Page 125 of Kiwi Sin

He said, “You’re beautiful.”

I couldn’t answer. He reached behind me and unhooked my bra, and it was falling, too. I was in a thong, the first one I’d ever worn, in the same pale pink. It should have been pretty, but all it was—was sin.

I watched his hands on my breasts. I watched them slide down my body and back up it again. I watched his thumbs and forefingers close over my nipples, and I was panting.

He said, “Look at you. Look at you. My wife.”

His hand went inside the front of the thong.

I watched him give me that entire slow, rolling orgasm. My hair around my face, his bare shoulders and chest behind me, his hand inside my thong. My face starting to contort, and my head going back against his shoulder.

Urgent male voice, wailing out the words. Swelling music, and Gabriel’s blue eyes staring into mine. Gabriel, watching himself do it to me.

My husband.

* * *

Gabriel

I never wanted to stop watching her.

By the time she was shuddering under my hand for the second time, I was thinking,I’m never going to make it.And when I pulled her down, got her thong over her legs, and she took a breath and slowly opened those legs for me?

I knew I was going to.

I don’t remember getting rid of the rest of my clothes. I do remember kissing my way down her body and back up it again. I remember taking her breast in my mouth, playing with the other one, and the sounds she made. I remember how that music sounded, desperate and aching.

I remember turning Oriana over, too, pulling her hair aside again, and kissing my way down her spine. The silk of her skin as I caressed her bottom, her thighs, as if my hands had a mind of their own, and their greed was endless. Petting the outsides of her thighs and, finally, the insides, my thumbs brushing over her but not quite getting there, not this time. I remember her turning over herself, her own greedy hands moving down my chest, my belly, then taking hold of me, and the agony of that moment. I remember her rising on her elbow, her other arm around my hips, urging me forward.

I thought,Wait. I need to do this to her first. I need to … on her back. I need to …

I couldn’t think anymore. My hands were around her head, and many long, torturous minutes later, I was gasping, and then I was calling out.

I got to the part with her on her back, eventually. I got to the part where my arms were around her thighs, holding her up and holding her open as I drank her in. I remember the sounds she made then, and the anguish in her voice.

And when I still had my arms around her legs like that, but I was rising up her body, taking her mouth again—I remember that. I was kissing her, and then I found the spot and slid inside.

I froze.

She gasped out, “It doesn’t … hurt. Don’t … stop.”

I said, “I … I have to. I have to … feel this.”

I remember the way she threw her head back when I did it slowly, and the way her head started moving back and forth when I did it a little harder. I remember the feel of the backs of her knees against my elbows, and of her upper arms under my hands, because I was holding her there, and her arms had gone over her head. I remember the way her eyes closed and the way her mouth opened. And most of all, I remember the impossible pressure when she began to tighten around me. When the shudders were taking her and she was crying out, her hands twisting the white sheet, pulling at it. The gold of her wedding ring against that white, and the explosion in my body.

I married Oriana, and I burned.

Nights in white satin.

And days, too.

All our lives.

Forever.

* * *