Page 26

T he air between us is thick, charged—like the pressure in the atmosphere before a storm.

Aella is quiet on the ride home, staring out the window, her arms wrapped around herself. Her mind is turning, working through everything that happened at dinner, but she doesn’t ask a single question.

I know she has them.

I can feel the weight of them pressing against her lips, locked behind her teeth.

But I don’t push.

I let her sit with it.

She’s entitled to her space, and I want her to come to me when she’s ready.

But fuck, I won’t lie— it’s killing me.

Because Aella is my wife.

And I need to fix whatever is spinning around in that beautiful head of hers before it morphs into something that builds a wall between us.

By the time we get home, it’s after ten, and Christ, I’m exhausted.

Angel Fury is worse than a goddamn military inquisition.

After Dad dropped the bomb that I was the one who brought ReadEase to the table, Angel latched onto me like a pit bull with a bone, firing off question after question, demanding to know exactly who I am, how I make my money, how I plan to provide for his daughter.

I told him everything he wanted to know.

Even agreed to send over my financial portfolio because I know— I know —he’s just looking out for Aella.

And I can’t fault him for that.

Aella is his only child.

But to me?

To me, she is everything. And I’d gladly sign over everything I have to her if that’s what it took to keep her with me.

But she’s not mercenary. No more than anyone else. I doubt she thinks about money very much at all.

Just the privilege of being born to wealthy and powerful people. But she’s so much more than what her parents gave her.

Aella is everything good and right with the world.

She disappears into the bathroom as soon as we get upstairs, and a second later, I hear the shower start.

My jaw clenches.

I should give her space. Let her process.

But I’m too wound up, too tense, so I head downstairs, pouring two tumblers of Neat from my private collection, trying to get my thoughts together.

When I return to our bedroom, the shower is off.

I step inside and freeze.

Aella is sitting at the vanity, her towel pooled around her hips, her skin dewy from the shower.

She’s running lotion over her arms, over her soft, lush curves, completely unaware of the way she’s killing me.

Her eyes find mine in the mirror, and she stiffens, like she wasn’t expecting me to just walk in.

But that’s ridiculous.

This is our room.

She makes no move to cover herself, and fuck if that doesn’t drive me insane.

Her skin is glowing, a soft pink flush dusting her cheeks, her shoulders, the tops of her full, perfect tits.

I want to drop to my knees.

Worship her.

Devour her.

I swallow hard and hold up the glass.

“Drink?”

She shakes her head.

I toss mine back, setting hers on the dresser.

Then I walk straight to her.

I drag my fingertips down her spine, watching as goosebumps rise in their wake.

She shivers—and I swear, it’s the prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

I lean down, pressing a kiss right where her shoulder meets her neck, inhaling her sweet, clean scent, and she melts for me.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you are today, Mrs. Ramirez?” I murmur.

She bites her lip, her head tilting instinctively to the side, granting me better access.

An invitation.

A silent plea.

And I think maybe I am not alone in this obsession I have for her. Maybe she is just as helpless as I am. Just as desperate as our hungry actions prove.

“Sammy,” she moans, and that sound— fuck

It shoots straight to my dick, a pulse of pure need throbbing inside me.

I cup her soft, heavy breasts, rolling my thumbs over her already hard nipples, and she gasps, her body arching into my touch.

She’s perfect.

Everywhere I touch her— so soft, so sweet.

A goddamn feast for the senses.

“Christ, I need you, Wife.” My voice is raw, hungry. “Tell me I can have you.”

She doesn’t hesitate.

Doesn’t question.

“You can have me.”

Then she spins in her seat, crashing her lips to mine.

We collide like a thunderstorm, a clash of heat and need, and I know I should be gentle.

Careful. Tender. Slow.

She’s still new to this.

But fuck that.

Not now.

Not when my skin is burning.

Not when my blood is molten.

Not when my need for her is clawing me apart from the inside out.

I’m tearing at my clothes, desperate to feel her skin against mine. And Aella?

She’s helping.

Her small hands move fast, unbuttoning my shirt, shoving it off my shoulders, and then her lips working their way along my jaw, my neck, my chest— everywhere.

I’ve never let a woman have me like this.

Never let one explore me.

But Aella?

I want her to take everything.

She drops to her knees, fingers at my belt, and my body goes taut.

“What are you doing, Wife?” My voice is rough, uneven.

She peeks up at me, cheeky little brat, and smirks.

“If you don’t know, then I’m doing it wrong.”

I should stop her.

I should tell her she doesn’t have to.

But then she grips my cock, wrapping those perfect, lush lips around me and fuck .

I’m gone.

“Goddamn, Pixie.”

My head tips back, eyes rolling shut, but only for a second.

Because I need to see this.

See her.

On her knees.

For me.

Taking me in her mouth.

And she’s so eager, so hungry, sucking me as deep as she can, until she gags around me— and that sound —Jesus fuck, that sound.

I thrust instinctively, fisting my hands in her thick, dark hair, trying to control myself, but I can’t.

“You like that, Pixie?” I pant. “Like my cock in your mouth?”

She moans, nods, and my eyes widen as her hand slides down her own body, fingers tweaking her nipples, slipping between her thighs.

“Shit.” My body jerks, the sight of her touching herself while sucking my dick nearly undoing me.

“You gonna rub that clit while you suck me off?”

Another moan, this one desperate, and I grin darkly.

“Yeah, that’s right. Keep doing that.”

I thrust again, slow and deep, savoring the slick heat of her mouth, the way she shudders with every push.

“You’re so fucking good, Wife.”

Her fingers move faster, and I can tell she’s close.

So am I.

“Fuck, Pixie. I’m gonna come.”

Her green eyes snap up to mine, wide, needy, and she hums around me.

Then, I’m coming, shooting my load into her mouth and she swallows it down, eyes round, moaning as she joins me in climaxing.

We barely make it to the bed.

The second Aella’s back hits the soft sheets, I’m on her—spreading her thighs wide, pressing her down, claiming her.

Her breath catches as I trail my fingers over the inside of her legs, my lips following, nipping, teasing, working my way up until I reach her sweet, glistening pussy.

And then I devour her.

“Fuck, Pixie.”

I drag my tongue from her tight little asshole to her clit, slow and filthy, and she jerks beneath me, a high, needy whimper ripping from her throat.

I groan, my hands tightening on her thighs, holding her open, keeping her exactly where I want her.

Her taste is intoxicating.

So sweet.

So fucking addictive.

And I can’t stop .

I won’t stop.

Not until she’s clutching at the sheets, her back arching, her thighs trembling around my head.

Not until she’s moaning my name like a prayer.

Not until she gives me everything.

I press my tongue to her clit, working her with long, slow licks, sucking, flicking, driving her higher and higher until her hips buck and she cries out, her hands flying to my hair, pulling, desperate.

“Sammy! Oh God!”

I grin against her pussy, sliding a finger inside her, feeling the way her tight walls clench down, so hot and wet and fucking perfect.

“That’s it, Pixie.”

I pump my finger slowly, curling it just right, dragging it against that sweet spot inside her while my mouth works her clit.

Her whole body quivers, thighs squeezing around me, her gasps turning ragged.

And then she’s coming apart.

Shaking.

Crying out.

Her cunt fluttering around my fingers, slick coating my hand, and fuck— it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

My Aella in pure wanton abandon.

I give her a second to breathe.

One.

Maybe two.

Then I’m on her again.

Hovering over her, grabbing my cock, rubbing the head through her slick folds and pushing inside.

Deep.

Slow.

Dragging it out.

Because I want her to feel it.

All of it.

Every thick, pulsing inch as I stretch her open, claiming her all over again.

The scent of sex and passion fill the bedroom, and it’s so damn perfect. Watermelon, sugar, and sex.

Christ, I want her scent on me forever.

“Sammy,” she gasps, her nails biting into my arms.

“Shh, Pixie. I got you.”

She’s so fucking tight, still gripping me from her orgasm, and it’s taking everything in me not to lose my mind completely.

I slide in deeper, grinding into her, watching as her eyes flutter closed, her lips parting, her body trembling beneath me.

“So perfect, sweet Pixie.” I kiss her jaw, her throat, whispering the only truth I know.

“Say you’re mine.”

I pull back, slam in deep, making her gasp.

“Tell me.”

Her hands clutch my shoulders, her eyes burning into mine,

But she doesn’t hesitate.

Doesn’t blink.

She just looks me dead in the eye and gives me everything .

“Yours. I’m yours.”

Then she surprises me.

Fucking destroys me.

Because she lifts her hips, drags her nails down my back, and whispers, “And you’re mine.”

Something snaps inside me.

Not just desire.

Not just possession.

Something deeper.

Something primal.

Something forever.

I growl, grip the back of her neck, and kiss her hard, pouring everything into it.

Every ounce of need.

Every shred of devotion.

Every unspoken promise.

And then I fuck her. Hard.

Long, deep strokes, my hands gripping her hips, dragging her down onto me, owning her body, owning her pleasure.

“Give it to me, Pixie. One more. I want one more.”

“I c-can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Show me what you got, Beautiful.”

She moans, her hands clawing at me, her body meeting me stroke for stroke, her legs wrapping around my waist, pulling me in deeper, tighter.

Her breaths turn ragged, her moans sharper, and I can feel it.

She’s close again.

“Come for me, Pixie,” I whisper against her lips.

“Come all over my cock. Right. Fucking. Now.”

She shatters, back arching, eyes blown wide, her nails raking down my back as she comes so hard, she sobs my name.

Her pussy clamps down, milking me, and I follow her right over the edge, grinding deep as I spill inside her, filling her to the brim, holding her so fucking tight I might never let go.

The room is silent, save for our panting breaths, the thunder rolling outside, the rain pattering against the windows.

Aella is boneless beneath me, her fingers tracing lazy circles on my back, and I don’t ever want to move.

But I force myself to be gentle, to care for her, pressing soft kisses over her damp skin before sliding out of her slowly, making her whimper.

I grab her discarded towel, clean her up, then pull her into my arms, tucking her against my chest.

“You okay?”

She murmurs something, but I can’t make it out because her face is pressed against my chest.

It’s okay, though, because she is lying with me, holding me, and I know she is okay.

I kiss her head, holding her even tighter.