Page 48 of Her Wicked Husband (The Huxleys #2)
Bryce
My heart stops. Every cell in my body freezes.
Am I dreaming? I’ve been obsessing about her lips for so long. I’ve fantasized about her taste, and it killed me to lie next to her in bed these last few days, my entire being consumed, burning to kiss her. The need was so great, I’d have traded my soul for it.
She made it clear she would only kiss me if she liked me, but that it would never happen.
As much as I pushed her to change her mind, she’s impossible to budge once she makes a decision.
But if she weren’t stubborn, she wouldn’t be the girl I fell for at first sight.
Or the woman I can’t quit thinking about.
Now that the kiss is happening…
My mind disintegrates with her lips on mine.
She licks the seam of my mouth, as though seeking permission to enter.
I swear my heartbeat skyrockets to two hundred beats a minute.
My blood is so hot that it feels like I’m burning from the inside out, my skin melting, my brain turning to mush.
I open my mouth to let her in, savoring her bold aggression.
She tastes like our favorite soda, mixed with honey and a fire that’s all her—that I adore.
My whole body shudders. My cock is so hard it hurts.
I slant my mouth for a deeper connection, plundering her like my life depends on it. Every nerve zings. The rapid tightening of my balls and the accompanying electric sizzle signal a barreling orgasm approaching.
No fucking way . I’m not coming in my pants like some teenage virgin.
I hang on to what little control remains and wrap my arms around her, pulling her close until we’re pressed firmly against each other. My dick pulses against her belly. I rock against her, chanting her name between kisses like she’s the center of my universe.
She moans in response, moving against me. She sucks my tongue, strokes it with her own. Her taste fills my senses. It erases every thought in my head. Her soft skin against my solid, much larger body arouses not only lust but protective, possessive instinct.
Mine. My wife. My woman.
I stroke the ring on her, warm from her body heat. Satisfaction swells, but it isn’t enough. She pulls back for a second to drag in air, then pushes her mouth against mine again.
Our tongues tangle in another carnal dance. She said kissing was too intimate. An understatement. Kissing her is like baring my soul.
My cock throbs, dying to be inside her hot, welcoming depths. I want to be connected in every way, although I’m certain I’ll come undone the moment I become one with her.
“Fiona, baby, I can’t wait,” I groan, struggling with the desire to drive into her now and the desire to slow the moment and savor it.
“Then don’t,” she says breathlessly. “Nobody’s asking you to.”
“Dammit, you’re supposed to tell me to control myself or you’ll kick my ass.”
“Why would I do that when I’m already dripping wet?” she teases, then takes my hand and places it between her legs.
The scorching heat of her flesh nearly undoes me. “Woman. What are you doing to me?”
“Showing you exactly what I want. Is that so wrong?” She gives me a grin full of naked desire. Her eyes glow with heat, but also the gentleness that comforts my soul.
I thrust my fingers into her hair and kiss her endlessly, over and over. What she does with her mouth is criminal—drugging me, turning me into an addict. I grip her ass and pick her up. She wraps her limbs around me.
I carry her upstairs, my erect cock rocking against her with each step.
She moans into my mouth. “Bryce, please,” she whispers between kisses.
“Almost there,” I say as we reach the bed.
We fall into it together, eagerly shedding our clothes. I resent even the brief separations of our mouths to get naked. But I want to see her beautiful body. I want to see her flushed with the pleasure I give her.
“Bryce,” she whispers, spreading her legs, revealing her gorgeous pink flesh, pulsing with need. I didn’t believe my blood could get any hotter, but I’m about to spontaneously combust.
I pull out a condom and somehow roll it down my shaft.
Supporting my weight on a hand next to her head, I kiss her again.
My other hand traces her curves, palming and kneading her breast, thumb teasing the pointed nipple.
She twists with need, then opens her legs wider in a silent invitation, her mouth full with my tongue.
I can’t wait anymore. Before I completely embarrass myself, I push into her, inch by inch. She groans, clawing at the sheet underneath. Her back arches, pushing her breasts against my chest.
I push into her wet warmth slowly until I’m balls deep, heaving with the effort to cling to control. I kiss her again, enjoying the softness of her lips.
I thrust in and out as we share air. My head spins at her feminine, honeyed taste. Lust and something inexplicably achy course through my veins.
Who would’ve thought something as mundane as missionary while kissing a woman in your arms could feel like this?
She strokes me with gentle fingertips. Her legs wrap around my waist, like she’s holding on to the one thing she can never let go.
I don’t know how much of it is wishful thinking and how much is real. But none of that matters as I revel in her heat and sweet warmth. I kiss her greedily while I rock both of us to a peak. Even then, in the throes of climax, I keep kissing her.