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euphoria

Ayla

“Wake up, Princess.” Warm fingers stroke my hair and down my neck to my shoulder before starting their trek again.

“Too comfy.” There. That’s a complete sentence. When my pillow bounces in time with the quiet laughter above me, I roll enough to look into Christian’s gorgeous face, chiseled and shadowed with two day’s growth of beard. “Yum.” Shit. I said that out loud.

Again, my head bobs, so I squint my thoughts at the man.

“Worst pillow ever.”

The hand stroking me stops and a strong thumb massages up my neck to the base of my spine. “Baby, it’s time for bed. Ferris successfully skipped school and didn’t get caught.”

It takes what strength I have left to shove my body upright and stand. I shuffle toward the door, darkness settling behind me as Christian turns off the lights.

He catches up, lacing our fingers together.

By the time we hit the bedroom, I don’t care about brushing my teeth or changing clothes, so I dump my socks and sleep pants and pull the hoodie over my head, leaving everything on the floor, and slide under the covers.

Within minutes, my husband joins me, his warm body sliding next to mine, turning me into him.

Sleep steals away as his hand trails my spine. “Is this better?”

“What? ”

“I’d hate to be the worst pillow ever.” His voice is low and gravelly as if he used it too much today and it needs rest.

“Well maybe not the worst…” I let my words trail off as his hand makes a lazy circle from my hip to above my ass.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Another long, delicious stroke of my spine with his fingertips has me fighting a chill. “It’s always my goal not to be the worst.” His voice goes husky and drops to nearly a whisper. “It’s been a while, but you’ve said I’m the best you’ve ever had.”

“Pillow? Hmm. I don’t remember that.” I tilt my chin in the dark to see his dark eyes trained on me, needing to confirm he understands I’m not making a dig about my condition.

“I don’t think we were talking about pillows.” His arm scoops underneath me to slide me atop his hard body.

“You may have to refresh my memory about that conversation.” I drop my eyes to his lips and that ignites the passion in his eyes. The restraint and tension I see written all over him makes heat and wetness rush to my core.

Holding his eyes, I dip my lips to his for a kiss. He doesn’t deepen it. He doesn’t take control. His hands at my hips don’t move though his fingertips dig in in such a way as to reveal his struggle.

Since he’s letting me lead, I deepen the kiss. At his growl and reflexive hip thrust, I slide my legs to either side of his hips and roll my clit against his rock-hard cock. That buys me a growled “Ayla” that’s half warning, half plea and curls my toes.

I rock again and again, looking down at my husband, seeing his face somehow for the first time.

“I seem to remember you saying something about our bed and our sex life and you always being in control.” I slide up again, leaving my wetness on his cock and placing him at my entrance, waiting for his response.

“Ceding control is not forfeiting it, Princess.”

“So you’re allowing this?” The sarcasm in my tone is timed with a pull on his nipple, my fingernails grazing his abs, and me notching him just at the entrance of my heat.

His abs contract as he stares at me, fingers still firmly on my hips, lifting his own and retracting enough that I know he could thrust all the way home and that he’s holding back.

I push onto him, slowly enveloping him inch by thick inch, our groans echoing in chorus, until he’s fully seated.

I squeeze him tightly and pull slowly out to the tip before taking my time impaling myself.

On my third stroke, he sits up on an ab crunch, spearing me so deeply, I wonder if I’ll ever see sex the same way again.

His eyes bore into mine, and I lean in to kiss him, slow and deep, my hips rocking in time with the thrust of my tongue. He takes over the kiss, looping his arms up my back to rest on my shoulders, grinding me onto his cock as he drives up into me.

I gasp and his tongue invades deeper, just in time to release me to glide up an inch and settle back, taking every damn inch. The invasion, the pressure at my clit, the scrape against my G-spot… the pressure coiling low in me, tightening until the snap could become a break.

“My God, Ayla. You know how to bring me to my knees.”

“Knees later. Cowgirl now.”

A smile breaks across his mouth before ecstasy takes over his features. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me.”

I rise and fall again, grinding down on him, as he continues, “The best sex of my life.”

I glide again, squeezing on my way up before dropping down with force. “The only thing I can’t live without.”

His face is deadly serious when I glide up again. In an instant, he’s looped my knees under his elbows, stripping me of all control, and dropping me onto his cock as he thrusts with his hips bottoming out. “Fuuuck.” The word is pulled from his lips as he does it again.

“Need you, baby.”

Another lift and drop.

“Can’t breathe without you.”

Another lift and drop.

I cry out, the tension inside me threatening to burst open. “Christian! ”

He lifts me and ever so slowly, sets me on his cock so deep. He rocks and uses me to rock against him.

The tightening is brutal, the impending crash is right there, but just out of reach.

“Love you, my beautiful Ayla.” He thrusts and pulls me closer into him, my clit pressed firm against his pubic bone, and I spiral.

He comes at the same time, pulsing heat hitting me just as I tumble over the edge, seeing stars but hearing nothing but the pounding of my pulse in my ears.

I collapse into his chest, trying to catch my breath.

My legs are still over his arms. I’m at his mercy as he glides in micro-strokes, extending my orgasm.

“Love you, Christian.” In a whisper, I add, “Definitely the best ever.”

His laughter moves his cock still deep inside me, scraping my sensitive spot and drawing a moan from my throat.

“That works out, for both of us.” He kisses the knuckle just above my wedding ring. “Because I’m never letting you go.”

The promise in his words is not a threat. They’re not scary. They’re his vow to me, to us. And, after all I learned today, I couldn’t ask for more.

I wake the next morning to Christian’s cock nestled between my ass cheeks and his fingers playing between my legs. His body stretches long behind me. The bristle of his coarse leg hair scrapes my thighs as he parts my knees, butterflying me wide.

He shifts enough to slide his cock from where he’d placed it and positions himself at my entrance, inch by inch, pressing into me until he’s fully seated.

A warm open mouth kiss hits my shoulder and then the spot beneath my ear that sets me ablaze.

“Good morning, wife,” he says on a slow, measured thrust.

“Good morning, Christian.” In return, I tip my ass as best I can, giving him deeper access.

His fingers rub slow firm circles on my clit. I pull on my knee, trying to quench the ache, but his thigh holds me fully open.

“Uh uh,” he tsks. “We can’t have that. I want you to take what I’m giving you. Take every inch of my cock.” He glides another deep lazy stroke until he hits the end of me. “Take everything.”

I nod.

So I do. I take and I take and I take. The building in my core buzzes with need and with lust. The winding of my insides into a knot that’s ready to burst into a million pieces is all I can focus on.

His fingers strum me. His cock pushes and pulls in an unhurried rhythm driving me further and further up the cliff.

“I can feel you’re close, Princess. You’re tightening around me like you want to strangle my cock.” His other hand slides under my hip, taking on the strumming of my clit, the pressure changes, the angle is just different enough to surprise me.

Christian’s thrusts become bolder. Gone is the lazy, slow, morning sex. He pistons in and out of me as his free hand rises to my breast, where he tweaks my nipple hard. Just as I tip over the edge, his hand wraps around my throat and presses on my windpipe.

I jolt. My orgasm hits swift and hard, causing me to shudder and buck, ultimate pleasure in wave after wave of joy, then tension, then relaxation.

My eyes dance with fireworks. Euphoria overtakes me, and I ride the current of whatever sucks me under and whatever buoys me up.

My body is an instrument, strummed to crescendo, and the symphony of touch, of taste, and of sound surrounds me in a way that is inescapable.

Somewhere I can feel Christian fall over the edge with me, hearing the sawing of his breath in and out of his lungs, but it’s background noise to the moment I’m in.

“Perfection.” A warm kiss lands below my ear. “Was that good?”

Good? Was it good? I can’t speak. I can barely feel my tongue. My skin vibrates on the surface of my body, and he wants to know if it was good.

If I could speak, I’d tell him I’ve never experienced anything like that.

If I could speak, I’d tell him I want that again and again like a drug I’m instantly addicted to.

If I could speak…

The next time I wake, it’s because a warm washcloth is rubbed between my legs, a moment or two extra at my clit with enough friction to make me buck.

I open hazy eyes to stare into my husband’s espresso-colored depths. “Morning.”

The lazy smile crossing his face is that of a man who knows a juicy secret. “Morning, Princess. I’ll bring you a coffee and then I have to get to the office.”

I stretch like a cat in a ray of sunshine. “Okay, Honey.” I roll onto my belly, my bones and muscles jelly, and fall back into deep, luxurious sleep.