Page 102 of Lucas

“More,” she whimpers. “I need more.”

I slap her clit, increasing the pace again.

“Yes, yes.”

“Come for me, Ava, milk me, pull me in. Show me how much your pussy loves my cock inside it.” I lower my head and bite her neck. “I want to hear you scream my name. Tell me who’s making you come.”

“You, Lucas.”

Her moans and gasps quicken, becoming more desperate. I slap her pussy again, and within seconds, she tightens around me, screaming out as her orgasm hits.

I don’t wait. I flip her onto her back, thrusting into her again, relishing the incredible feeling of being inside her.

“See what you do to me. I lose control when I’m inside you.”

I grow harder, releasing in rhythmic bursts. I keep thrusting until I’m spent, then collapse onto her, exhausted.

I pull her to me and wrap my arms around her, breaking my rules. Her body molds to mine, soft curves fitting against hard planes.

“Fuck, I’m coming! Fuck, I’m coming!” the parrot screeches, his shrill voice piercing the air.

I lift my head and stare at him, my brow furrowing. He’d been so quiet in his spot until now that I forgot he was here.

“Yes, Lucas, yes!” he yells again, adding a moan that sounds like Ava’s.

A laugh rumbles in my chest and escapes my lips.

Ava buries her face in the pillow, her cheeks flaming. “Oh no,” she groans, her voice muffled by the fabric.

I tug the pillow away so I can see her face. “I think hearing the parrot moan my name is one of the more amusing things that’s happened to me lately.” I grin down at her.

“What if someone hears him?” she asks, her eyes wide with horror.

I shrug, unconcerned. “So?”

“Then they’ll know what we did.”

“And that’s so terrible? We’re two consenting adults, and we’re married, Ava. Remember? It’s expected for a married couple to have sex.” I know she hates me, but I hoped maybe a little less after what’s happened between us. Seems I was wrong. My heart sinks, but I try to keep my expression neutral.

“Come shower with me.” I rise from the bed and pull her with me, my fingers laced through hers.

We step into the shower, standing under the hot spray. The water sluices over our bodies, washing away the evidence of our lovemaking. She doesn’t touch me, even though that’s what I want more than anything, but she doesn’t flinch away when I take the soap and lather it up, running my hands over every inch of her silky skin.

I start with her arms, my fingers tracing the delicate bones of her wrists. Then I loop my hands around her neck like a necklace and travel down to her shoulders, massaging the tension from her muscles. I soap her perfect breasts, watching as the bubbles slide over the pale mounds. Then I move to her waist and stomach.

I sink to my knees before her, ready to worship her body with my hands and mouth.

“What are you doing?” Her amazing eyes stare down at me, confusion and wariness swirling in their depths.

“Cleaning you,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her hipbone.

Now I move down, lavishing attention on each of her thighs. I pause when I reach a small scar on her left leg, tracing it with my fingertip.

“How did this happen?” I ask, glancing up at her.

“I fell off my bike,” she whispers.

I rise to my feet, my hands cupping her face. “A bad fall? Is that why you wouldn’t ride?”