Page 49 of Precious Hazard (Perfectly Imperfect #11)

As I pass the mirror over the vanity, I can’t help but stop for a moment.

Our shapes are blurry since the glassy surface is completely covered with condensation, so much so that I can only make out our vague outline.

Reaching out, I wipe off the moisture, revealing our reflection.

Tara’s face is turned away, putting her glorious dark hair front and center.

The wet mass of slight waves cascades down her back, nearly reaching her naked ass.

With her arms and legs wrapped around me, we appear as if we’re interlocked.

I can’t look away from the sight. Damn, it feels so good to have her in my arms like this.

“I’m freezing over here, DeVille.”

My blood pressure skyrockets each time she calls me that.

I wish I could figure out her deal. What the fuck does she have against my name?

I’ve heard her call me Arturo. My name on her lips has become almost as great an obsession as the taste, the smell, and the feel of this woman in my arms. The only times she seems to slip, though, are when I’m bleeding.

I wonder if I’ll have to lose every drop of blood in my veins before she’ll use only my first name.

Grabbing a towel from the shelf, I drape it over her shoulders and step out of the bathroom.

The lights in the room are off, all except for the floor lamp near the window. Its soft glow casts a spotlight directly on the unmade bed. Of course the bed was left in disarray. It’s what my wife is good at. It’s as if she purposefully leaves proof of her existence everywhere.

Sweaters and hoodies are frequently scattered around the living room.

Left on the back of the couch like her calling card.

A trail of random books scattered across every available surface.

In the den, on the breakfast counter, and even in the laundry room.

The milk jug is always shoved onto the wrong shelf in the fridge.

In the antique bowl on the downstairs bookshelf, a pair of earrings she wore on one of our dates.

When I look around, it’s as if I can track my wife through the house.

If it was anyone else’s shit, my obsessive-compulsive personality would have forced me to immediately tidy up.

Everything has its place. Except Tara. And her stuff, apparently.

My wife doesn’t just “fit” into a specific slot in my life.

She has taken it over completely. And it never even crossed my mind to do away with her things.

It’s almost like… like I like seeing her crap everywhere. In the house. Our home.

My gaze is drawn back to the tangled sheets and to the pile of chaotic pillows near the headboard.

Did she have a restless sleep? Was she tossing and turning last night, dreaming about me fucking her?

Because I did. I’ve been dreaming of sinking into her every single night.

Since the moment she entered this house.

And if I’m honest with myself, since way before then.

I’d hoped this bizarre obsession with a woman who tempts me to claim her as mine at every turn would end once we finally fucked. Considering the rock-hard state of my dick mere minutes after I just had her, my hope was a foolish dream.

“You need to dry your hair before going to sleep,” I say as I lower her next to the messy bed.

Tara tilts her chin up, looking at me through the wet strands covering her still-flushed face. “Is that an order?”

“Yes.”

Those brilliantly green eyes squint in defiance. “You don’t get to give me orders, DeVille.”

I stare back at her, soaking in the sight of this bewitching creature.

Every single detail about her leaps out at me.

Her neck, reddened by the scrape of my scruff and still sporting my hickey.

The mark I was more than thrilled to brand her with.

That pillowy lower lip of hers, blood-red and swollen from my bruising kisses.

Her breasts, with mouthwatering nipples, peeking through the wet strands of her mane.

It’s like we’re back in the shower because she’s glaring at me so intensely she could burn me alive.

Her eyes are roving down my chest, scanning my torso.

Is she cataloging the marks she left on me?

I’m certain there are trails upon trails of her fingernail scratches across my back.

It’s not hard to picture, considering the shredded appearance of my front.

The room around us is completely silent, save for our breaths, which are becoming more rapid while we eye each other in our second stare down of the night.

The air between us grows thicker, charged to a point where a tiny spark could make it combust. Fuuuuck , I want to fuck her. Again. Tonight. Right now.

But I won’t.

Once was risky enough. I can’t let this absurd addiction consume me.

“I’m gonna head to bed,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Terrific idea.”

“Fine.” I nod.

“Okay,” she bites back.

My breath comes out in quick bursts like I just ran a fucking marathon, all because this woman and everything about her is driving me out of my skin.

I fist my hands, hoping that’ll be enough to stop me from reaching for her.

My palms sweat and itch with need. With every second, every heartbeat, the frustration, the want inside me builds and builds, and there’s nothing I can tell myself that’ll make me turn around and leave.

The freckled nymph before me might be having a similar problem. Her body is leaning toward me while desire and reticence battle for supremacy across her face.

I dip my head and whisper, “You really need to get into that bed, gattina . Right the fuck now.”

With her kiss-bruised lips slightly parted and her own breaths ragged, she takes a step closer to me instead.

The head of my painfully hard cock presses against her stomach, just above her jewel-studded belly button.

That slight contact is almost enough to bring me to my knees.

Black spots appear in my peripheral vision as unbridled lust grips me by the balls.

“Go to hell, DeVille.”

Whatever thread of self-control held me together, snaps. Dissolves. Melts into oblivion. Whatever mental capacity I had, is gone. I swing her into my arms and toss her to the center of the bed. In the next breath, I’m bracing myself over her.

“So fucking soft,” I mumble as I drag my lips toward her navel, toward that damn piercing that’s been taunting me for so long. “How can anything be so damn soft?”

A shaky puff of air leaves her as I suck the little trinket between my lips. The tip of my tongue traces around and around it, while I glide my palms along her inner thighs, spreading her legs wider, inching closer to her heat.

A moan, loud and needy, explodes from her when I slide my thumb through her wet folds, seeking her clit. I start with a small amount of pressure, then increase it as I rub tight circles around that sensitive nub. I keep my rhythm steady, matching the motion of my tongue over her piercing.

Her breathing grows more uneven, her moans pick up and echo off the bedroom walls. I feel her trembling beneath my touch, edging ever closer to that precipice, and I’ve barely begun.

Pain shoots through the back of my head as Tara fists my hair, pulling me closer and pushing my mouth to where she wants it more. As if I need an implicit invitation.

This girl. My girl.

“Impatient little cat,” I growl, licking her belly button one more time.

But I’m more eager to bury my face in her pussy than to take my next breath.

Her scent… Sweet and seductive. My own personal brand of cocaine. I breathe her in, deeply, keeping that scent captive in my lungs as I push my tongue into her opening. Lord in Heaven . That initial taste of her is an overdose. But if I die now, I die a happy man.

Pushing her knees further apart, I attack her decadent honey, fucking her core with slow, methodical strokes of my tongue.

Lapping her nectar to get every single drop.

Kissing her lower lips, her silky folds.

Sucking her clit just to hear her purr. Indulging in my wife like I’m a ravenous, famished man.

Tara’s panting fills the space around us, all while she vibrates like the strings of a priceless violin in my hands.

And I’m enjoying every second of making her bow as I play, her mewls music to my ears.

Before this night is through, I’ll touch, lick, and kiss every inch of her body.

I’ll make her fall apart on my tongue, my fingers, my cock.

I’ll drive the memory of other men from her mind.

I’ll ruin her for all others. The only one she’ll feel, she’ll crave, is me.

“If this is hell, gattina ”—I blow a warm breath over her sensitive flesh, making her quiver all over again—“I’m never coming back. Ever. I’ll happily spend eternity inside your pussy.”

Flattening my tongue, I give her slit another long lick, from her back hole to the edge of her smooth mound. Then, I seal my lips over her swollen clit and suck. Hard. Harder.

A shrill scream of YES, OH GOD, YES! explodes from her.

She comes, almost yanking my hair out by the roots.

And I nearly topple over the edge along with Tara.

That tingling at the base of my spine tells me I won’t last much longer.

But I continue to feast on my wife, stroking and sucking, letting her ride the high.

Her body trembles beneath me, shaking so hard that if I didn’t know better, I’d worry over the cause.

Yes… This is now my mission. To learn everything about her body, find each of her erogenous zones.

Make her feel the most sinful things. Give her the most exquisite pleasure.

Ensure no one else could ever live up to what she can experience with me.

She can continue to despise me. God knows I deserve that and more.

But she won’t be able to live without my touch.

She’ll never stop craving our carnal mating.

The only man for her is me. Any others who even think of stealing her, I’ll destroy before they ever get the chance.

I trail a line of kisses from her pussy toward her chest, pausing to circle her sparkling jewel with the tip of my tongue again.

I suck and gently bite her nipples. Draw one delicate breast into my mouth.

Then the next. Nip those fine collarbones.

Lick my way up the column of her neck. And finally capture her mouth.

“See how sinful you taste,” I rasp against her quivering lips.

Her shuddering exhale is my only answer.

She musses my hair while she kisses me back. Slipping her tongue into my mouth, sucking my own. I glide my hands up her arms. Pull them over her head. Capture her wrists.

“I didn’t expect to leave you speechless, gattina . It’s a bit surreal, if you ask me.”

“Fuck you.” Huffed words uttered between scorching kisses.

“You will. We’re nowhere near done, Tara darling.” Lifting my hips to let my cock nudge her entrance, I plunge inside with one powerful thrust.

Heaven. Feeling her warm, wet heat clamp down on me.

The welcoming embrace of her pussy is the ultimate gratification.

Like coming home. Time stops. Maybe ceases to exist altogether.

Everything around me disappears. Everything other than my wife.

Shaking under me. A look of pure rapture on her face.

I watch her. Mesmerized. Watch her lips part with every moan.

Notice the rapid rise and fall of her beautiful breasts with every shallow breath she takes.

The fluttering of her long, dark lashes as her glassy green eyes hold tight to mine.

I keep slamming my body into hers, hard and fast, trying to fool myself into believing that the warmth spreading through my chest, the jackhammering of my heart, and the sudden inability to swallow are all simply the effects of great, intense sex.

The kind of sex that leaves you feeling wild.

Still, though, it’s nothing more than a biological reaction.

Magnetic chemistry between her and me. None of it is based on an emotion.

Certainly nothing that would shake the ground under me.

And the need to claim her, possess her, chain my wife to me and throw away the key, that’s just the delusional ramblings of my sex-drunk mind. Too many pheromones, not enough sleep.

That’s all it is. All it ever could be. It can’t be anything else.

I won’t let it.