And while he loved the idea of children, that wasn’t the top thing in his mind tonight. Not after several hours of exposure to the explosively sexual performance he’d witnessed. Every erotic moment had made him look forward even more to this. His cock had settled down during pizza and conversation, but seeing Rachel and Dana curled naked and docile in their Doms’ arms had kept it on full alert, to put it mildly. Now, as he stood at the doorway to their bedroom, done in soft whites and silver grays, their mahogany canopy bed partially curtained with drapes of gauzy silk, he was aroused to rigid fullness just by inhaling Savannah’s scent.
His wife. His soulmate. His submissive. His, in a primitive way he never denied, though he was able to—most of the time—cloak it in a way acceptable to the modern world. It had been an intriguing experience for all of them tonight, seeing that same ferocity come from Jon a couple times, when he felt the need to assert himself as Rachel’s Master in a situation where so many other males were involved. Even males he trusted as much as they all did one another.
Yeah, nature wouldn’t be denied. Thank God.
Savannah was curled up on his side of the bed, her face pressed into his pillow, her slender arms wrapped around it. Her shoulders were bare, the covers pulled down enough he saw the rise of her shoulder blades, the slope of her back, almost to the shallow valley above her buttocks. Heat tended to rise up to the second level, and seeing so much of her lovely flesh made him very glad of it.
He’d left her instructions. When you go to bed, wear nothing but those white lace panties I like so much.
He stripped off his shirt, toed off his shoes and socks, but he left on his jeans, for now. Moving to the side of the bed, he put his knee on the mattress. The curtain of her blond hair was scattered over her shoulder and partially draped on the bed. Cass’s hair was white-gold, and Rachel’s had an even lighter hue. Savannah’s was the gold of a sky a breath before sunrise.
It had grown longer since they married, so loose it was almost to her waist. Each time she talked about getting a more contemporary, shoulder-length style, he cringed. He never told her no—appearance was something key to their respective business roles. If she felt more up-to-date and professional with a different style, he wouldn’t try to dissuade her. But he loved her hair. Wrapping his hands in it, stroking it, feeling it brush his skin when they lay in bed together, bodies as well as souls naked to one another.
Despite the conversations, she hadn’t cut it yet, and he suspected it was because she knew. No surprise. She knew him better than anyone. Not only could she anticipate his business decisions better than most, she knew he liked milk with his cookies.
Bending, he slid his hand slowly beneath the thick white comforter, over the graceful line of her back, up the rise of her gorgeous ass, until his fingers found the lacy edge of the panties. He went over the soft curve, then shifted to between her legs, molding his fingers over the crotch panel, sealing over the petals of her sex. He wound her hair over his other hand, until it was wrapped to the base of her skull. Stroking her pulse with his thumb, he rested his knuckles on the cushion of thick strands.
She was stirring, her lashes fluttering, her pale pink lips parting. A low murmur came from her, and he bent down, placing his lips between her shoulder blades. Soft, smooth skin. He teased it with his tongue and moved his fingers against her labia, the thin barrier of fabric in between providing friction. His other thumb slid under the lace leg opening and pushed it back until he reached the crease of her buttocks. Her legs quivered as he found her rim, rubbing there as his other fingers worked, as he felt moisture bloom on the fabric. He tightened his grip on her hair as she started to move, holding her in place on her stomach, even as her legs shifted restlessly, reacting to the stimulation.
“Matt,” she breathed.
“My love,” he murmured in response. “My heart.”
Her lashes fluttered again, though he saw a hint of her jewel-blue eyes, nearly black in the semi-darkness. He savored the way she moistened her lips and whimpered as his touch found other ways to drive her higher. As she shifted, he saw the round shape of her breast pressing and lifting against the mattress, the hint of a taut nipple. She smelled like flowers and rain and sunshine. Cookies and milk. All the things worth living and fighting for.
Her grip dug into the pillow as he found his way beneath the crotch of the panties and slid several fingers inside her, his thumb pushing past the circle of muscle into her backside. He loved the way she reacted to stimulation around that area, those sensitive nerves she’d never realized could be an erogenous zone. She’d been a thirty-five-year-old virgin when he’d taken her. The incomparable honor of exploring and discovering the things she liked had been his.
“Oh…” she gasped. “Oh…God…”
He was straining against his jeans, part of the reason he’d left them on. He didn’t want this over too soon, didn’t want to deny himself the pleasure of watching her like this, helpless and begging beneath his touch. Ben had been yanking his chain, but the lawyer knew this side of Matt as well as Matt knew Ben’s far darker needs. Matt had bent Savannah over that designer couch a couple times, her ankles tied to make his entry tight, an explosion of sensation for them both.
But honestly? Nothing beat this. Just the two of them, his hands doing the restraining, taking command of her, while her submissive nature kicked in to surrender to his demands. Even as she matched them with a passion as great as his own.
He bent to speak against her ear, hand tight in her hair. “Do you want me inside you, Savannah?”
“Yes.” Her whisper was like a grip on his cock. “Please.”
“You know I can deny you nothing. And your cunt, so wet and hot,” his fingers scissored there, provoking a cry from her tempting lips, “makes me lose my fucking mind.”
As much as he enjoyed taking her from behind, it wasn’t what he wanted tonight. He left the bed only as long as it took to remove his jeans and boxers, then he knelt back over her, pressing another lingering kiss on her back, her lower back, her backside, before he turned her over and settled himself between her legs, framing her face in his hands.
Her inner strength always astounded him. Especially in a moment like now, when he saw how large his hands were against her sculpted features and slender neck, fragile as a flower.
It made him want to keep her in this bedroom all the time, like some psychotic prince with a one-woman harem. Even as, at the same time, he was beyond proud and humbled, having such an accomplished woman choose him to be her husband.
He told her that, and her lips curved. “Like you gave me a choice.”
There was something in her gaze, even more open to him than usual, her soul there, all for him. His need unfolded, dark and intent, as he bent to kiss her mouth. Her arms wound around his back, her legs lifting to clasp his hips, and he pressed inside her, sinking deep, deeper. Bliss. She was bliss and heaven and everything indescribable.
He began to move, and she moved with him, riding that tide to its crest, her nails digging into his back, her cries against his mouth, the ripple of feeling running through them both. They reached climax within seconds of one another, gripped in that surge of overwhelming pleasure together.