Page 47 of Danger Close (Mourningkill #3)

“Put your hands over your head, and keep them there.” I bent down over her, one hand going on either side of her torso. The bed dipped with my weight. “Don’t make me tell you again, or I’ll tie them behind you and do things to your sweet little body that you’re not healed enough to handle.”

She gasped, but obeyed. Her compliance was the greatest aphrodisiac.

“I…. I…” Her breathless words faltered when I ran my hand up her thigh, circling her hip to grab a handful of her beautiful ass. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Impossible.”

“I don’t want you to do this if you don’t want to.”

“I fucking want to.” I leaned down, running my nose up her juicy inner thigh, the scent of her arousal giving me a high I have never had before. “But I have to be careful. I have to stay in control, and I am trying. ” My voice was ragged with my desire. “I don’t want to hurt you. I can’t.”

“Hurt me,” she pleaded. “I want you to lose control.”

“No!” I bent down to kiss the little tuft of hair that protected her beautiful, luscious core.

The last thing I needed was to be blinded by lust and hurt my precious wife. But to abstain from this was just as impossible. Not when her scent, her arousal, and the heat of her skin threatened to burn me to ash.

“I would cut my arm off before I ever hurt you.” I inched closer and closer to the sweet wetness that I’d tasted only a few days ago, and needed once again, like a fucking addiction. “There’ll be time to throw you around the bedroom, slam you against walls, and fuck you into oblivion, baby.”

That wasn’t a threat. That was a fucking promise.

“But tonight? When there are wedding bells right outside the door?” Oh, I’m a romantic sap. Who knew? “I have a different purpose.”

I dove into her, my tongue spearing into her pussy as she clenched around me, her keening cry so delicious that I had to fight the urge to grab my cock and just ram right into her.

My fingers replaced my tongue as my mouth covered her beautiful, swollen clit, and I sucked and nipped at it, her body responding with pleasant shivers.

“Eyes, Princess. I need to see your eyes!” She fought to comply, her eyes shuttering closed with every thrust of my two fingers.

She tried. She really, really tried to look at me as she plunged into ecstasy, and I commend her for that.

But I noted that one day, when she was at the peak of health again, I would make a game of this.

I’d tease and taste every inch of her body and make her look at me with those big blue eyes, and spank her for every time she looked away.

I’d pin her down, punish her, take her with reckless violence until she and I were carved together, joined at the hips and intertwined to the point of absolute exhaustion.

But. Not. Today.

Not today.

Not today.

I had to resist that urge. I played it on a loop inside my head until I fucking believed it.

I was one moan away from snapping completely.

When her orgasm wracked through her body, her thighs quivering, insides greedily pulsing, I moaned with her.

I had to grab my cock with my free hand and squeeze him into compliance, before all the blood he demanded made me lose my wits entirely.

He wanted to play. He needed to come out and say hello to his long lost love, convinced that if he did not get to plunge inside her, both of us would die of absolute disappointment.

He wasn’t going to take no for an answer this time.

With her juices coating my lips and chin, I crawled up her quivering body, and settled myself between her beautiful thighs.

I combed her hair from her face, and interlaced my fingers with hers. She’d been holding her hands over her head, white knuckling through her orgasm like the good woman I knew she could be.

I thrust my tongue into her mouth, letting her taste herself, her climax, and me. The perfect mixture. The two of us were meant to be together, and I never wanted to go a single day without her mouth on mine.

Time had made me selfish and greedy, and as our days became more and more precious, I needed to spend as much of it with the one who mattered.

My cock bobbed as he searched for the entrance to the place he called home. I moved my hips to help him along. She was so wet, and so ready for me that my head slipped in easily, but then ran into the barrier of her tightness.

Her pussy squeezed me as I pushed my way in.

I tried not to cry out from the sheer pain and pleasure of her tight heat as I inched inside, bit by bit, resisting the urge to sheath myself in one, hard thrust. Sweat beaded down my forehead as I did the impossible, and thrust slowly in and out of her. Slow. Gentle. Agonizing!

My entire body tensed, every tendon aching with control, making sure I never jostled her too hard. Bruised ribs, bruises, pain… I would not cause her pain.

“More!” she moaned, as her hips bucked, begging me to increase my speed.

“Baby.” I needed her to stop. I needed her to quit tempting me, because if I gave in… if I…

“I don’t fucking care, Joe.” Fuck, she called me Joe. She called me Joe. “If you hurt me, then it will be the most delicious pain I’ve ever felt.”

Fuck. Fuck! Fuck!

My body reacted without my consent. It moved to obey her every desire, and I thrust hard, and deep, bottoming out inside her delicious heat. Our hips slapped together like I wanted to meld us into one being.

Each time I dove inside her core, I groaned, unable to handle the frenzy overtaking me.

“My wife,” I growled beside her ear. “You’re mine, Teri. Mine.”

“Yes!” she whimpered. “Oh, God!”

Her hands grasped for me, pulling me in as hard as I was pulling her.

I wasn’t alone in this desire. She was right there with me, and we were spiraling into madness, and need.

“You’re mine, Princess.”

“Cobra!” she screamed, as her pussy spasmed around me in her second orgasm.

“Joe,” I demanded. “To you? I’m Husband, or Joe. Cobra is for everyone else, but to you I’m—”

“Husband!” she finished my thought, her cry the greatest affirmation, far more profound than marriage vows. Fuck that piece of paper. She was mine. She was mine thirty years ago. She was mine now. She’d be mine until I took my last breath.

I tumbled into a little death with her wrapped around me, our palms joined, fingers interlocked.

I hadn’t spent the last three decades as a monk. I hadn’tlived a pure or chaste life. I’d found comfort in women. But I had never done this. I had never before felt so joined with a woman as I was in that moment.

From this day forward, I would live and lie by Teresa Louise Guerro’s eyes.