Page 158 of Dirty Husband

Deep, steady thrusts.

Again and again.

Until I'm wound so tight I might burst.

Then tighter, tighter—

There.

I breathe his name as I come. My head falls back. My nails dig into his skin. Hard enough he growls.

My sex pulses, pulling him closer, taking him deeper. It's so much. So intense I'm sure I'm going to swallow him whole.

It pushes him to the brink.

He rocks into me again. Then he comes.

He groans my name, thrusting into me as he spills every drop.

Mine.

For this perfect moment, he's mine.

And I'm his.

And we understand each other completely.

When he's finished, he sets me down, unties my wrists, cleans me up, helps me into my clothes.

Fixes his.

We emerge to an empty room. A locked door. I don't ask how much he paid the saleswoman for the privacy.

I don't care.

This is perfect.

Nothing is knocking me off my high.

Chapter Forty

Jasmine

Technically, Rome isn't the city of love. But it feels like it.

We spend our days walking around the quaint streets. Eating fresh pasta. Licking gelato from cones. Tossing coins in the Trevi fountain.

We find the best espresso shop in Italy. Shep groans over the subtle chocolate notes.

I add an extra bag of sugar. Even then, I barely make it through my tiny macchiato.

He insists I try again, so the next day, I order a latte. Add only a single bag of sugar.

Ick.

He laughs at my expression. Presses his lips to mine. Says he's never seen anything better. Well, not while I was dressed.

I force him to order a weak tea from the café where we grab lunch, but it doesn't really make my point. The tea is bad because it lacks flavor. Not because it scalds the taste buds.