Page 143 of Lupo

"You're insane."

"About you? Absolutely."

The moment the door clicks shut, Lupo’s mouth is on mine. Hungry. Demanding. I respond with equal need, my hands sliding up his wet chest, feeling the muscles flex under my touch. The thrill of being here, in the middle of the day, knowing we have to be quick and quiet, makes everything sharper, more electric.

“I love you,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice rough, desperate. “God, Isabella, I love you so much.”

“Show me.”

His hands are everywhere—untying my swimsuit top, pushing down my bottoms. I work on his swim trunks, freeing him, my fingers trembling with urgency. The fabric pools at our feet, and for a heartbeat, we just stand there, drinking each other in. His gaze rakes over me, dark and possessive, and I feel my breath catch.

We stumble toward the daybed, still kissing, still desperate. He lays me down gently, despite the urgency, always careful with me. Always reverent.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, looking down at me. “My wife. My Isabella.”

“Lupo.” I pull him down to me. “Please.”

He doesn’t make me wait. His mouth finds mine again, his tongue sliding against mine, slow and deep, as if he wants to memorize the taste of me. Then he’s moving lower, kissing along my jaw, my throat, the hollow of my collarbone. His lips are warm, his breath hot against my skin. I arch into him, my fingers tangling in his hair, guiding him where I need him most.

When his mouth closes over my nipple, I gasp, the sensation sending a jolt straight to my core. He takes his time, teasing, sucking, until I’m writhing beneath him. Then he’s moving lower still, his hands sliding down my sides, his lips pressing kisses to my stomach, my hips, the inside of my thighs.

I can feel his breath, hot and teasing, just before his tongue finds me. The first touch is slow, exploratory, and I moan softly, my hands gripping the edge of the daybed. He doesn’t rush, his tongue circling, flicking, building the pressure until I’m trembling, my body coiled tight.

“Lupo—”

He doesn’t let me finish. His hands slide under my thighs, lifting me slightly, opening me to him. His tongue moves with deliberate slowness, driving me higher with every stroke. I bite my lip to keep from crying out, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The tension builds, unbearable, until I’m on the edge, my body trembling.

“Let go, Isabella,” he murmurs against me. “I want to hear you.”

I shake my head, but he doesn’t stop. His fingers join his tongue, and the world narrows to the heat of his mouth, the pressure of his touch. The orgasm crashes over me, wave after wave, and he covers my mouth with his hand to muffle the sound of his name on my lips.

He doesn’t stop, drawing out every last shudder, every gasp, until I’m boneless and breathless. Only then does he move backup, his body covering mine, his erection pressing against my thigh.

I reach for him, my hand wrapping around him, feeling the heat, the hardness. He groans, his forehead resting against mine as I stroke him, slow at first, then faster. His breath hitches, his hips jerking slightly as I tighten my grip.

“Fuck, Isabella—”

I don’t let him finish. I push him gently onto his back, my mouth following the path my hand had taken. He’s already slick with need, the taste of him salty and intoxicating. I take him deep, my tongue swirling, my lips tight around him. His hands tangle in my hair, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Isabella, I’m—”

I don’t stop, not until he comes with a choked cry, his body shuddering, his release hot on my tongue. I swallow, my lips lingering, my hand still gentle as he comes down, his breath slow and unsteady.

For a moment, we just lie there, tangled together, our hearts pounding in sync. Then he pulls me up, his mouth finding mine again, kissing me deeply, as if he could pour all his love, all his need, into that single touch.

“We have ten minutes left,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice rough with promise.

He settles between my legs, his weight perfect, his heat overwhelming. When he enters me, we both gasp. This connection. This feeling of being completely, utterly his. It never gets old.

He moves slowly at first, his eyes locked on mine, building the tension. But I don’t want slow. I don’t want gentle. I want him. All of him.

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Don’t hold back.”

Something in his expression shifts. The careful control slips. “Isabella—”

“I want all of you. Give me everything.”

He groans, and his pace quickens. Harder. Deeper. Exactly what I need. I clutch at his shoulders, my nails digging in, my body rising to meet his every thrust. The daybed creaks beneath us, the sound lost in the rush of blood in my ears, the gasps and moans we can’t quite muffle.