Page 28 of The Wrong Husband (The Davenports #6)

She raises her eyelids, and our gazes clash.

I look deeply into her eyes drowning in the green, the gold, the silver that makes me feel like I’m skiing down a slope and losing control.

Then her mouth touches mine. Soft. Sweet.

It’s like the gossamer wings of destiny have brushed up against me.

My heart stutters. My balls tighten. I hold still, barely allowing myself to breathe.

She licks between my lips; a groan rumbles up my throat. She makes a noise deep in her throat, then flattens her breasts against my chest. She feels lush and feminine.

Her curves cling like silk to the angles of my body. And when she twines her hands around my neck and slides her fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck, a primal thrill spirals under my skin. Jesus Christ.

This obsession with her is turning into a passion burrowing deep into my bones and hooking its claws into my soul.

I want to squeeze her tits, grab at the fleshy globes of her butt, and grind her core against my aching cock. I want to kiss her deeply and ravage her mouth. I want to throw her down on the carpet, tear off her clothes and rut into her until she comes.

I want to make her orgasm, until she’s as high on endorphins as this balloon we’re sailing in—higher, even. I want to… Cuddle her after and take care of her. The feelings she elicits in me eddy through my body and pound against my mind. When she breaks away, we’re both panting.

“Fuck,” I say softly.

Her lips tremble. “Yeah.” She cups my cheek. “Thank you for doing this." She looks around us again, then back at me. "I’ll never forget this day."

"There will be more like these."

"Oh?" Her face doesn’t mirror my conviction.

"There will," I say with finality. "I found you, and I’m not letting go of you."

"I haven’t agreed to marry you," she waggles a finger at me.

"Not yet…" But you will.

She frowns. "I don’t mean to lead you on. I’m not good marriage material. I can barely take care of myself."

"Let me take care of you instead."

She swallows.

"I have more than enough mind space for both of us."

She looks at me from under her eyelashes. "What makes you say that?"

"I’m perceptive enough to realize that something from your past is holding you back."

She pales.

"I’m not going to probe. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. And I don’t want to coerce you into deciding— Well, maybe not the last—" I shrug. "But I’m patient. I can wait."

She bites down on her lower lip. Distress is evident on her face, but I’m distracted by how her teeth worry her lower lip. How the creamy expanse of her neck makes me want to place my nose in the hollow of her throat and breathe in her essence deeply. I bring my fingers to my nose and sniff.

She stills. "Did you… Are you?—"

"Smelling the remnants of your cum?" I nod.

She draws in a sharp breath. "That’s…filthy."

"And you love it."

She blinks rapidly, then dips her chin. "I do.”

“Good girl,” I rumble.

She flushes. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.

” She lets out a breath and shakes her head.

“Growing up, I was the rule-follower. Well, other than holding firm that I wanted to become a doctor and that I wanted to do it on my own strength.” She chuckles.

“My mother didn’t approve, but I knew it was right for me.

And perhaps, I wanted to prove her wrong.

And I wanted to make her proud. So, I focused.

No partying. No distractions. No staying out late. ”

A humorless laugh escapes her.

“Even when I graduated med school, when the others were out getting drunk and letting loose, I stayed home and celebrated by buying a stack of books. That was my idea of a wild night.”

Her voice softens.

“But then I met you… And something shifted. Like I’ve uncorked some part of myself I didn’t even know existed. This deep, aching hunger. For sensation. For danger. For things I’ve never let myself want.”

She looks up at me, eyes dark and turbulent, brimming with something raw and uncertain.

“It makes me question if I ever really knew who I was… Or if I’ve just been living a version of myself built to win my mother’s approval.”

I lean in, my voice low. “That’s a hell of an insight. How does it feel, realizing that?”

Her gaze flickers away, the muscles in her jaw shifting as she thinks. “It makes me want to throw caution to the wind…and revel in the feelings you’ve helped uncork.”

The honesty in her voice is unguarded, almost fragile. She’s laying herself bare, and she’s choosing to do it with me.

Her trust humbles me. Her vulnerability arouses me. And the knowledge that I’m the one she’s opening up to? That’s a heady, dangerous thing. Warmth squeezes my chest. The need to take care of her overwhelms me.

I pick up a strawberry and hold it to her mouth. She bites around the plump fruit, the juice dripping down her chin.

Instantly, I lean in and lick it up.

When I sit back, she’s staring at me with wide eyes. "That’s what I mean." She chews and swallows slowly. "There’s an unabashed sensuality about you that blows my mind."

In response, I pick up a slice of cheese and trace her lips with it. Her pupils dilate. Holding my gaze, she obliges. I feed it to her, then spread some paté on a cracker and coax her to eat it.

"Not the only thing I want to blow," I confess.

She stops chewing, coughs. I smirk, satisfied at her response, and hold her wineglass to her lips.

She takes a sip. "You didn’t come earlier," she points out.

"This wasn’t about me. This was about your pleasure. I wanted to help you relax. To help you clear your mind of stress and give you time off from daily life."

"Is that what the doctor ordered?" She tilts her head.

"That’s what I ordered," I agree.

"It’s not going to make me change my mind about marrying you," she warns again.

“We’ll see about that.” I kiss her, and she responds with such ardor, my skin begins to burn with renewed need.

She may not realize it, but her actions undermine her words.

Not that I’m going to point that out to her.

That would be the quickest way of shutting her down, and I don’t want that.

I’m going to charm her into agreeing to my proposal.

And once I make up my mind about something, I won’t stop until I've accomplished it.

Softening the kiss, I wind my arm about her shoulder and pull her close. We watch the ground come toward us as the balloonist brings us back to where we started.

I help her out, then lead her to my car.

“Thank you.” She turns to me as we pull away. “That was incredible.”

“You’re welcome.” All too soon, we pull up in front of her house. I turn off the ignition.

She wrings her fingers in her lap, look straight ahead. “I, uh, I would invite you home but?—”

I reach over and squeeze her hands. “I understand.”

“You do?” She looks at me strangely.

“You’re not ready to share that part of you with me, yet. But you will. Soon.”

She seems taken aback, then a wry look comes into her eyes. “Damn your confidence. It should piss me off but… Lucky for you, I find it a turn on.”

“And you turn me on in ways which shake me to the core.”

She looks into my eyes and realizes how serious I am.

“A filthy talker who’s self-assured and romantic.” Her features soften. “I don’t stand a chance, do I?"