by Monica James
I dare not reply.
He continues his exploration, running his fingers down my stomach, circling my belly button. When he reaches the top of my bikini bottoms, he skims a line along my skin.
“Watch me,” he gently orders, dipping his fingers lower.
Too curious not to, I slowly peel open my eyes. An intake of breath leaves me when I watch his left hand slide into my bottoms. I don’t know why, but seeing that ring on his finger brings out a feral possession, and I want him all the more.
Uncrossing my legs, I part them slightly, not interested in foreplay because being this close to him is more foreplay than I can handle. He skims two fingers over my entrance, lubricating them with my wetness before sinking them into me.
I cry out, arching my back, as I tremble from his touch. He takes his time, dipping in and out, testing my limits and preparing me for the onslaught ahead. Watching him get me off is a visual feast, but I need more.
With a fierce speed, I loop my fingers around the back of his neck. Tugging his face toward me, I smash our lips together in a frenzied union. We kiss like we’re starved, and we are—for each other. Our tongues duel as I cry into his mouth when he increases the depth and speed of his skillful fingers.
My legs fall open because I want more. I will never get enough.
I yank at his hair, crying, moaning, writhing; I am an uncontrollable mess. The sounds of our lips fighting for control and the slap of my ripened flesh as he brings me pleasure have me floating above myself and coming with a roar.
He doesn’t give me time to recover, however, because he drags me into the water and coaxes me to wrap my spaghetti legs around his waist. I am limp, but when I feel his hot erection poking at my sensitive flesh, I’m ready for round two.
Instead of walking to the shallow end, he moves toward deeper water. We’re still kissing, our lips never missing a beat as our tongues slide against the other. We’re submerged to above our waists when he stops and slams my back to the wall.
He makes good on his words and tears the bikini top from my chest, exposing my heavy breasts. He doesn’t waste a minute as he swoops forward and suckles my pearled nipples. He isn’t gentle, tugging with his teeth before circling his tongue around each one.
My legs are still wrapped around him, so I arch forward and ride my sex onto his cock. He groans, pausing to savor the feel. He reaches into the water and frantically unties the bows around my hips. With the simplest of tugs, my bottoms come off.
I am completely naked, and soon, he is too as we both yank down his shorts with frenzied fingers. He displays his sheer strength as he pulls them off with me still clinging to him. Our lips reconnect, desperate to consume the other whole.
I want him inside me, and I want it now, but he suddenly slows down the pace. He places his large hand on the back of my head, angling my face so he can deepen the kiss. I am lost to him.
The kiss is languid, and each flick of his tongue and press of his lips has me mewling and tightening my hold around him. “I’m so lucky,” he whispers against my mouth. “My wife.” The word rolls freely, and we both shiver at the gravity of our union.
We are bound together, forever, and nothing will ever tear us apart again.
He watches me closely as he lifts my hips and eases me onto his red-hot cock. Inch by glorious inch, I feel us uniting. I relish in the sensation and squeeze my muscles, putting my Kegel exercises to good use.
He moans, his eyes flickering closed as he continues to sink deep into me. My arms and legs are wrapped around him, and even though a wisp of air can’t pass between us, I want to climb into him and draw him closer.
His girth has always been sizable but being in a pool of water makes him seem even larger. He takes his time as we are in no rush. We have all day and night, and when he’s fully sheathed, I realize we will utilize every single second because this is fucking perfect.
“Oh, god,” I whimper, biting my bottom lip because I feel so full.
“You feel incredible. I could get lost in you for hours.”
Our eyes meet, and for some reason, tears begin to well.
London mistakes my response as him hurting me. “Princess? Are you okay?” He attempts to pull out, but I lock myself around him, trapping him to me.
“I’m okay,” I say with a small smile.
“Then why are you crying?” He brushes away my tears.
“Because I’m happy,” I reply, solving the mystery for us both. “I never thought we’d get to this.”
“I’m happy too.” He begins to rock into me, back and forth, hands on my hips to deepen the breach. I gasp, never tiring of being connected this way. I will never get enough of him.
We commence a slow dance, our bodies pushing and pulling, working in unison. He sinks into me deeply, each stroke a delicious intrusion. We never look away from one another, lost in the bliss.
I begin to bounce, arching into him as he quickens the tempo. Small, guttural grunts slip past his parted lips, and the sound drives me wild. I love that I drive him crazy. I can feel him from root to tip, as he ensures I feel every hard inch of him as he makes loves to me passionately.
When he thrusts in deep, I cry out and reach behind me to grip the edge of the pool, needing something to anchor me so I can push back. We meet one another, stroke for stroke, and when he bends low to take my right breast into his mouth, I bow backward to allow him full access.
He suckles my nipple and circles my areola with his tongue, making me see stars. The fire within me begins to spiral out of control, and I begin to drive my hips faster.
“Princess,” he moans from around my breast, reaching between us to find my swollen clit. “Always so fucking ready.”
I’m not ashamed of the fact that it doesn’t take much to make me come when London is involved. He turns me on both mind and body. “I crave you. Always.”
My words are like a firing gun because he groans, propelling his hips wildly. I arch into him, one hand clawed behind his nape, the other overhead as I grip the edge of the pool. The position allows me to buck my hips, taking him in deep.
Water sploshes around us, and the low suction adds to the mounting pressure. I’m so close I can taste it.
He rocks into me, his rhythm smooth and reckless as he plunges in over and over again. Each stroke touches me in just the right way, and when he bends forward and bites me on the side of the neck, I whimper and explode around him.
My orgasm rips the air from my lungs. I pant and writhe, squeezing tight as the tiny jerking movements overcome me. London continues to pump into me, grunting and driving his own release with each punishing thrust. My body grows floppy, but he supports me, cradling me with a fierce kindness.
“I don’t want to come. Not yet,” he grunts, stilling slightly as he begins to walk us toward shallow water.
I hold on tight, not sure where we’re headed, but I’m impressed with London’s stamina and self-control. He is rock hard inside me but continues his journey, exiting the pool and walking us inside.
Each step has me biting my lip and mewling because he rubs my sensitive flesh, and I suddenly grow needy once more. When we enter the bedroom, he tosses me onto the bed. I crawl back on my elbows, eyes wide when I see his swollen cock. It extends from his body proudly, and I’m still surprised it fits inside me so snugly.
He looks like a fucking beast. Hair wet, eyes feral, his golden body rippling. “On your hands and knees,” he commands, and I promptly do as he says.
The mattress dips as he positions himself behind me. “I wish you could see what I see right now. You’re fucking incredible.” Still wet, he sinks into me with ease.
He places his hands on my hips and moves me backward and forward on his pulsing length. I hang my head between my shoulders, ripping the comforter under me as he fucks me hard. And it’s what I want.
Tears leak from my eyes as I am stuffed full, and London isn’t being gentle. His animalistic grunts have my core aching, and I can’t believe when t
he coil within me begins to spiral once more. Each time he slams back into me, I cry out because it feels so good.
However, when I feel a curious finger wander to my back entrance, I instantly clench. “Relax, Princess,” he coos. “I’ll make it feel good.”
That’s not the issue. I’m horrified he’s venturing down this path because even though he’s explored me here before, I know he wants more. No one has breached this private area of mine because it’s been off-limits so to speak. But when he sucks his finger and gently circles the puckered opening, I hold my breath.
He is still imbedded deeply within me, so I try to focus on that and not the way he slowly works the tip of his finger into my back entrance. The need to pull away is overwhelming as the intrusion is a mixture between pleasure and pain.
“Feel okay?” he asks. I nod shyly.
He slips more of his finger inside me, stretching me wide, while I bite the inside of my cheek to stop my moans. He is buried deep, both front and back, and the sensation is overpowering because I want more.
Unable to stop myself, I arch back, coaxing him to sink in deeper because the pressure is like a slap to my ripe core. “Oh, fuck,” he curses, and I’m embarrassed because he knows how much I like it.
After his finger penetrates me fully, he pulls out and then slides in again. This time, he slips in with ease. He continues this, allowing my muscles to get used to the intrusion. After a while, it doesn’t hurt, and I lose myself to the rhythm.
“You are beautiful,” London pants, working me with skill. He reaches down and pinches my nipple softly, causing me to arch my back.
I dare not ask, but London knows what I want. When I’m slippery and stretched, he adds another finger, all the while driving into my sex. An intake of breath leaves me. “Princess, does it feel good?”
A flush spreads all over because I’m too embarrassed to confess that it does. I’ve never done this before, and surprisingly, I like it. “Yes,” I whimper, rocking, never feeling fuller.
“I want to come but not before you.” He sinks into me harder, faster, all the while slipping his fingers in and out of me.
He’s impaling me, and he’s not being gentle about it. I’m consumed with the feel of him inside me, and it doesn’t take long for the sensation to overcome me. He pants, the speed increasing as the slapping of our wet flesh fills the room.
He removes his fingers and pushes between my shoulders so I fall onto my stomach. I arch up on my forearms and curve my lower back. He grips my hips and begins to pump into me fiercely. I grip the sheets, screaming. He reaches down and intertwines our fingers, running his thumb over my ring and growling in possession.
With my ass high in the air, he rides me roughly until I can’t take it a second longer. My body explodes, and I sob in ecstasy. London hums, and with two quick pumps, he follows me into bliss. He roars, squeezing my hand in his as he comes long and hard.
He collapses on top of me, panting and winded as he gasps for breath.
We stay tangled this way, both waiting for our hearts to return to a semi normal pace. Our hands never unlock, and with our rings bonded together, I can’t help but think whoever said the sex fades the moment you get married is a fucking idiot. Married sex is epic…and I can’t wait to have more.
The next five days are absolutely perfect. London and I eat, we sleep, and we make love in every room and on every surface in the house.
You’d think I’d have my fill, but each time only leaves me hungry for more. I don’t know how I lived without him for so long, but I know I was only half living. Not only do we have explosive sex, but we laugh, we talk, and we even argue about normal couple things—like him leaving the toilet seat up.
It’s everything I ever wanted in a relationship.
We needed some supplies so much to both our dismays, we’ve ventured into town to grab enough food to last us for the rest of our time here. We are ridiculously happy, and I know most would think that once the honeymoon wears off, the need to be with one another twenty-four seven will fade, but they’re wrong.
This isn’t a honeymoon phase because this is London and me—two halves of the same person. And what I’m doing in ten minutes will forever cement this fact.
It’s absolutely juvenile, but I’ve scheduled an appointment to get a tattoo. I haven’t told London because I want it to be a surprise. The idea came to me when he was swaying in the hammock with his ink on full display. He has his, and now, I want mine.
I told him I had something planned and wanted him to wait for me in the bar down the street. He arched a brow but went without question.
I’ve drawn the design on the back of a napkin. Not very savvy, but the tattoo artist understands what I’m after. Once he draws it up, he asks me to move my tank so he can position the stencil. I’ve decided to get it high on my ribs on the side of my left breast. I’m flashing some serious side boob, but it’ll be worth it.
He assures me it won’t hurt, and for the most part, it doesn’t. After twenty minutes, he tells me we’re done. When I get up from the table, I look in the full-length mirror and smile. It’s perfect.
A heart with a few strokes outlining the shape stares back at me and inside are the initials L+H. An arrow finishes off the simple yet meaningful design. The letters are cursive, and the sweep to the heart makes the tattoo feminine. There is no color, just black, but it’s striking. I can’t wait to show London.
Once I’m covered up, I slip on a T-shirt as I don’t want London knowing what I’ve done until he can see it properly, and by properly, I mean when I’m naked. I pay the tattooist and make my way to the bar. London is sitting outside, beer in hand.
My step quickens, but when I get closer, something is clearly wrong. “London?” I ask. My voice seems to snap him from whatever thoughts plague him.
“Hey.” He peers up, shielding the sun from his eyes with his hand. “Get everything done?”
I nod, but that can wait. “What’s wrong?” I pull up a seat and sit down.
He reaches for a coaster and turns it over and over in his hands. He’s obviously thinking of what to say. “I took a paternity test before we left.”
“Oh?” This is news to me.
“Yeah, I didn’t say anything because I already knew what the results would be. The doctor called. I’m not Emily’s birth father.” His head dips low, his disappointment evident. “I knew that I wasn’t after our bloodwork didn’t match, but I never did a test. It’s now official.”
My heart hurts for him. We knew the results but to actually have it confirmed is a hard thing to stomach. “I’m sorry.” I reach across the table to hold his hand.
“Thanks. Anyway, I tried to call Belle, but her phone is off. I guess I’ll speak to her later when Emily calls.”
His spirit is crushed, and I wish I could do something to make him feel better. Now that he’s proven not to be the father, Belle has to prove that Lincoln is. Once that’s sorted, we can proceed.
The mood is suddenly flat, and I come down from my high. “So, what did you do?”
My tattoo seems absurd in light of what’s happened, so I don’t bother explaining. “I’ll show you later.”
He doesn’t argue.
We decide to head back to our villa, and the walk back is shrouded in silence. London’s mind is elsewhere, and I don’t take offense in the slightest. When we arrive, he says he’s going to sit in the hammock for a bit. I know he needs some time alone.
After I go to the bathroom to clean the tattoo and apply the cream the tattooist gave me, I decide to do some work because reality has crept back in. It was nice to forget for a little while, but regardless of the distance, our troubles don’t seem too far behind.
I’m reading over an email when London comes back inside. Looking at the clock on my laptop, I see that I’ve been working for just over three hours.
“Hey. Do you want a drink?” I look at him from over the top of my laptop, wishing I could do something to stop him from frowning.
“Sure. Water is fine.”
I try not to hover, so I go back to my emails. I don’t want to force him to talk about what’s clearly on his mind. When he returns, he places the bottle on the table and pulls up the barstool next to me. “I’m sorry, Princess. I’m being fucking ridiculous.”
“No, you’re not.” I’m quick to jump in because he’s not at all. “I understand. It sucks, but we’re no worse off. We both knew what the results would be. I guess now we can look forward to figuring out how to fix it.”
It’s easy for me to say, but I’m trying to be positive.
“What did you do today?” He wants to change the pace of conversation, but I’m afraid he will think my tattoo is stupid.
“Nothing.” I reach for my bottle of water, but London places his hand over mine, both eyebrows lifting toward his hairline.
“Tell me. I’m curious, especially since you’re blushing.” When I see the ghost of a smile playing on his lips, I change my mind. Maybe this will cheer him up. There is only one way to find out.
“Okay.” Jumping down from the stool, I nervously toy with my lip as he sits back and waits for me to continue. “It’s easier if I just show you.”
His interest is definitely piqued.
Turning my back to him, I shyly lift my T-shirt over my head and cover my breasts with my palms. He exhales heavily as I’m sure he has no idea what’s going on other than the fact I’m naked. Turning my torso, I lift my arm so he can see my ink.
I look at him over my shoulder, unable to read his expression. I instantly regret my decision. “It’s stupid. I shouldn’t have done it.” I immediately make a dash for my T-shirt, but London jumps up to stop me.
“Princess, let me see.” He holds my wrist, stopping me from getting dressed.
With no other choice, I stand to the side, arm across my chest, so he can examine the tattoo up close. He bends low and inhales. He doesn’t say a word.
“I can get laser to remove it when we get back home,” I push out in a rushed breath.
