“That all you’re going to say?” he asked.
“No.” She needed her hands on him. Didn’t matter where—she’d get to all of him eventually. Her trembling fingers settled for re-tracing the path they’d taken along his jaw earlier, back at the memorial when he’d looked so lost. His skin had grown paler with every word spoken ’til he was ashen.
What he must have gone through.
The hint of dark stubble dragged at her fingertips and he held himself perfectly still. Apart from the muscle jumping in his jaw. “What are you waiting for, Adam?”
“For you to make the first move.”
“I came in here.”
“The second one then.”
Well. Actions spoke louder than words.
Louise slid her hand around the back of his neck and sealed their mouths together. Done. She was kissing her husband. And he made a sound in the back of his throat that shot straight to her best bits, squeezing her insides tight in a delicious rush.
Oh yeah.
Adam opened his mouth and she took up the invitation, slipping her tongue inside, tracing over his teeth. He tasted right and good and she never wanted it to end. Strong hands fixed on her hips and pulled her in to him, pressing the hot, hard length of his cock against her belly.
By the time they came up for air, her head was spinning and her arms were twined around his neck, hanging on for dear life.
And she was drenched. Her dress clung to her and her hair was plastered to the side of her head. She was drunk on him, drowning.
“Hey.” His breath was choppy against her ear. “Can I say something without it starting a fight?”
She nodded breathlessly, still trying to drag in air. “I honestly have no intention of fighting with you right now.”
“Good.” He pulled back and set his forehead against hers, one side of his mouth lifted in what would have been a panty-wetting smile if the shower hadn’t long since done its work. “I fucking hate your dress.”
Startled laughter burst out of her and his fingers fumbled with the zip at her back. Cool air hit her skin, pebbling it. “Rip it, Adam. I hate it too.”
He didn’t rip it, just in case she changed her mind.
Adam peeled the wet fabric down her arms to expose a sensible black bra. Or it might have looked sensible on someone else, but on her it looked like sin. Heavenly, wonderful sin. His wife had a lot of smooth, pale skin. She shone like a pearl. The more he revealed, the more he wanted. His cock was so hard it hurt.
The day had taken a surprising turn for the better.
Louise reached behind her, ducked her head and unhooked the bra with practiced ease. Gave him a shy smile. He helpfully took over the task of slipping the straps off her shoulders and disposing of her underwear. And what was revealed was…exquisite. A perfect mouthful with hard, dark-pink nipples, and he had to wonder how sensitive they were. How she would like having his mouth on her. What noises would she make?
But there was no time to test or taste.
His wife shimmied the dark material over her hips, revealing an equally sensible pair of black panties. The wet dress dropped to the shower floor with a splash. Skin-toned stockings ran all the way up to a discreet, lacy show at her thighs and his brain overheated.
No other excuse.
He was on his knees and backing her into the nearest wall before it had a chance to catch up. The water struck his back in counterpoint to his hands on her warm, soft skin. So fucking beautiful.
“Adam?”
“Take them off.”
“The stockings?”
“No. Panties.”
Fingers slipped down either side of the black underwear. She skimmed them down her legs and stepped out of them. When she reached for the wet stockings he pushed her hands away.
“Leave those.” He pressed his face to the gentle round of her belly, sketched his fingers over the velvet of her thighs and traced the tops of her stockings. They should be illegal, those stockings. His wife should be contraband. He traced the edge of the lace with his fingertips and the muscles in her legs tensed. Her knees quivered. He kissed the dimple of her bellybutton and tried to think of something to say. Something complimentary or poetic, but he had nothing.
Just a little lower, her * beckoned, the scent of her rich and musky and wholly feminine.
He wanted it. Needed it.
Gently, he pushed out against her locked knees, enough to let her know what he wanted. She didn’t hesitate, thankfully. With one hand, he guided her leg over his shoulder, opening her up to him. She really was exquisite, from the small swell of her mound to the bare, puffy pink lips of her sex.
“Adam?”