by Zoe York
She took his glass and refilled it, then pressed her mouth to his jaw before giving him the water. “Maybe your kisses are good for my creative inspiration.”
“God, I’m glad to hear that.” He emptied the glass and shook the last bit of sleep out of his head. “Sometimes it scares me how much I think I need you.”
She made a soothing sound. “You don’t need me. You’re more than capable.”
He raised his head, knowing his gaze burned dangerously hot, and her breath audibly hitched in her throat. “Oh.”
Oh was fucking right. He didn’t mean he needed her to get through the day. He wasn’t dependent on her.
He needed her on a different level. “I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I shouldn’t—”
She cut him off with her mouth. This kiss wasn’t the sweetness of the last few days. It wasn’t eager, either. It was both shaky and confident at the same time, two warring realities for this woman who felt so much and had been hurt even more. Her lips trembled, but she plunged ahead, and he caught her, holding her tight as she kissed him harder than ever before.
Then she broke away. “Do you still want to wait?”
“Wait for what?”
She smiled. “Sunday. Or some other point in the future?”
Taking it slow. God damn it all to hell. “I—”
No. He didn’t want to wait. But should they? He needed her, yes. But he didn’t need her to rush.
“Maybe…” She trailed her fingers down his neck and across his bare chest, making his brain short-circuit. “Have we waited long enough?”
“I don’t need you to do this.”
“Maybe I do.” She slid her fingers over his bare shoulders. His muscles shook under her touch. “I see you, Adam. It’s okay.”
“I know that,” he ground out.
She nodded. “You’re exhausted. They’re putting you through the wringer.”
“That’s the job.”
Another nod. She stroked her hands up his neck and into his hair. He shuddered as her fingertips rubbed into his scalp.
She whispered his name, and his gaze sharpened, locking on her face.
“I want to be your comfort today. Is that okay?”
“You have to be sure.” His words were rougher than a whisper, but just as quiet. The faintest growl.
“You’re so restrained,” she whispered back. “You don’t need to hold yourself back anymore. I’m sure.”
As soon as the words crossed her lips, he had her in his arms.
He believed her. She was confident, strong.
Isla had come into her own. This was the woman he’d once known and admired—and been intimidated by, in hindsight.
And then it had been his turn to be strong for her, to be her support, and he’d been so careful to not push her. But now she’d opened the floodgates for him, and his need for her flooded to the fore. A physical need, yes, but also beneath that, having her in his arms soothed that wounded part of his soul, too. He needed her in every way.
A kiss first, then his hands roamed, tugging her tight against his body. She felt like heaven, soft and warm. The shape of her felt right, like she fit against more than just his body.
He scooped his hands under her shirt, then shuddered as he found her bare flesh. No bra between his palm and her breasts.
Breaking their second kiss, he pressed his forehead against hers and looked down to where his hand worked beneath her shirt. She was warm, her breasts full and firm against his touch. Her nipple hardened as he stroked her skin, and he dropped his head to her collarbone, then lower. He sucked the taut peak into his mouth through her shirt first, then growled when she whimpered and went soft, pliant in his arms. He hoisted her onto the counter and tugged the cotton up, baring her breasts for his eyes and his mouth.
“Look at you,” he said huskily. “You’re so sexy. So soft and sweet looking, and then you make those sounds when I taste you.” He pulled on her nipples with his mouth, his tongue working the underside of her breast as he swallowed more of her flesh.
Like that.
Her breathy gasps, her horny pleas for his ears only.
Those sounds made him feel ten feet tall.
He needed to get her all the way naked, and not in their ramshackle kitchen.
Rearing up, he covered the wet, pebbled skin with his hands again, and kissed her hard on the mouth. Then he said a single, potent word. “Bed.”
“Where do you want to…” She glanced down the hall to her room.
It was closer, but Adam wanted to be all alone with her in every possible way. His room was the quietest room in the house, far from the front door—and the front porch, which had a window that looked into Isla’s room. Curtain or no, that was too close to the potential of a friend or sibling dropping by unannounced.
“Upstairs.” Another single word ripped from him, a hoarse command, and she smiled shyly, tangling her fingers in his as she led the way. Her shirt still rode high on her torso, like she didn’t care that she was exposed to him, and that sent blood surging south.
They stopped at the side of his bed in silence. Time slowed as he curved over her, taking her mouth with his. Like downstairs in the kitchen, this was the start of something that he intended to last a while. He wanted her naked in his bed for the whole afternoon.
And he was prepared—as much as he’d talked about waiting, as soon as they’d crossed the kissing line last weekend, he’d stocked up on condoms.
He didn’t need those yet, though. There was so much to do before they got to fucking. He tumbled them onto the bed, still kissing her as he stripped her down to her panties, his own clothes getting shoved aside too, then crawled down her body.
She tugged on his hair, then pushed on his shoulders, trying to stop him from kissing along the cotton edge of her underwear, then laughing as he lifted his head and growled up at her.
Her eyes shone with a beautiful brightness as she bit her lower lip, scraping it between her teeth before releasing it with a sexy-as-fuck pop. “I wanted this to be for you. I wanted to make you feel good.”
Feasting on her was for him. It was a treat he had thought he might never get again, had convinced himself was not meant to be. And yet here she was, stretched out on his bed. Nearly naked, curvy, warm, and most importantly, willing.
This wasn’t secret desire unlocked by booze, or a general need to cut loose.
This was Isla Petersen, his wife, wanting to be right where she was right now—in his bed.
His wife, in his bed.
Fucking hell, yes, he wanted to be in control. To focus on her pleasure and make it everything she had ever wanted in lovemaking.
Nothing like an impossibly high bar to reach for, but he didn’t care.
“I want this to be for both of us,” he murmured as he swept his hands up her sides and onto her breasts. Her skin was so soft and responsive, he could spend hours just stroking her flesh and listening to the shuddering little gasps that slid over her lips when he found a good spot.
She arched her back, giving in to his caresses.
He buried his face between her thighs, against the cotton first, and then when she ground against him, he tugged the panties to the side.
Enough for a taste. A tease. But that wasn’t enough. The last scrap of fabric between them needed to go. He groaned as she helped pull them down her legs, then dove in again. Her clit swelled against his tongue and he loved it gently. A lick, a suck, a tug. Up and down he moved, slow at first, then faster, deeper, until she grabbed his hair again—this time not to pull him away, but to hold him just so, there, right there, and he latched on, sucking her hardened clit through her first orgasm.
Then he pressed his forehead to her belly and cupped her sex, gently holding her until the aftershocks passed. When she slowly started to rub against his hand, he carefully stroked his way between her folds, testing if she was slick and ready for him. Her legs fell wide as he circled her entrance with the blunt tip of his finger.
H
e reared up, kneeling between her legs, panting and barely able to restrain himself. He fisted his cock.
And she grinned up at him, like she liked him like this, slightly feral and full of need for her. “Yes,” she breathed.
This wouldn’t be like their first time. This wouldn’t be light and sexy and easy. But the way she smiled at him, fuck, it would still be fun.
Just fucking intense at the same time.
He grabbed a condom and rolled it, his erection twitching at the slick stroke.
Dropping forward again, he braced himself on one arm this time, his thighs pressing against the softness of her legs. She curled beneath him, her hips lifting as he fit them together.
Her warm, snug heat welcomed him with a familiar pleasure, but the look on her face—desperate wonder—was new. He recognized that in himself, too. This was different. The second stroke of his hips went deeper, and that wild sensation in his chest grew.
His wife.
This was so fucking different it hurt, the best kind of hurt, and he felt his gaze widen as her lips parted, their eyes locked on each other.
A third pulse of his hips seated him fully inside her, buried his cock inside his wife, and something new cracked in his chest. Sharp, jagged, wild. A wedding consummation two months delayed.
His. Beautiful. Wife. He said her name, a breath, a growl, and she cried out.
Her heels dug into his ass, urging him to move.
He withdrew, then thrust all the way in. They both cried out, then he surged faster, roiling need driving him into her body over and over again. The wild abandon in her pleasure threatened to take him too soon, the way she looked beneath him. Flush and wanton, pink and luscious. Her tits, her mouth, her soft, sweet eyes. His control slipped a little bit with each breathy gasp, the sounds more erotic than anything he’d ever heard before. Had she made those sounds their first night together?
He couldn’t remember. Couldn’t see or hear anything other than her right here, right now, open and soft for him.
With a cry, she stiffened, then rocked herself up his cock once more, her legs locking around his hips. The tight hold kept his erection rubbing against just the right spot deep inside her, her rippling climax doing the rest. His pelvis jerked hard one final time, all of his muscles contracting as one as his orgasm ripped loose from the deep.
He fell on top of her, the corners of his vision going dark. She ran her fingers through his hair, then down his neck, whispering his name over and over again.
He buried his face in her neck, breathing in the sweet scent of her, sex-tinged and lovely, then rolled to his side. He dealt with the condom one-handed. The other arm stayed looped around her, holding her close. He never wanted to let her go.
That thought circled in his mind, a lazy loop of words. Tell her. He’d never been one for pillow talk before, nothing emotional, but Isla was different. This moment was different, and his chest felt tight, like it would hurt if he didn’t confess just how important she was to him.
He brushed his fingers through her hair. “When I said I needed you…”
She laughed, slow and husky. “I think we both needed that.”
He chuckled. “Well, yeah. But it’s not just that. I want you to know…” He rolled over so he could look at her. He shoved a pillow under the side of his head and took his time studying her face.
He wanted to imprint the way she was looking at him now, all soft and sweet, on his memory forever.
“What is it?”
“You know work is tough. I knew it would be, and I’m handling it. But everything always feels like it’s teetering on the edge of falling apart.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I hate that. I’m fucking desperate to get to the point where it’s not like that anymore. But you make it all…smoother. And not just the kisses. Bringing you here…I know I struggled to explain what I wanted in a partner, and why I knew this would be good for me, but I’m glad you said yes. Even before now, which was really fucking nice, too.”
She smiled and traced her fingertips along his jaw. “Maybe that’s a reminder that you should trust your instincts. They’re on the right track.”
Some of those words sparked an unexpected memory. “You should trust your instincts. You told me that about leaving the army. Do you remember?”
She shook her head. “I don’t. When was that?”
He took a deep breath. “We were at Bagram, ready to fly home. I was done on every level, and I said something to Stevie about never wanting to go back there. I felt so fucking guilty when you overheard that, because I knew there was a planeload of guys about to arrive, and I pitied every single one of them. But you didn’t get mad at me. You told me not to forget that feeling when the opportunity to get out came up. You said there was no shame in trusting my gut.”
“There isn’t.” A shadow crossed her face. “I forget that rule myself sometimes.”
“We make a good team.”
She closed the small space between them, pressing her naked length against his. She kissed him softly, then with a sharp inhale, dove in deeper. Her hand found his cock between them and carefully stroked him. An unspoken question. Again?
Soon.
He pulled her on top of him, the warmth at the apex of her thighs settling on his lower abdomen. Very soon.
The press of her lips against his, the play of her tongue, it was something else. Not just arousing, more primal and base than that.
It came to him as she moved her mouth down his neck, and he gasped for air.
He tumbled her onto her back. “I thought your kisses were like oxygen, like a heady rush, but I was wrong.” He nipped at her lower lip. “It’s more like strapping on an air tank before I go into a fire. You do that, you realize how valuable each breath is. I never take the air I breathe for granted. Kissing you is as good as breathing.”
Her eyes flared wide. “Is it?”
He nodded slowly and traced her perfect lips with the tip of his finger. “You know what I think? You are…” He felt a hot swell of feeling rise up inside him, pushing out words he never imagined he’d say, but they felt right. “Your mouth is an anchor in the storm, because it’s attached to your heart, and your goodness. Your kisses are everything good in this world, and I want them every single day.”
“Morning, noon and night?”
He rolled her on top of him, savouring her giggle of delight. “Especially at night. Sleep here with me tonight. Or I can come to your bed.”
“Will we actually sleep?”
“Probably not, so we should nap this afternoon.”
“Brilliant.” She touched his mouth, mimicking the way he’d traced her limits. “Your kisses give me something special, too.”
“I know. You already showed me. Penis cookie inspiration.”
She threw her head back, her neck stretching wide as she lost it, and he kissed the glorious expanse of skin there, which lead him lower, to feast on her breasts.
He’d give her something special with his mouth, all right. Morning, noon, and night.
Chapter Eighteen
The previous gruelling week of non-stop shifts meant that Adam had most of the following week off, and Isla was delighted when he spent much of those days at the bakery with her. Officially he was there to re-fill both of their digital calendars with the business side of things, and be a sounding board as she talked out the menu and ordering decisions.
Unofficially, he would linger as long as she wasn’t busy, and return as soon as the shop closed. Neither of them could get enough of the other’s presence, it seemed, and she secretly loved the attention.
When he returned to work, she missed him in a new and sharp kind of way. Even on his days off, he was often asleep until she finished for the day. So when he strolled in right after her last customer left for the day, she lit up like a midtown Manhattan electronic billboard.
“Flip the lock,” she said, a happy smile on her face as she sagged against the counter. “And turn the sign? This shop is close
d.”
“Good morning?”
“Great morning.” She glanced at the clock. “Did you get enough sleep? I’d expected to tiptoe into the house in an hour and hear you gently snoring.”
“Do I snore?”
She laughed. “Way to change the subject.”
“I grabbed an hour.” He looked like he was going to say more, then slid into a charming, seductive grin instead. “I was wondering if I could convince you to have an afternoon nap with me when you were done here.”
That sounded perfect. “So I shouldn’t make you a shot of espresso?”
“Not today.” He eyed the glass display case. “But I would take one of those cupcakes.”
“Actually…” She crooked her finger. “I’ve been working on something new I want you to try. A different flavour of cupcake. Come on back.”
He followed her, and picked up her clipboard as she pulled a piping bag from the fridge. “Hey, these new numbers look great. Right? Am I reading this correctly?”
She beamed at him. “You are. Thanks to your help last week, this week I had way less wastage than usual, and the margins reflect it. I don’t want to put the cart before the horse, but I’m also getting busier. I think the ramp up to Christmas should be pretty sweet.”
“That’s great.”
Snagging a bare vanilla cupcake, she piped a healthy swirl of the new raspberry icing on top and held it out. “A celebratory first taste of a new flavour?”
Instead of taking the treat, he moved in closer and let her feed it to him. When it was down to a few crumbs and a swipe of icing left on her finger, she slid that across his lower lip, then closed in so she could have a taste, too.
“We probably shouldn’t…” He glanced around her pristine kitchen. “Right?”
She nodded. “Right. Definitely not in here.” She closed her non-sticky hand around the front of his shirt and tugged him back to her office, which had a solid door and no windows. “But here,” she said after closing them into the tight confines, and leaning back against the desk. “This is fair game.”
