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“Oh my God,” she whines, the words waning into a whimper as I rock my hips.
“Fuck that feels good,” I growl, head tipping back.
When I lift up so that my tip rests directly over her clit and hold the wand there, we both release deep hisses.
Somewhere along the way of having three kids and quiet being imperative during sex, I outgrew the need for silence.
And today, with our babies officially out into the world and settled in the house they’ll share in Paris, it’s only right that I make her scream.
Which she proceeds to do when I rock my hips and turn up the vibration.
She sobs. “Savio, no. I can’t—please, put your dick—me, in. In me. I need?—”
Those words, her cries, once upon a time would have had me freezing up.
Now, they run like wildfire in my blood.
When more garbled pleas escape her, I pump my hips until my seed spurts onto her sex. The sensation pushes her over the cliff and she goes off like a light show.
Her scream’s enough to bring the rafters down, and my lips curve into a smile as pride fills me.
I did that.
When I drop to my knees and use my tongue to clean her up, her nails drag over my scalp as those pleas continue until they’re almost a litany.
Before they morph into a prayer.
I ignore her until she’s screaming again, and then, and only then, do I stop because she’s a panting, sweaty, broken mess.
Give me that over her tears from earlier.
Our nest is empty.
It’s my duty to show her that can come with perks, even if I left three pieces of my heart in Paris too.
Hell, we’re lucky they’re so close. Especially when Arabella was supposed to be returning to Oregon until she switched colleges when Thiya got into La Sorbonne.
When I flop back on the bed next to her, despite her exhaustion, Andrea rolls on top of me, only settling once her face is nuzzled in the crook of my neck.
With a soft nip to my throat, she mumbles, “Where did you even come up with that?”
“I have a dirty mind and I wanted you to scream.”
“Mission accomplished.” She yawns. “That was… incredible.”
Thatwas phase one.
Diana’s returning tomorrow after I asked her to give us the night alone, and she’s going to be helping Andrea redecorate the kitchen and the two dens we have that were the kids’. Their bedrooms will remain the same, but we’re reclaiming the other rooms.
Andrea and Diana need a bigger office and I want a gym that isn’t in the barn because it’s fucking freezing in the winter.
It was hard going when Diana’s eldest returned to the States, and navigating our lives without our kids will be hard, but we’ve gotten through worse.
I press a kiss to the crown of her head.
If I look amid the tousled curls, I know I’ll see her scars. They’re faded now. Still faintly pink, but not as raw and ragged as they once were.
We’ve been blessed, her and I, with good health. Regular checkups on her end caught a cancerous mole before it could spread and I’m on more pills for hypertension than I’d like, but we’re in good shape.