He presses his hips against me as his patting grows more aggressive, his hands moving down to tug at the belt of my robe. I consider maintaining my indignation over his teasing, then quickly dismiss the idea when he pulls the knot out of the belt and opens my robe.
He exhales a long breath of appreciation as he gazes at my naked body. That look alone makes my skin tingle and my nipples tighten.
“I could just lick you from head to toe,” Dean says, his voice a throaty growl that ratchets my arousal up.
“I wish you would.” I reach down to palm his groin, a thrill racing through me when his cock swells against my hand. The air between us charges with sparks as he lowers his head and captures my mouth in a kiss.
A moan escapes me as my body, still primed and hot from last night, responds with a surge of pleasure. Tension shudders through Dean, his cock pushing against my belly. He slides his hands up to my breasts, his lips locked to mine.
I fall into the whirlwind without hesitation, winding my arms around his neck and opening my mouth to his. I’m still wearing my open robe, and the contrast between the warm padding and the cool air coursing over the front of my body is wildly arousing.
Dean backs me up a few steps, then grips my ass and hauls me up onto the kitchen counter. I open my legs as he moves between them, his breath rasping against my neck. Heat flares. I push forward to rub my cleft against the hard bulge in his pajama pants, wrapping my legs around his hips.
A sudden fever lights the air. With another growl, he bites down on my lower lip, one hand holding me steady at the small of my back as he unfastens the drawstring of his pants and pushes them down.
I break away from him with a gasp, wanting to see the thick, rigid length of his erection. My heart hammers when he takes hold of the pulsing shaft and strokes from base to tip, rubbing his thumb over the damp head. My sex throbs in response to the quick movements of his hand, the rigidity of his muscles, the heat of his skin.
“God, Dean, now,” I whisper, pulsing from the inside out.
He positions himself and pushes inside me, both of us staring down as his cock sinks into me, filling me, stretching me. I clutch him to steady myself, unable to move in my precarious position as he begins to thrust.
He grabs my ass and pulls me forward as he fucks me. I dig my fingers into his broad shoulders and hold on, thrilling in the sensations sparking through my blood. Our lips collide, his tongue pushing into my mouth, everything in me opening, surrendering to him.
He reaches down to spread his fingers over my clit, his shaft pulsing against my inner flesh, thrusting into me, and then I feel it again, the surge of semen as he shoots deep inside me. I press my face to his shoulder. He strokes me harder, his other hand spread over my back as pleasure erupts inside me.
Still quivering, I twine my arms and legs around him and hold on. I close my eyes and absorb the feeling of him still inside me, the semen dripping between my legs, the strain of my thighs around his hips. We slowly separate. I reach down and touch his slick cock, spreading the sticky fluid onto my fingers, over my belly.
As the sensations ease, Dean lifts me off the counter, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me against him. I press my face to his chest, inhaling the scent of his skin.
“Damn, woman,” Dean mutters, sliding his lips down to my cheek. “Now my coffee’s cold.”
“Cold coffee, hot wife.” I smile and give him a little pinch on the butt. “Told you this robe drives you wild with lust.”
“What’s in that robe drives me wild with lust,” he responds, squeezing my breasts before easing away to tug my robe closed.
I fasten the belt, feeling all warm and loose as we heat up the coffee and get breakfast together. I sit at the table with a bowl of cereal, my gaze falling on the airline receipt he’d left for me yesterday with his flight information.
A chill prickles my skin suddenly. I put down my spoon, watching Dean as he approaches with his coffee and a plate of toast.
“So… how did it go yesterday?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual even though my stomach is knotting up with anxiety.
He doesn’t respond. He pulls out a chair and sits down, his muscles rippling with tension. He doesn’t look at me.
That scares me more than anything.
“Dean?”
“Later.” He looks up, his eyes tender as he reaches across the table to rub his finger over my lower lip. “We’ll talk about it later, okay? Right now, I just want… this.”
I nod, needing to give him what he wants, even though my fear takes root. After breakfast, Dean goes into his office, and I let myself believe what I did first thing this morning—that it’s just us, going through our day together, happy and content.
Rain begins to splash against the windows. Dean comes out of his office close to noon. I’m sitting on the sofa beneath my ragged quilt, reading a biography about a medieval author I found on one of his bookshelves. I set the book aside and look at him. Lines are etched around his eyes. A strain fills the air.