Page 7 of Finding Denver

“Ranger, your choice is to either complain about the price of the dress or eat my pussy. Pickwisely.”

A good point. She finally hitches the dress above her hips, and I groan. “No underwear.”

“It’s almost like I knew this would happen.”

I drape her leg over my shoulder, my cock straining against my zipper at the sight before me—she’s pink, flushed, wet. When I run my tongue across her, Denver lets out a breathy sigh, and that noise alone could be my undoing. I flatten my tongue against her, devouring her taste, the feel of her, the knowledge that she’s fucking mine.

She whispers my name, the sound becoming a soft moan as I circle her entrance with my tongue before sucking softly on her clit. I slide two fingers inside, her tightness gripping my knuckles, her arousal coating my fingers.

“You’re soaked, my love,” I say. She rolls her hips, grinding against my hand as I move slowly in and out of her wet heat. “Good girl. Ride my fingers.”

She moans at the praise, and I suck and lick her clit, circling, nibbling, until her movements become erratic, her orgasm close.

“Are you going to spill over my hand, little bird?”

Her responding “yes” is tangled in soft groans and sighs, and when I glance up at her, the strap of her dress is down and she’s massaging her breast, rolling her nipple between her fingers.

I love her like this. She’s only weak for me, only broken apart for me. Deluxe in piecesfor me.

“Ranger—” Her orgasm hits her hard, my knuckles squeezed with every pulse, and she repeats my name like a prayer, her breathing choppy.

I remove her leg from my shoulder and stand. She slumps against the wall, her smile dreamy, her eyes closed as I unbuckle my belt. And as desperate as I am to fuck her, I take a second to admire her.

The flush of her cheeks. The plump lips I’ve kissed a thousand times.

She opens her eyes, the gray a darkened steel in the dimness of the room. She knows the look I’m giving her, knows what I’m feeling, and reaches out to grip my jacket.

I’ve shared moments with her countless times, but ones like this are few. The first was outside a coffee shop four years ago, when she’d made me laugh, and the love I’dalways had for her had doubled. The second was our wedding day, when I’d danced with her and told her I wouldn’t fuck this up. And the third is now—far less romantic, but just as meaningful.

I brush her hair back, my heart warming as she presses her cheek into my palm. I say, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

But do you still need me?

“Fuck me before someone realizes we’re gone,” she says, tugging me closer, and I push the thought aside before it ruins the moment.

I lift her, and the moment my cock is buried inside her tightness, I forget the doubt. I let her warmth be my focus as I fuck her against the wall, my hand over her mouth as pleasure darkens my true emotions. She moans against my palm, eyes wide as I fuck her hard and rough, each meeting of our bodies familiar and fucking perfect. I devour every second of us like this, because she’s at my mercy, under my control, and this is how it always should be.

Her back slams into the wall with every thrust, and I can tell by her breathing that she’s close. Her moans increase, her eyes roll back, and I bury my face into her neck, overwhelmed by coconut shampoo and the perfume I bought her?—

“Fuck,” I groan into her neck as she comes and squeezes my cock, my orgasm following, my body taut against hers, my breath halting as flashes of pleasure erupt across and through me.

My muscles relax, my breathing returns, and Denver sighs softly.

“Better than an award.”

I smile into the crook of her neck, kissing her, basking inthis feeling. A feeling I fought for and killed to have. “I should fucking think so.”

“I have napkins in my purse,” she says as I slide out of her. I’m on my knees, cleaning her up, and she grins at me.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m just … I like where we are.”

I arch a brow. “A closet?”

“No. This.” She gestures between us, and I stand. She readjusts her dress. “We’re good, aren’t we? We’re happy?”