages ago. I need a refresher.”
His tuxedo pants fall to the floor and Ian stands in front of the hotel shower in nothing but a pair of white Calvin Klein boxer briefs. I bite my lip, tilt my gaze to the ceiling, and count to ten.
“What are you doing?”
“Praying.”
“It looks like you’re about to break off a chunk of that granite counter.”
Maybe I am.
“Wait.” He steps closer. “We aren’t even. You need to catch up now.”
I stare back down at him with an arched brow. “What do you mean?”
“Your bra…lose it.”
It’s Not So Nice Ian talking now—demanding, in fact.
I think my face goes slack.
“Or do you need help?” he asks with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
He steps forward and I hold up my hand to stop him. If he touches me, that’ll be the end.
I reach back and find the clasp for my bra. “Are you sure?”
He tilts his head and grins. “You’re right, leave it on.”
I sigh and drop my hand. “Phew. Okay.”
In one second, he’s on me, reaching around and unhooking that clasp. The lace cups fall away and cool air rushes in. My nipples tighten and I wrap my arms around myself to cover up, but then I remember it’s Ian who’s standing in front of me, my husband. My breath rushes out of me every time I think that word. I can’t be shy around him. He’s waiting for me, rubbing his thumb just below my ear, up and down the side of my throat, coaxing. Slowly, I drop my arms, and he releases a shaky breath. I look down to see what he’s seeing. My breasts are cream and pink and perky, and they really are decent, not so big that they’ll knock someone out, but when Ian reaches for them, they fill his palm, and best of all, they’re oh so sensitive. My head tips and hits the mirror behind me as my eyes roll into the back of my skull. He’s working his magic, rolling his thumbs in slow circles, and then I hold my breath as he bends down to taste. Slowly, methodically, he takes each breast into his mouth, looking up at me while he does it.
It’s such a startling sensation that I nearly pitch forward off the counter, but his hands are on my hips, holding me in place as he licks and teases and blows warm air on skin that is not touched nearly enough. I thought the delicate lace lingerie felt good, but Ian feels better. His tongue laps at the tips of my breasts, his mouth closes around each one, and I’ve never had an orgasm like this, but that’s why they say there’s a first time for everything.
He laughs when I tell him that, and then there is no more laughter, because his hand dips into the front of my panties and there’s so much wetness there, I’m nearly embarrassed. My cheeks burn. Before, I could have played this whole thing off with a few shrugs and cool smiles, but now there’s no lying. My body wants Ian and he knows exactly how much.
“Open for me a little,” he begs, and I oblige dutifully.
The outsides of my knees hit the cold counter and he takes the thin blue lace that covers me up and pulls it gently to the side. My hands are on his shoulders, and there’s no way I’m letting go now, especially when he emits a sexy groan and drags a teasing finger up and down my wetness. He’s taking things slow, staring down at me like he’s assessing a newly acquired piece of property. This is mine, and this is mine, and then he sinks his middle finger into me and oh yes, this is mine.
“Ian,” I whimper as he drags his finger out slowly then pumps it right back in.
“Years, Samantha—years.”
That’s all he says, but I get it. Years for me too, Ian.
I find his mouth and we kiss again, and there’s less frenzy now and more heat. We linger and lick as he pushes a second finger inside me.
He works me up with his hand, pumping and speeding up his seduction until my nails bite into his shoulders. There’s no rush, no spot left untouched.
Foreplay turns into a little more.
My thighs are shaking.
I’m holding my breath.
This poor bathroom is so fogged and hot they’ll have to demolish it when we’re done, but the angle is just right. The counter’s height means Ian is in the perfect position after he rolls on a condom. He asks me twice if I’m sure I don’t want to move to the bed, and I respond by pushing my knees apart just a teensy bit wider. My butt is right on the edge. My breasts ache to be touched and he doesn’t neglect them when he slides into me inch by inch. His mouth is there, sucking, and my mouth is on his neck, kissing and whispering words of encouragement.
I wince just barely as he settles himself deep inside me. I need time to adjust. I knew there would be some…accommodating to do.
“Sam? Are you with me?” he asks, brushing my hair away from my face and tilting me just enough so our lips can meet easily.
I nod and he drags out then slides back in. His hips roll and I clench to let him know I like it. A smirk unrolls on my lips at how blissfully amazing this feels.
“Hold on,” he warns. I grip his neck and suddenly, there’s no need for the bathroom sink—I’m barely touching it. He has ahold of my hips and he keeps me stationary as he thrusts in and drags back out, in and out, in and out, nice and slow. He does all the work, which leaves nothing to distract me from my building orgasm. Every time he pumps all the way in, he brushes against me in just the right spot. I tell him and he starts to go a little faster, pumping harder, holding tighter. I’m building, building, building, and this is it.
Yes. Yes. YES.
But then Ian sets me down. A protest forms and dies on my tongue as he turns me to face the mirror.
The mirror.
I’d completely forgotten all about it, but Ian hasn’t. He turns us and tells me to press up onto my tiptoes. It’s the only way he can align himself with me, and even then, he has to bend his knees. He takes my wrists and props my hands up on the counter without asking. His chest hits my back and I feel enveloped by his warmth right up until he stands back to his full height. I watch him in the mirror and this man isn’t the Ian I’m used to. I’m aware now of the details I used to try to ignore: the chiseled jaw, the sharp edge to his gaze. They’re parts of him that seemed a little too intimidating. Now they’re all I see. When he pumps into me for the first time at this new angle, I collapse forward onto the cold counter. He smiles and picks me back up, holding me more carefully so the next time, I stay standing.
“Is this too much?”
Of course it is. I’m being forced to watch what he’s doing to me. I’m looking at my flushed, heated skin; that black bowtie around my neck that smells like him; my wild, tangled hair; the crazed look in my eyes. There’s no escaping what he’s doing to me and maybe I won’t always want it this way, but right now I do.
“Not enough,” I beg, and Ian delivers.