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“I don’t know. Some days that’s gentleness and patience. Others it’s a reminder of who and what I am. And I don’t really know which of those I’m going to need or when.”

“And what about now?” His hand slides up my side, his hand stopping on my ribs.

“Right now, I want to be fucked the way you fucked the old Ayla. Treat me as if this”—I roll my eyes to my temple where the puckered red scar is—“never happened. I’m not a fragile, broken woman and I want to be reminded of that.”

The look in his black eyes goes feral. “You sure?”

I nod and he lifts off me, reclining back into the corner of the bright blue sofa.

“Get on your knees.”

No doubt surprise is plastered all over my face.

“Wife.” The one-word command annoys me but also excites my curiosity.

I push up to stand before him. I hold his eyes in near defiance as I sink to my knees on the floor in front of him ever so slowly. He’s honoring my request, so I can play along.

“Now what?”

A smirk tugs at his lips as he extends a hand between us. “Come. Take me out of my pants and lick my cock.”

I lean forward and use unsure fingers to release his button and zipper. The hum of it is loud in the room and mixes with the sound of my heartbeat in my ears.

I slide a hand over his boxers and stroke the heat of his hard length before he lifts his hips and drops boxers and trousers alike under his ass.

“Don’t tease me.”

I peel down the fabric and watch his cock spring free. It reaches for me as if it has a mind of its own.

I lean forward between his legs and begin a long slow lick from the base of his cock until I reach the tip, spending extra time at the crease under his head, flicking and teasing. I lick his slit, feeling him go rigid beneath me.

One strong hand goes around my neck, pulling my hair back and fisting it into a knot that verges on painful. It pushes me down over his length all the way to the back of my throat. “Relax your throat, baby. Take all of me.”

Like that’s even possible. But I try, and he easily goes even deeper. I hum, and he thrusts. “Fuck.” He stretches out the word in a guttural way.

His hips buck as he fucks my mouth, holding me on his cock.

I suck and hum and flick my tongue where I can around his girth.

“Stop.” His word is an order, but I fight the intrusion in the back of my throat and swallow to relieve the pressure.

That’s all it takes. His hips rise what little room they have, and he comes hard and deep in the back of my throat as he chants something unintelligible and pulls my hair until I’m forced to release him.

I look up from my position between his legs and hold his gaze. “I told you to stop.”

“I know but I needed some relief.”

“Remember those words. Now strip and lie down on this couch. Show me that pretty pink pussy.”

I hold his eyes as I kick off my shoes, slip my sweater over my head, and let my leggings slide to the floor. I unhook my bra and let the heaviness of my desperate tits fall free. Finally, I push my panties from my hips and let gravity do the work of helping them off my body.

I tiptoe to the sofa and sit on the edge where I was when our conversation was on more serious matters.

“Lie down, open your legs, and show me,” he growls out.

I lean back, toss one leg over the back of the sofa, leaving the other on the floor, wide open to him.

Watching him stare down at me, my clit warms and wetness pools and runs.

“That’s right. Wet, pink, engorged. Desperate for my touch.” He runs a finger through my wetness before leaning down and licking me from my opening to my clit. He flattens his tongue and hums, heightening my desperation, but not giving enough for me to get there.

He blows a cool breeze across my clit, and my thighs tighten to stop the onslaught, unable to do so with his body in the way.

“Christian.” I don’t know whether the word is a plea or an admonishment.

His fingers continue toying with me, sliding and dipping, never quite fulfilling their promise. They heighten my arousal but never slake the need building in my core. He watches me, alternating between my face and my pussy, while giving longing glances to my breasts as they rise and fall.

“Princess, you—like this, needing me, wanting me. This is my second favorite thing.”

“What’s your favorite then?”

“The look on your face when I slide into you. Your eyes heat but you have to fight to keep them open. Your mouth opens in the slightest O. This little groan I never hear otherwise escapes you. All of that, and the feel of your wet, velvet heat squeezing my dick in perfect bliss? Indescribable. It’s a drug that I can never get enough of.

One I think about constantly. One I crave. ”

From my view over my stomach and between my legs, his proud cock is erect. He growls when he sees me staring. “Love that.”

“What?” My confusion must show on my face, mixed with the torturous pleasure he’s causing at my entrance.

“You licked your lips while staring at my cock. My gorgeous woman—my wife—laid out before me naked and writhing, wanting my cock. Like I said, something most men could rarely hope for. And you’re mine.

” With these words he inserts two fingers into me and rubs against the wall near that place deep inside that coils me tighter and tighter.

I buck at the intrusion, fighting to find some relief from it and the desire so strong in my belly that I’d chase anything that might alleviate the need throbbing there.

All too soon, he withdraws, sliding his fingers between his lips to clean them.

I groan. It’s as much about the look on his face as he licks me off his fingers as the fact that I’m desperate, maybe more so now.

I flip my leg from behind the sofa and stand. I take one step to move away from him before he tags me around the waist.

“Let go.” My voice is hard and lethally quiet. I’ve gone from desperate to pissed in two seconds flat.

“Never.”

“I said, let go.”

“Never, Princess.” His lips come below my ear and kiss me there. “What happened?”

I scoff. What happened? “Oh, I don’t know. You getting off from edging me. Giving just enough then withholding. Creating a need that you won’t fulfill. That makes me your toy, not a person.”

His arms band tight around me. “I may toy with you, but you’re never a plaything.

” One arm goes low, cupping me between my legs.

“You asked me to fuck you like we used to.” His middle finger strokes between my lips, finding my clit and thrumming it.

“You were a freak, baby. Can’t say I didn’t love that too.

Maybe we’ll get back there. Maybe we won’t.

” He plants another kiss below my ear as a finger slides inside me. “What do you want?”

God, I wish I knew. My mind is on the tip of my tongue. “If I can’t remember, make me forget.”

He returns to the sofa, pulling me astride him. “I can do that, Ayla.”

Instead, I do it for myself. I lift, enough to straddle him, hovering just above his thick cock. Ever so slowly, I sink down, holding his eyes, allowing the stretch of my body around his girth, finally—finally—getting some relief from the hungry ache he built while toying with me.

His groan echoes my own when he hits the end of me and is fully seated inside me. He looks as if he wants to say something, and I wait, fighting the need to move and the desire to keep this fullness.

My palms find his shoulders and I rise on my knees to lift when his hands hit my hips, holding me in place. “Wait. Give me a minute.” His eyes close in a slow dip. When they reopen, they’re blazing.

“What is it?”

He shakes his head, but answers, “I want to remember this moment… The feel of you surrounding my cock, everything down to the tickle of your hair against my skin. The smell of you, the sight of you above me, flushed cheeks, eyes fighting to stay open. These tits—” He thumbs a nipple before sliding his hand to my spine and pulling me toward him.

His mouth hits my breast, and he sucks. Hard.

I gasp and do everything I can to keep his mouth while grinding down on his cock. I give up the need to do anything but rock against his dick inside me. No glides. No lifting. No domination or taking.

Christian releases my breast as his hand slides up my back to my neck, tugging me to his face, and kisses me so deeply, almost reverently.

He lets me go just enough to study me.

Face to face, eye to eye, our breaths panting across each other’s lips, my hair falls like an auburn curtain framing us in a world with nothing but the two of us.

The intimacy in his eyes, our carnal connection, the primal play at hand. When his thumb finds my clit, it sets off a wave inside me that’s been building, and I crash. “Oh—” I never finish the thought. Because the tide pulls me under, and I ride the orgasm that rockets through me.

I vaguely feel Christian’s hand leave my clit and return to my hip as he thrusts twice more and he grunts and comes, holding me fully impaled on his cock. He lifts my left hand and kisses the knuckle right above my wedding ring. “Love you, Ayla.”

When I come back to myself, I lift a hand to his face and stroke my thumb over his cheekbone. “I’m getting there, Christian. Don’t give up on me.”

“Never, Princess.Never.”

It’s a vow.