Page 71 of Ceremony of Lust
He covers my hand with his and kisses each fingertip. “It’s nothing more than a uniform, sweetheart. It makes me harder to see in the shadows.”
“Lay with me a while,” I whisper.
He kicks off his shoes and crawls in the bed, nudging me toward the middle. One hand glides along my leg, over the curve up my hip, and then down across my belly.
“How do you feel today?” he whispers, brushing his lips just below my ear.
“Sad,” I murmur, closing my eyes as his hand keeps caressing my stomach.
“Why?”
“Because you’re leaving.”
He tugs me against him, and his growing hardness presses against my backside. It’s good to know he still finds me attractive despite my current disheveled state. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I tell him softly.
The hand on my belly makes its way slowly to my breasts. My body is already changing, and when his fingers brush against my sensitive nipples, I moan into my pillow.
“You’re sick, but I can’t help myself.” His mouth presses against my shoulder as he trails hot, open-mouthed kisses along my collarbone. “These”—he squeezes one breast— “have been such a temptation for me.”
I reach behind me and grasp his leg. “Zev,” I groan as my tummy churns, not with sickness but with desire. With one touch, one kiss, he completely changes everything inside me.
“You’re sick,” he insists again, even though his hand continues to knead one newly enlarged and overly sensitive breast. Even though his mouth still scorches my body with kisses.
Shifting, I turn my body into his, draping a leg over his hip, and press my center against his rigid length. “You’re leaving,” I breathe out as I place a kiss against the hollow of his throat.
My hands drift down to his belt and work it free. Nothing else matters right now. There are things I need besides sex, but they seem unnecessary. As I unbutton his pants and work my hand inside, the only thing I need right now is him.
When his hand covers mine and stops me, my eyes flutter open and meet his. I see the restraint painted across his features. “I won’t take advantage of you, Yael,” he says in a sexy rasp that only makes me crave him more. “We can do this when I come back, and you feel better.”
“The only thing that will make me feel better is having you inside me,” I say with a kiss to his jaw. “It’s the only thing that will make you leaving me bearable.”
“I’m not leaving you,” he insists, but his words seem hollow. Is he lying to me? If he is, I don’t want to know. I want to be blissfully ignorant for a little while longer. The only thing I want to think about is our connection and the way he feels when he’s buried deep inside me.
“Prove it,” I challenge him, shaking off his hand. I roll to my back and look up at him with eager eyes.
We take things so slow it’s almost painful. It’s as if he’s teasing me, but I know better. After almost a year of marriage, I finally understand my husband. He’s memorizing, committing every touch to memory, and I’m doing the same.
When he finally pushes his way inside me, I memorize the way he looks, the way his eyes close and his mouth opens slightly until he’s rooted deep, and then looks down at me. I memorize the adoration in his face as we connect, our hands clasped while our bodies move in near perfect unison. We both know what the other needs, and it’s not hard, raw, and fast. It’s slow, sweet, and seductive.
His hands grasp my curves as his cock plunges in and out of me, retracting slowly each time before sinking back deep inside me. His mouth is hot and wet as it covers every exposed inch of flesh on my neck and my shoulder. When he lifts slightly to push my shirt up, he places reverent kisses along my tummy all the while murmuring tender words of praise.
“Don’t go,” I whisper, pressing a palm to his cheek. He turns his face to kiss it but is silent. “Don’t go,” I whisper again and again as I’m consumed with a white-hot heat that makes my body explode, that shatters my heart because I know he’s hiding something.
When he cries out and pulses inside me, I notice the wetness on his face. When he catches me staring, he looks away, burying his face in my shoulder until he relaxes against me.
The silence between us afterward is unsettling, and soon the air thickens with tension. Eventually, he rolls away and pads into the bathroom to clean himself up. I should do the same, but I’ll do it when I’m alone, when I can scream and cry privately.
“My mother and your grandmother will check on you,” he tells me as he tucks his shirt back into his pants. “I don’t like the idea of you being here alone, but I don’t want you to go back to Ripley either.”
“So, don’t go,” I snap.
“I have to. The job is too big.” He looks apologetic as he threads his belt through the loops of his pants. “If you need anything, call Fraser. He’ll help you.”
“Why can’t I call you?”
“I’ll be too far away to do anything.” He sighs and places his hands on his hips. “I know this is terrible timing, and I’m sorry. I’ll call you as often as I can to check in.”