Page 50 of Make-Believe Match

“Buckley.”

“Huh?”

“Alexandra Buckley. We’re married, remember?”

“That’s right.” He lowered his lips to my ear. “And I hope you’re not tired, because I plan on fucking my wife all night long.”

My entire body trembled. “You do?”

“Yes. But first, I’m going to get her naked, put my hands on every inch of her skin, and make her come with my tongue.” He sucked my earlobe into his mouth. “How does that sound?”

“That sounds amazing,” I panted.

“Good. Because you know what they say.” His lips hovered above mine. “Happy wife, happy life.”

* * *

I learned something about my husband that night—how patient he could be in bed.

He nearly drove memadwith it.

After lifting my shirt over my head and pulling my shorts and panties down my legs, Devlin spent an agonizingly long time just touching me. Hands only. Running his palms along my limbs, over my belly, across my back. His fingers caressed my collarbone, the curve of my hip, every one of my toes. Beneath his hands, I trembled and writhed, arched and stretched. My body burned for his touch, my body was molten. Sometimes I could feel his breath on my skin, and I’d go perfectly still, hoping his lips would make contact.

I realized he was avoiding all the most sensitive spots and whimpered softly. My breasts ached for his hands, my nipples hard and tingling. Deep within my core, the need for him was gathering like a storm. My clit fluttered and hummed, desperate for his attention.

“Devlin.” His name was a plea on my lips.

“Yes?”

“I want you.”

“You have me.” Kneeling between my thighs, he pressed his fingertips to the hollow at the base of my throat and drew a line down my chest. “I’m wearing the ring to prove it.”

“You know what I mean.” I arched my back, praying he’d be unable to resist. Patience was not my strong suit. “I want you to fuck me.”

“We’ll get there. It’s not just about the destination, Lexi.” When he reached the bottom of my ribcage, he circled one breast, giving its sensitive tip a wide berth, but then slowly spiraling inward, loop after loop bringing him closer to the pebbled peak. When he finally brushed his thumb across it, I cried out, clawing at the sheets. “God, you’re beautiful,” he said, teasing me with featherlight strokes, gentle pinches, soft tugs, until I was nearly out of my mind with desire. Then he repeated it all on the other side.

“You’re killing me,” I whispered. “I’m not good at waiting.”

With a low chuckle, he finally moved a hand between my legs, stroking me softly. “Would you like me to outline the benefits of delayed gratification, wife?”

“No. I would like you to stop talking and—oh!” His fingers caressed my clit at the same time he leaned down and took one aching nipple in his mouth. I grabbed his head, threading my fingers into his damp hair, and lifted my hips. He slipped two fingers inside me, both of us moaning at the sensation. Withdrawing his hand, he rubbed me with warm, wet fingertips, using firm pressure and a steady rhythm. Every muscle in my lower body went tight.

“Oh God,” I whimpered. “I’m so close already.” In fact, I only lasted about ten more seconds before the tension he’d so carefully wrought snapped, and I cried out as my body throbbed with relief. As soon as my muscles loosened again, I sat up and tried reaching for his cock.

Sitting back on his heels, he grabbed my wrist. “No. Not yet.”

“Why?”

“Because I have plans for you that require diligence and restraint. You touch me like that, I might get impatient.”

“I just want to feel you,” I whispered. “Let me.”

He kept my wrist shackled with his fingers but brought my hand to his cock. I wrapped my hand around his hot, hard flesh and he slowly worked my fist up and down, controlling the motion with his grip on my wrist. His breathing was heavy and labored. “You want that?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”