Love Her or Lose Her (Hot & Hammered #2)(27)

“I should have known something was wrong when you took off your high heels at the door. You usually leave them on Tuesday nights, don’t you? They’re the very last thing that come off when I fuck you, aren’t they?”

Rosie cast a look down the writhing form of her own body, the breasts spilling out of her bra, the panties hiding her moving fingers, ending at the pointed black leather encasing her feet. “I’m wearing them right now.”

“Rosie.” He made a choked sound and she could hear the pace of his strokes pick up. “If you were here, they’d have come off by now. Never can keep them on when I’m thrust ing, can you? When I’m hitting you deep and your legs can’t stay still, those size sevens hit the floor faster than your panties.”

If there was one fact that was infinitely true about her husband, it was that he had no problem talking a blue streak when they were like this. Whatever filter he usually kept in place evaporated, and pure, raw sex rolled right off his tongue. She craved his filth. It was a constant between them. His obsession with her body was the one thing she could count on one hundred percent. Tonight, though? Tonight, after having read his letter, talked to him, Dominic’s filth was even more effective. The insides of her thighs were coated with the evidence of that. She wished she could smell that faint tobacco scent he carried everywhere. The one he seemed to think she minded, but she actually craved. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, and her hips arched, circled, arched, two fingers using the ample moisture to massage her swelling clit.

“Dominic,” she gasped, feeling her walls start to quicken, that low, low thrum in her belly going from a ten to an eleven. “I want you to come.”

“That right? I was starting to wonder.” He groaned, and Rosie bit her lip, listening to the wet stroke of male fist on flesh, happening across town and in her ear at the same time. There was a twang of bedsprings, too, the sound achingly familiar. “I’m in our room, honey girl. Kneeling on your side of the bed. I’m picturing you in front of me with your thighs wide open.”

Rosie rolled over onto her stomach and moaned into the mattress. With that erotic imagery in her head—Dominic pleasuring himself on their bed while she posed in front of him—Rosie bore down on her fingers, pumping her hips and rubbing up and back at the same time. “Dominic, Dominic, please . . .”

“Please, what?”

“Come all over me,” she sobbed. “Paint me in it.”

His growl almost hurt her eardrum. “Come home and I’ll do it. I’ll cover you in what I’ve got, all over that incredible body. And soon as I’m hard again, I’ll flip you over and remind the neighbors how loud you can scream.”

Even though his words warned her to put the brakes on, Rosie couldn’t help herself. She sunk two fingers inside the weeping opening of her flesh and cried out, riding her own hand in earnest. “Please, I’m so close. I want you with me.”

“No. No, I want you with me,” he gritted out. “I want you home.”

“Dominic!”

He made a low, hungry sound. “Would you suck my cock between those pretty lips if you were here, honey girl?”

A ripple moved through her sex and she rode harder, faster. “Yes. Oh my God, yes.”

“Yeah, I know you would, Rosie.” His breath was turning more shallow by the second. “You’d suck it like you know the pussy-licking is coming next. You always do.”

“I’m coming,” she wailed into the comforter. “I can’t stop.”

Sexual frustration dripped from his voice. “I’m not finishing until it’s inside my wife.”

Pleasure slammed into Rosie before those words could register, her flesh spasming around her fingers as the orgasm tore through her body, head to toe. Jesus. Jesus. She couldn’t drag in oxygen fast enough, but at the same time, her lungs felt full to bursting. Dominic’s harsh breathing on the other end kept her hips grinding down on her stiff fingers, milking the climax for everything it was worth.

“Say my name, wife,” he instructed.

“Dominic,” she managed, rolling her forehead side to side on the mattress. “Please. Please, don’t hold out like this.”

“Why not?”

Denial reared its head at thinking of him going to bed unsatisfied. Getting up in the morning and going to work without relief. “It’s cruel to both of us.”

“Good-bye, Rosie. I’ll see you Monday.” He took a sharp inhale, and she heard his jeans zip back up. “If you want to see me sooner, you know where we live. I won’t lay a finger on you until you’re ready. But I’m not going to let you settle into this. Living apart. Fucking over the phone. Understand how serious I am about bringing you back to me. Don’t doubt me when I say I’ll fight dirty to get you back through this door.”

The phone line went dead.

Rosie stared at it with an open mouth for long moments before collapsing facedown on the bed with a closed-mouthed scream. Her husband had come out swinging. But she had to fight to make sure when—if—they reconnected, they would have the tools to succeed. Even though Rosie was annoyed as hell with Dominic as she slid under the covers . . . she found herself looking forward to their next therapy session. Looking forward to seeing him. A lot.