by Nina Lane
“C’mere,” Dean mutters roughly, grabbing my waist and hauling me toward him. He fastens his lips around my nipple and tugs, the light pull sending a current of heat right to my sex.
I move over him to straddle his waist, bending forward so he has full access to my breasts. His body tenses as he palms and squeezes my breasts until waves of heat wash through me.
“God, Dean.” I squirm on top of him, rubbing my clit against his torso. “I’m getting really hot.”
He pushes his hips upward, nudging his cock against my ass. He grips the waistband of my pants, and I shift so he can tug them down my hips and slip his hand between my legs. He groans.
“Ah, fuck, you’re wet already.” He yanks at my pants. “Get these off. Now.”
I maneuver around to pull my pants off and ease down Dean’s body, pressing kisses to his gorgeous chest, down the line bisecting his abdomen, following the trail of hair leading right to the tantalizing hardness of his erection.
I grasp his hips and press my mouth onto his cock, right over the cotton of his pants. Dean groans, fisting a hand into my hair. The heat of his shaft burns through the thin material, his thigh muscles tightening like corded wire. I pull his pants down just enough to release his cock, the beautiful, thick length almost gleaming in the dim light.
I glance up at him through the veil of hair that has fallen over my face. He’s watching me, his dark eyes smoldering. He reaches down to squeeze my breast, pinching the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
“Use these,” he says huskily.
A shiver rains through me. I get to my knees and cup my breasts. Dean grasps the base of his shaft. I position myself over him and press my breasts together to create a deep cleavage before sliding his cock between them.
“Oh, God.” I inhale a sharp breath, my skin tingling at the sensation of his smooth, veined shaft against my damp skin. “Is that good?”
“Hell, yeah.” He grits his teeth and pushes his hips upward, like he wants to thrust into my cleavage. “Fuck me with them.”
I do. I squeeze my breasts together tighter and slide them up and down his stiff cock, the pathway eased by the combination of his fluids and my perspiration. My head fills with the scent of him, urgency tightening through my entire body. I’d almost forgotten how uninhibited and sexy I could be with him, how good pure, undiluted lust could feel.
Mesmerized, I watch his thick erection push in and out of my pillowy cleavage. I twist my nipples, jolts of heat pouring through me. I pause and shift to take the head of his erection into my mouth. The salty, male taste of him floods my tongue. His body tautens beneath me, his hand tightening in my hair.
I circle my tongue over the tip of his cock before easing him into my mouth inch by inch. His shaft is warm and pulsing. I press my tongue to the vein throbbing at the underside, then ease back and move my head up and down, fucking him with my mouth. His breath saws through the air, and I feel his muscles flexing.
A groan shakes his chest. He grips the back of my neck as he pushes his cock gently into my mouth. I let my eyes drift closed and breathe, focusing on the sensation of my husband’s body, the smooth feel of his shaft, the quickening breaths signaling his increasing drive toward release. His fingers tighten briefly on my nape before he releases me and slides his hand down to rub my back in an almost soothing motion.
“Come here,” he orders gruffly.
I release him, crawling back up the length of his body and splay over him, my thighs hugging his hips and my breasts crushed against his chest. Our lips meet in a hot, full kiss as he strokes his hands down my back to my rear end. In one movement, he turns me over, his body rigid with self-restraint.
“Open,” he whispers against my lips.
My breath catches. I spread my legs, letting him move between them. He gets to his knees and pushes my legs farther apart. I rake my gaze over him, the planes of his chest and thighs, the ridge of his erection, the burning gleam in his eyes. He slides his fingers into my cleft. The first touch is a delicious shock, his thumb circling my clit as he pushes two fingers into my opening.
“Oh, God, Dean…” I clench my fists into the sheets, feeling as if I’m aroused for the first time ever.
I’m vibrating with sensation—streams of blue and gold coursing through my veins, the press of Dean’s fingers stimulating my nerves, the heat-drenched air pressing against my skin. I push my hips back and forth, as all thought slides away into a warm, heady pool of sensation. All I know is this feels so good, so right, and it’s been much too long since we’ve indulged in such hot intimacy.
“Fuck me,” I murmur, hooking my legs around his thighs. “I want to come with you inside me.”
He needs no further invitation, pushing into me with one slow, easy surge. He groans. I gasp, my inner flesh stretching and tightening around his shaft. I grip the sheets tighter as he starts to thrust, his deep movements blazing heat over my nerves. I arch upward to meet his repeated plunges, our bodies pushing and pulling in a rhythm as powerful and natural as tides.
Tension winds through my lower body. I slide my hand down to rub my clit, craving the intense explosion of pleasure I haven’t felt in weeks. Sometimes I can hardly remember not having to work to get into the moment, to push away all the worries, plans, and schedules cramming my head.
There’s always something to think about, whether it’s the café staff schedule, profit and loss, what to make for dinner, Nicholas’s daycare payments, or… Oh, shit, I forgot to give the monthly payment to Christine last week, which means I need to double-check that there’s enough to cover—
“Ah, good.” Dean, still thrusting into me like a well-oiled piston, braces his hands on either side of my head and lowers his mouth to mine. “Put your legs up… yeah, like that…”
I writhe under him, trying to get my head back in the game, but my rhythm is off, and we both pull back at the same time. He slides out of me and stops, his breathing hard. His expression darkens.
“Where did you go?” he asks.
“Nowhere. Just, um…” I dig my fingers into his back and wiggle again. I strain for the resurgence of arousal, but it’s like trying to grasp a fistful of water.
Dean slips his hand between my legs, massaging my clit in the way I usually love. I sink back against the pillows, playing with my breasts and waiting for delicious arousal to coil through me again.
Did I tell Christine about the change in my work schedule? I can’t remember. I need her to take care of Nicholas on Thursdays instead of Tuesdays, and I need to shift the pickup time to…
I shake the thought off and reach down to palm Dean’s erection and guide him back inside me. I arch upward as he slides in, smooth and easy, his breath rasping against my temple. His body grows taut with familiar urgency as he pushes into me again.
I squirm, disliking the edge of unfulfilled lust, but knowing he won’t succumb to his own release until he knows I’m satisfied. For the first time ever, I wish he weren’t such a gentleman.
“Oh, Dean…” I breathe his name and wrap my legs around his hips. “You feel so good, so big… fuck me harder, please… yes, yes!”
I dig my fingers into his shoulders, simultaneously straining for both arousal and something to say in order to keep him, at least, in the zone.
“Do me, baby, good and hard. I’m coming… Oh my God, I’m coming. Yes… oh, God, yes!”
I shriek and writhe my hips, pushing up against him the second I realize he’s stopped moving. I open my eyes. He’s looking at me, his arms still braced on either side of my head and his chest heaving.
“Really?” he asks dryly.
A hot flush of embarrassment crawls up my face. Dean gives a half laugh, half groan and thrusts a couple more times. Though he comes, I can tell it’s hardly as powerful an orgasm as it usually is for him.
He rolls off me, throwing his arm across his f
ace.
“You’re the love of my life, Olivia,” he mutters. “But you’re a terrible actress.”
My embarrassment intensifies. I should have known better than to think he wouldn’t notice. But after two weeks away from each other, I was sure I’d have no trouble reaching the finish line.
I turn toward him and put my hand on his damp torso. Lines of frustration etch his forehead, and his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. Guilt stabs me.
“I’m sorry.” I prop myself up on my elbow to look at him. “It’s really not you. It’s me. I don’t know where my sex drive goes sometimes.”
Dean opens his eyes to meet my gaze.
“So what happened?” he asks. “You were into it before.”
“I started thinking about something I have to do tomorrow,” I admit.
“I’m guessing it wasn’t ride Dean’s cock,” he mutters.
I can’t help giggling. “No, but I’ll put that on my To Do list.”
I ease closer to rest my cheek against his shoulder. I slide my hand down his abdomen, tracing the ridges of his abs with my fingertips. Not only does my husband have an incredibly gorgeous body, he knows exactly how and when to both make love and fuck hard. He’s certainly not the reason I have trouble keeping my head in the game.
“Don’t do that again,” Dean says, his tone so implacably stern that I glance up.
He frowns down at me, his eyes narrowing with a sense of menace I’ve never before seen directed at me. For some reason, a shiver of excitement runs down my spine.
“I won’t,” I promise.
“You’d better not,” Dean murmurs, his deep voice rolling over me like a hot breeze. “You’re not allowed to fake an orgasm. Ever.”
“Oh.” I dart my tongue out to lick my lips, wondering why his unyielding command is making me all quivery inside. “Okay.”
“If you do that again, I’ll have to punish you,” Dean warns, leaning back against the pillows and closing his eyes. “We wouldn’t want that now, would we?”
Given the little tingles racing through me, I’m not sure what the right answer to that question is.
CHAPTER TWO
DEAN
WELL, SHIT.
After two weeks away from my wife, I was unapologetically expecting explosive sex within a few hours of my return. But after last night fizzled out like a wet firecracker, and with Liv’s sex drive here one minute and gone the next, I don’t know when explosive sex will be on the agenda again.
Not that I’m deprived. Just a little tired of my right hand.
I take a deep breath and finish shaving. Despite the fact that last night hardly went as planned, I’m glad to be home. Thirteen days away from my family was thirteen days too long.
I’d hoped Liv could come with me to Italy—I’ve been working on the Altopascio dig for almost three years now, and she has yet to see the site—but the timing didn’t work out. It never has. We’ve made plans a few times for her and Nicholas to join me, but work and schedules always get in the way.
When I go downstairs, the high-pitched voice of Elmo comes from the TV, and the smell of coffee drifts in the air. The picture windows in the sunroom reveal a sky the color of metal and a springtime growth of weeds and plants sprouting from the mushy ground.
“Morning.” Liv is standing at the central island, putting out coffee mugs. She’s bundled into her padded robe, her hair all loose and tangled around her shoulders. Exactly how I like it.
“Morning, wife.” I slide a hand around the back of her neck and pull her in for a kiss. A surge of unfulfilled lust hits me at the feeling of her lips against mine.
After a minute, Liv pulls away from me and rests her hand on my chest. Guilt flashes in her pretty brown eyes.
“Sorry about last night,” she says.
So am I. I’ve never not been able to make her come, especially after two weeks apart. Never.
“It had just been such a bad day,” Liv continues. “And I wanted to make you happy.”
“I am happy.” I twist a lock of her hair around my finger. “But knowing you’re faking it makes me very not happy. You ever do that before?”
“No.”
I narrow my gaze. “You sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.” She slides her hand up to my neck. “And clearly you figured it out last night. Don’t you think you’d be able to tell if I’d done it before?”
Yeah, I think I’d be able to tell, but doesn’t every guy?
“You’re the one who said I’m a terrible actress,” Liv reminds me. “Really, Dean, I promise I’ve never faked it before. I was just exhausted. Nicholas had been pitching a level ten fit all day, my cake turned into a disaster, and my plans to welcome you home were a wreck. Honestly, I consider it a win that we got as far as we did.”
Can’t say I agree with that.
“Stop frowning.” Liv reaches up to smooth her thumb against the crease between my eyebrows. “You’ve always rocked my world hard, professor, and you know it.”
“Not always,” I mutter darkly. Not as recently as last night.
“Dean, I’m sorry,” she says again. “I swear upon everything holy that before last night, I have never faked an orgasm or anything else with you, but honestly, sometimes I can’t get into it. I mean, we’re so busy raising a toddler and working… Sometimes just snuggling up together in bed is better than the hot sex we used to have.”
Again, not agreeing.
Liv slides herself into my arms and hugs me around the waist. The feel of her against me eases my frustration. I guess I’ll consider it a win too, for Liv’s sake only, but I hate that she can switch gears right in the middle of sex—and then actually lose interest in what we’re doing.
It used to be that fucking was overwhelming enough to block everything else out. Now it takes work for her to even stay focused.
“I promise, things will heat up again,” she murmurs, pressing her lips against my neck.
I bite back a retort of “When?” because neither of us knows the answer to that, and being irritated about our sex life when everything else is so good… well, I’m not such an ass that I’ll complain about it.
Much.
“Hey.” Liv rubs her hand over my cheek. “I know you’re getting all hot and bothered. I really think once Nicholas starts sleeping through the night, and I start getting more sleep as a result, we’ll get back on track again.”
And if we don’t?
Again I don’t bother asking that question aloud.
“In the meantime, take your wounded male pride into the family room and watch Sesame Street with our son,” Liv orders. “As an apology, I’ll make you a very manly breakfast of eggs, black coffee, and thick-cut bacon.”
“Will you serve it to me naked?” I pull her closer.
She smiles. “Hold that thought for a morning when our son is actually sleeping in.”
At the rate we’re going, that’ll probably be when Nicholas is a teenager.
“Go,” Liv commands, gesturing to the family room.
I feel her up a little—squeeze her breasts, rub her ass—just to make sure she knows who’s still calling the shots. Then I obey her order and go to join Nicholas on the sofa.
He’s transfixed by the TV, but he edges over to lean against my chest when I sit down beside him. He smells like sleep and Cheerios, his hair rumpled and his sturdy little body clad in train-patterned pajamas.
My tension eases as my brain makes the shift to Big Bird and Oscar the Grouch.
“Sesame,” Nicholas tells me, pointing to the TV.
“Excellent choice.” I rumple his hair, feeling a familiar and yet still overwhelming rush of love fill my chest.
It’s a different kind of love than the one I have for Liv. My love for my wife is powerfully intense and secure, bone-deep, the essential
part of me. It’s the solid ground under my feet, a feeling as inevitable as a sunrise.
With Nicholas, my love is almost scary in its fierceness and layered with so many other emotions I can’t even define them all. Awe. Wonder. Fear. Amazement. Hope. Every day, every time I see him, the love surges anew, like a tidal wave submerging my heart.
“I make puzzle.” Nicholas shoves off the sofa, apparently having lost interest in the cartoon, and waddles over to the puzzle of wooden pieces scattered on the rug.
I sit on the floor with him as he fits the dinosaur picture together, his face set with concentration. Tantrums aside, he’s a good kid—smart, curious, funny, creative. Half the time I can’t imagine he was ever a tiny newborn, and the other half I can’t imagine him ever being older than two.
“Hey, come talk to me,” Liv calls. “I want to hear about your trip.”
“Come on, Nicholas.” I grab another puzzle and push to my feet. “Let’s go hang out with Mommy.”
He follows me into the sunroom, where the kitchen table sits beside the windows. After settling Nicholas on the rug with the new puzzle, I pour a cup of coffee and join Liv at the table.
As we eat breakfast, I tell her more about my trip to Altopascio—the process of damage assessment after the earthquake, the cataloging of archeological finds, the details of my proposal to get the site on the World Heritage list of protected monuments.
“Brought you some things too,” I say, going to the travel bag still sitting beside the door. “I found Nicholas a set of Italian blocks and a pop-up book, which I’m sure he’ll destroy in about five seconds.”
I bring the packages back to the table, handing two to Nicholas and the rest to Liv. I’d gotten her Italian chocolate and coffee, a culinary travelogue, and a print of a Tuscan village.
“This will look perfect on that wall.” Liv gestures to the opposite wall and leans in to press her lips against mine. “Thank you.”
“Here’s one more.” I push a wrapped package across the table to her.
