Page 127 of The Wrong Husband

We’re on the main deck, having decided to come up to get some sun, after I made good on my promise to fuck her and get more food into her.

“That feels so good.” She closes her eyes and tips her chin to soak up the sun’s rays. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this content in my life.” She places her cheek on her hands folded under her head and looks at me through her sunglasses.

She's wearing a bikini, whose bottoms are cut high enough to show off her fleshy thighs, and a triangle top tied in a knot at her back, which I can attest, does not do much to hold in her D cups.

"Might have something to do with the fifth orgasm you had earlier.” I smirk.

Her cheeks turn pink. Those dark circles she sported under her eyes are on their way out. Even her hair seems thicker and shinier. A day away from her ER and her duties, and she already looks so much healthier.

"I’m not keeping track." She shoots me a sideways glance. "Besides, an orgasm is a normal bodily function. It’s only a crescendo of autonomic nervous system activation."

"Hmm." I tap my chin. "That was some crescendo your voice rose to earlier when I fucked you against the window of our cabin."

The pink in her cheeks turns a fiery red. "A gentleman wouldn’t point that out, after the fact."

"As I recall, you loved that I didn’t behave like a gentleman. As the print of my palm on your left butt cheek will attest to."

"Wha-a-t? I don’t have a print on my bum."

"What’s this then?" I lean over and place my right hand on the print over her left arse cheek.

She huffs out her breath. Her throat moves as she swallows. "That… That’s because you put me down heavily on the galley counter." She pouts.

"Only because I needed to feel your legs around my waist and fill up your pussy with my already engorged cock."

She draws in a sharp breath, then manages to school her features into one of boredom, which I don’t buy,at all."As I recall, you’ve done so a few times today already." She sniffs.

"As I’m finding out, it’s not enough." I slide my hand down to cup her core through her bikini bottoms.

"Oh." She twists her mouth into a delicate pout, but her hazel eyes go green, revealing how turned on she is.

I slide my fingers inside the gusset of her bottoms, and she gasps.

"So fucking wet for me," I growl.

She shivers. I run my fingers down her slit, and she whimpers, "Connor, I can’t possibly come again." She’s gripping the sides of the sun lounger, the skin across her knuckles stretched white.

"Are you sore?" I pause, looking into her face.

She hesitates, then nods slowly. "A little."

I pull my fingers back and bring them to her mouth instead. She takes in my fingers, down to the knuckles, and licks them clean.

"Good girl." I trail my fingers down the curve of her shoulders and to her back. "You don’t need this." I flick the knot at the top of her bikini.

"But—" she begins to protest but I’ve already undone her bikini top. It falls to the side. I reach for the sunscreen and pour a liberal amount onto my palm. Placing a knee on one side of the lounge, I straddle her hips without leaning my weight on her. I begin to massage the sunscreen into her back.

She groans. "That feels amazing."

"You work too hard." I dig my knuckles into the muscles in her back and feel the tension drain out. "You need to take more time off."

"When you specialize in trauma, it means you’re dealing with accidents, which means, it’s mainly periods of high stress and high adrenaline. And when there’s an emergency, I can’t say no to coming in." She looks up at me from the corner of her eye. "I imagine, it’s the same for you?"

I pause, then dig my knuckles into the muscles on either side of her spine.

It draws another groan from her throat. "You’re so good at this."

"Learned it from going undercover as a masseuse."