What He Left Behind(17)

My calves touch the bed. Ian cups my cock through the towel and squeezes just hard enough to make my breath catch. With a gasp, I break the kiss and tilt my head back, and he goes right for my neck.

“You’ve done enough thinking for tonight,” he whispers, and his lips skate along my throat. “And you’ve got a lot of emotional shit ahead of you.” He kisses beneath my jaw as he tugs the towel free. “So for tonight, I want you to lie back, close your eyes and just enjoy being f*cked.”

A shiver runs through me. My towel lands at my feet. “I think I like the sound of that.”

His lips curve into a grin. He plants one more soft little kiss on my neck and then lifts his head. “Anything you want tonight, it’s yours.”

A million fantasies rush through my mind—all the things we’ve done or talked about doing in a decade—but I just whisper, “You.”

Ian’s grin gets bigger, more wicked, and he kisses me once more.

Then he drops to his knees in front of me.

And everything just…disappears. His lips and tongue, his hands, the way he moans with pleasure as he’s sucking my cock—my brain can’t even comprehend anything beyond all this. I watch him, barely breathing. This is one of my favorite views ever. His brow is furrowed as if everything he’s doing requires intense concentration, and whenever his blue eyes flick up to meet mine, my heart nearly stops. Yeah, so much for not being in the mood.

“You’re f*cking amazing.” I slide my hands into Ian’s hair and rock my hips, f*cking his mouth slowly, and he groans and bobs his head faster.

Then he stops. Disappointment has about two seconds to set in before he meets my gaze again, and…Jesus. As he stands, eyes gleaming like they were when I came out of the bathroom, my whole body is electrified. I know exactly what’s next.

“Want me on my back?” I lick my lips. “Or—”

“I want you to stay right there. Don’t move.”

I don’t move. Ian takes off his jeans and boxers, and then he puts his arms around me again. Holding me, kissing me, turning me inside out.

Now we’re moving together. Going back. Going down. Even the instinctive fear of falling backward is barely there—Ian won’t let me drop.

And he doesn’t. He eases me down onto the bed, and sinks down on top of me, kissing me passionately and pressing his feverishly hot body against mine.

He doesn’t stay like that for long, though.

“I want you just like that,” he whispers, and kisses me once more. Then he sits up and reaches for the lube. As he strokes it onto his dick, I can barely lie still.

Yes. Yes. Fuck me. The sheets gather in my curling fingers. Right now.

He starts to guide himself in but hesitates. “On second thought…” He nudges my hip. “Turn around.”

Those two words go straight to my balls, and I bite down on a moan. He doesn’t just want to f*ck me tonight—he wants to f*ck me hard.

As I shift position, Ian hands me the damp towel I’d worn out of the bathroom.

“Put this down first.” He gives me a moment to smooth the towel on the bed beneath me.

Then he’s behind me. And he’s pressing against me. And my head is already spinning and the anticipation is going to drive me insane.

And just like it always does, the first stroke takes my breath away.

My head falls forward. The towel and sheets are flimsy anchors, but they’re something to hold on to, and I hold them tight as Ian’s cock slides deeper inside me. As he always does, he takes his time, letting me get used to him before he starts going to town on me. It doesn’t take long—we’ve f*cked enough times, my body always yields easily to him—and he steadies my hips as he finds a perfect, smooth cadence.

For a few strokes, anyway. Just as my vision is starting to clear, and I can finally breathe, he speeds up. He has a death grip on me now and holds me perfectly still as he slams into me. Skin slaps against skin. Every thrust knocks breath from my lungs, and I’m pretty sure I’m moaning and cursing, but my brain can’t zero in on anything except the way Ian’s dick feels and his deliciously painful grip on my hips.

His weight shifts. Ian pushes me all the way down to the mattress, the cool and slightly damp towel beneath me emphasizing the warmth of his skin against mine, and he f*cks me deep and hard, and between his cock inside me and his hot breath on my neck, I’m losing my mind. Nothing else exists, nothing else matters—just my husband’s amazing body against mine, his cock driving into me, my own cock rubbing against the coarse towel, and the orgasm that’s building by the second.

I claw at the bed. Curl my toes. Try to complement his thrusts, but I can’t move, so I just lie there. Lie there, close my eyes, enjoy the ride. Holy hell, I love the way this man f*cks me. My orgasm is both irrelevant and inevitable—I don’t care if I ever come, because I feel so, so good, but I will because it’s impossible not to when Ian’s body is against me and his cock is moving inside me.

He groans in my ear. “Goddamn, you get tight when you’re close. You are…so…”

I bite my lip, squeezing my eyes shut and trying not to come quite yet. He’s close too, and I love how he sounds—the way his breath catches, the way his voice is strained and shaky.

Somehow, he manages to thrust even harder, as if he thinks he can possibly get any deeper inside me. I press my forehead into the mattress, gripping the edges of the towel and holding my breath and—