Page 47

Rhys

I slip my key into the lock of Quinn and Sonya’s guesthouse, turn it, and push the door open.

It takes me a moment to register the sound I’m hearing, but the instant I get it, I go hot over all, my cock flushing thick with need.

It’s been a long day of travel, and until a second or two ago I was mostly dreaming of a quick shower and some takeout, but now all my attention is on the soft rush of water in my bathroom?—

She’s in there, taking a shower.

Using the showerhead on herself.

I’d kept Eden updated on my travel progress, told her when I’d be back, and this was her idea of a greeting.

I’m a lucky, lucky man.

I knock on the bathroom door. “Honey,” I call, “I’m home.”

Her voice, when it comes, is husky. “I’m in here,” she says. “Join me.”

I’m already shucking my clothes.

She has the detachable nozzle in one hand when I step into the shower. I take it from her and hang it up. “I want to do that with my mouth,” I tell her.

“You won’t get an argument from me,” she says, and she slides into my arms, warm and slippery and already soft and pliable with pleasure.

I hold her for a long time. It’s only been two days, but it feels so good to have her back.

We stand under the water together, and she tilts her mouth up and I take it ( mine, mine, mine ).

I lick into the softness of her, imagining doing the same to her pussy a few minutes from now, and she kisses back, all yielding and needy whimpers.

My cock bobs between us, hard, and she rubs her belly across it, and then, when I grunt, does it again, pushing harder.

“Let me just?—”

I rush through shampooing my hair, and then she wants to soap me up, so I let her, loving her hands all over my skin, the care she takes with me, like I’m something precious.

I do the same to her, being careful not to get soap anywhere it might sting, making sure my hands are clean before I slip two fingers inside her pussy to see where her playing has gotten her.

Her muscles clench around my fingers, and oh, my God she’s strong and wet and I curl my fingers to draw cries out of her, being careful to work her close to climax but not all the way there because I meant what I said.

I want to lick her over the edge; I want to suck her clit until she can’t help rubbing herself against my face.

I scoop her up, deposit her on the bathmat, towel us both dry, and then carry her to the bed, where I lay her out in front of me, like a feast. I kneel between her legs and kiss the insides of both thighs, and she shudders hello and lifts her hips, begging with her body.

She is so fucking soft against my tongue.

Pure silk. For a while all I can do is worship there, tasting her, feeling that silk.

Then I return to my senses and remember that this is for her, not me, and I tease around her opening with a single finger, watching as she tries to fuck herself onto it.

I lick circles around her clit, lick her hard with the flat of my tongue, press my whole mouth against her and feel her push back.

And then she’s rubbing herself against my face, whimpering, trying to get more.

That’s when I suck, and Eden’s hips buck off the bed. She lets out a broken cry of pleasure, and she’s coming, grabbing my hair, hurting me in the best possible way, telling me to please, please, please fuck her with my tongue, my fingers, my cock, please, please, please .

I don’t.

It’s not because I’m a masochist. It’s because I know there are things I need to tell her, and if I let myself have what I want most, to be buried to the hilt inside her, I might not say them.

So I stroke her hair and kiss her cheeks until she comes down off her pleasure high.

I bring her a warm washcloth and clean her up and let her protest that she wants me to get off, too, and even if I don’t want to fuck her, I should still let her make me feel good, please let her, she wants to make me feel as good as I make her feel.

It’s so fucking hot and I file it away for fantasy material for the rest of my life, but right now I have something else on my mind.

“In a little bit,” I say. “I want to say something first.”

“Okay,” she says. She pushes herself up higher on the pillows.

“I’ve been thinking a lot these last two days, and I realized that I?—”

I thought a lot about how I wanted to say this to her. Part of me wanted to go all in and tell her exactly what I realized when I was talking to Fay. You’re the woman who changed my mind about marriage .

But it’s too much too soon. She’s also the woman who was jilted just weeks ago, she’s also the woman who’s been left so many times it hurts me to think about it. I need to be gentle.

So I say, “I want to try to make this work. Between us.”

I’m not sure exactly what I’m expecting. A confession of love? A glitter canon?

What I get instead is a slightly blank look.