Husband Rollover (Husband Series Book 4)

by Cusack,Louise

  It was wonderful to feel desired, beyond all the other comforts he’d given me. So I slept deep and long, and dreamed of little British children who called me Ma’am and had a nanny to care for them while I spent languorous afternoons making love to their smokin’ hot dad.

  Many hours later I woke to faint sunlight on the bed and the vague embarrassment of a schoolgirl who’d been caught writing Mrs. Fritha Banks in the back of her exercise book. What had I been doing dreaming about having his children?

  Making love, yes. But children? I’d never wanted mini-me’s. I loved cuddling other people’s babies, but having my own? Maybe that’s why there was a nanny in the dream. In any case, it was embarrassing, and I shuddered remembering it. A second later, arms tightened around me.

  My eyes snapped open.

  He was under the quilt, and when I wriggled, it was very clear that the body spooning behind me was naked. And aroused.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  My heartrate kicked up but I forced myself to go limp and take slow, even breaths, as if I was meditating, so I’d sound like I was asleep. I needed to work this out before I had to confront the reality that Max was in bed with me and appeared to want sex.

  Why else would he be naked? And aroused. Because he was definitely aroused. I could feel that iron bar nestling in my ass crack, and it was rock hard.

  Had he changed his mind? And what did that mean, considering all the I still want you to respect me in the morning that he’d spouted. Was that all out the window? Part of me was disappointed—the romantic part of me. But my body was waking up, and the nipple under his big palm was hardening. The I want another orgasm part of me was racing ahead to what-could-be, making it difficult to stay still, to breathe evenly.

  But before I’d worked out what was going on, his arms around me tightened and the hand on my breast squeezed as he made a low murmuring growl that was either part of a dream or he was waking up.

  Either way, I was hopelessly turned on. Every hair on my body was standing on end—waiting to be licked. And my breasts ached for his warm mouth and hot rough tongue to slide over them. In fact, I was just licking my own lips, thinking about how much I wanted to wrap them around a certain iron bar, when his body stiffened behind me, and I realized he was awake.

  That meant I might only have seconds before he realized I was also awake, and judging by how fast he’d sprinted out of the car yesterday to avoid anything physical, I wasn’t taking any chances on losing this opportunity. So I squirmed around in his arms until I was facing him and I snuck one arm under his so I could wrap it around his body, which was so deliciously warm I just wanted to caress it all over, but I figured I shouldn’t spook him.

  He opened one sleepy eye to look down at me. “Fuck,” he said in that delightfully proper Brit accent. “What time is it? I always wake up before dawn.”

  “Pardon? You want a fuck?” I wriggled up the bed so my lips were right in front of his.

  He shut both eyes. “Sweet mother of God, will you stop rubbing yourself against me.” One large hand slid over my hip to cup my ass cheek and hold me still, pressing me up against that iron bar. “Okay. I’m not sure that’s helping,” he admitted a moment later.

  I smiled. “I like it. I like lots of things. But you already know that.”

  “Please stop talking.” His eyes came open slowly and he gazed into mine. His were all frowning confusion, extravagant eyelashes and coupled with those very sexy lips surrounded by stubble, I felt my teasing mood stutter into breathless anticipation.

  I want this man.

  In fact, I’d never wanted anything more than I wanted Max Banks in that moment. The hard muscles and rough chest hair I could feel against my breasts were so exciting, I seriously thought I’d melt around him. And then there was that iron bar, which I knew I mustn’t grab—yet—that pressed against my pubes.

  He swallowed, and as the confusion melted away from him, I could see resistance following. His jaw looked so tight, his teeth could have been gritted. “Last night you promised not to tempt me.”

  “You weren’t naked then.”

  “Alright, that’s my bad, but—”

  “And I distinctly remember saying I promise not to tempt you in the night.” I raised both eyebrows. “In case you hadn’t noticed, night is over.”

  He let out a slow breath. “That’s a technicality.”

  “Nudity.” I slid a hand down his back to rest over his butt cheek. “What were you thinking?”

  “That I wanted to feel your skin against mine…” His voice had lost some of its cultured edge, and I could hear raw need in the growling undertone. “…and then get the fuck out of the bed before you woke up.”

  “You want me bad.” It was a statement, but somehow it came out as a question.

  “I’ve never denied that.” His dark eyes were almost black and I could feel his heart thudding inside his chest. “You make me so horny I could break bricks over my cock.”

  I loved all this dirty talk in his very proper accent.

  “But,” he said. “What’s worse, you make me reckless. Sleeping together was a bad idea.”

  “There was only one bed.” I let my fingers glide across that firm, round butt cheek, wishing it was my mouth exploring him.

  “I’m leaving in a few hours.”

  “Then we have a few hours.” I squirmed against that iron bar and his fingers tightened on my butt, which only made me more excited. “I promise I’ll still respect you.” I tried to look innocent.

  He shook his head. “No you won’t.” As if that was a stone-cold certainty. “You’ll think I’m an opportunistic bloke like all the others, only interested in getting a shag.”

  His tone was derogatory, and even though it was aimed at himself and not me, some of my arousal dimmed. Was it true that I thought men only liked me for sex? It was hard not to frown, because I suddenly wasn’t sure. Every fuckable man I met ended up in bed with me well before we’d had a chance to date—to get to know each other—then I wasn’t interested.

  I’d been telling myself that they weren’t interested in me, but really, if any one of them had gotten back to me—like Todd had yesterday—I wouldn’t have bothered. So maybe Max was right. Maybe sex was destroying the fun, the adventure of getting to know someone.

  He kissed my cheek softly. “You’re frowning. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  “It’s okay.” I let his butt go and rolled onto my back. “You’ve just given me stuff to think about.”

  His hand rested on my stomach, but a second later he eased it up to my midriff, just below one breast. It felt comforting there. Still exciting, still arousing, but I had a feeling he was placating me now, rather than trying to turn me on.

  “I’m not very good at relationships,” I said quietly, gazing up at the ceiling as my frown deepened. “And in recent times, I haven’t wanted one—”

  “I want one,” he said, and I transferred my gaze to him. We were both lying on our backs with our heads facing each other. “That’s why I don’t want to rush into sex with you,” he added, “…despite the fact that my balls are so blue they’ll probably fall off.”

  I hiccupped a laugh at that and he kissed me gently on the nose. “You’re enchanting when you smile. Your whole face lights up.” He nodded to himself a few times. “And that makes me happy.”

  “I love the five o’clock shadow thing you’ve got going on.” I nodded at his chin.

  “I shaved last night because I knew I was going to kiss you—”

  “In some very delicate areas.”

  His smile was slow and sinful. “I loved watching you come. In fact, that’s the hardest part of all this restraint, having to wait—”

  My hand slid over and rested on some serious cock. “Definitely hard,” I said, as his whole body tensed. Then I couldn’t help stroking the length of it as I stared into his eyes. “And you weren’t bragging. That’s a sizable dick you have there.”

  He swallowed, then sai
d faintly, “You have no mercy at all, do you?”

  “You’re overthinking this,” I said simply. “I know you. I like you. And now I want you.”

  “Really?”

  “Do you like me? Do you know me?”

  “I…do,” he said, and when I stopped stroking to tease the head of his cock with my fingertips, his eyelids fluttered closed.

  “That could be my mouth,” I said softly, but that was as far as I got.

  He growled, “Enough,” and rolled over me, pinning me down, rubbing that chest hair deliciously over my breasts as he kissed me so slowly and comprehensively that he burned every other thought, every other man, every other sensation out of my mind. There was only him, tasting of dark pleasures while the morning sunlight warmed the bed.

  Then his mouth slid from mine so he could kiss my neck, and when he started kissing down my collarbone I arched my back and he put an arm under me to hold me there so he could make love to my breasts with that crazy, hot mouth of his. And it felt like pleasure was inside my breasts, plucking and stroking and shooting ‘get ready’ messages to my twat that was clutching and melting in anticipation.

  He made me so crazy, I started squirming beneath him, and he had to pin my lower body down and hold my arms up above my head to keep me still.

  “Don’t stop,” I commanded, and after licking and suckling my breasts and making everything inside me molten and shuddery, he rubbed his almost-stubble gently across one nipple and the abrasion created such pain/pleasure that I squealed and pulled on his hands but he wouldn’t let me free.

  And that excited me more. For the first time, I wasn’t trying to coax him into this. He was over the line and making damn sure I didn’t get in the way of his lovemaking, because this was definitely him doing it to me.

  And I was trembling and limp, and completely unable to think, let alone take any initiative. When he’d stopped making my breasts ache with sharp pleasure, he lifted his head and said huskily, “I’m not stopping this time. You want this.”

  “I need this.”

  He let my hands go then and kissed me again, savagely, as if he was reassuring himself that we were doing this, the fingers of both his hands driving up into my hair, his erection grinding into my belly, and all I could do was cling to him, wrapping my legs around him, loving the tensed muscles of his back under my hands, and the way he owned me in that moment.

  The only thing in my mind was the sensation of his hot, wet mouth on mine, that amazing tongue that I never wanted to let go, and his large hand sliding over my skin and gently pinching a nipple so I moaned, before gliding down to cup my ass and massage it, so dangerously close to my backdoor that I felt tingles race up my spine and dizzy me further.

  He pulled back and said, “Where’s a condom?” so close to my mouth, I could taste the words.

  “Top drawer,” I breathed. “Either side of the bed.”

  He reached over and jerked the drawer open, letting cool air slide down my chest which distracted me from lust long enough to open my eyes. Then he was back, gazing down into my eyes. “You told me you don’t fuck men in this bed.”

  I couldn’t read his stiff facial expression, so I just said, “I don’t. I have to keep them somewhere so I can top up my handbag. That’s an easy place.”

  He frowned, and I could see him struggling to believe me. It sounded improbable even to me. But at last he said, “If you hadn’t grabbed my dick, this wouldn’t be happening.”

  “You tell yourself that,” I said. “You were hanging by a thread.”

  He gazed at me a moment longer. “It snapped.”

  When he kissed me again, I felt his surrender as the tension flowed out of his body and he molded mine against him. All I could imagine was that he’d finally accepted that neither one of us was going to be sensible about this.

  So I offered my own surrender by kissing him as sweetly as I could, because this felt like so much more than just sex, although when he slipped the condom on and came back over me, his gaze was dark and possessive, as if he’d shifted to some internal place where the sex was all that mattered.

  But he didn’t rush, he took his weight on one arm while his other hand stroked my body, as if he was trying to gentle me, to bring me down from the edge of throbbing excitement into something softer.

  He kissed my neck and the delicate skin behind my ear as the backs of his knuckles grazed over my belly, then his fingertips slid into my pubic hair, exploring, sliding, teasing, and then stroking, slowly and surely, and all I could do was lie with my eyes closed, panting and moaning as he teased and pushed me closer and closer, and then finally he whispered against my ear, “I’m going to fuck you now, Fritha Wynde.”

  My eyelids fluttered open and I gazed into his unfathomable eyes, completely unable to speak.

  “…and that means something. Do you understand?”

  I nodded, glad that my throat was so dry from panting that I couldn’t reply. I didn’t want anything to get in the way of what was happening.

  “This won’t be the last time.”

  “Please,” I croaked, so close to an orgasm I was trembling.

  And then he entered me, slow, deliberate, and so far in, I caught my breath when his pelvis hit mine.

  “Fuck,” I whispered, my eyes wide. “That is a sizable dick.”

  “You can stop talking now,” he growled, and my eyelids fluttered closed again as he started on a rhythm that was so exquisite I was moaning again in bare seconds.

  I reached over my head, scrabbling for the rungs on my wrought iron bed so I could anchor myself as he drove into me and the swirling pleasure he’d awoken in my clitoris with all that teasing, built into a pulsing delirium.

  I wanted those amazing sensations to last, but the slam of his pelvis against me and the return of his mouth to my breasts, licking and suckling them as he fucked me, was too much to cling to. White noise blurred my hearing and then the squirming pleasure down low erupted into a spasm that rocked my body, making me moan long and low as I clung to the bedhead, trying not to squeal and then utterly failing as the extent of the orgasm overtook me and he kept it going with that relentless pounding.

  I have no idea how long I made those unearthly noises, but when I came back to some form of sense, he was mashing his lips against mine and making unearthly growls of his own as his body shuddered above me in what felt a tectonic-shift orgasm.

  When it finally ended, I expected him to slump onto me, exhausted, because I sure as hell was. But instead, he held himself above me on trembling arms and breathed raggedly onto my throat for the longest time. When he could speak, he said, “Thank God…my father’s heart problems…weren’t hereditary.” Then he raised his head to look into my eyes. “Because otherwise…that would have killed me.”

  “I think I am dead,” I said, then I glanced around myself. “Isn’t this heaven?”

  His smile was slow but completely genuine.

  “…because I’d always imagined that heaven would be the place where you had perfect orgasms.”

  “Perfect?” He tried hard not to look smug.

  “Michelin Star perfect.”

  “Two star or three?”

  My smile widened. Men were so competitive, but in the moment of coming down from a peak experience, I’d realized something I was happy to share. “Best orgasm of my life!” I’d had other good orgasms, but this one had been spectacular, physically and…otherwise.

  I expected him to laugh, or be smug, but the flash of vulnerability in his eyes caught me by surprise. “You probably say that to all the boys.”

  What?

  “No.”

  A sick feeling swirled in my stomach. Nothing had changed for him. His whole so many men have been here before me program was still running, and maybe it always would.

  He frowned. “I was just checking.”

  Great. Now he sounded defensive.

  I glared up at him. “I don’t say anything to them. I just get up and leave, which is what I’m
going to do now.” I pushed him off me. “And by the way, thanks for belittling me.”

  I got as far as rolling toward the edge before he caught me in his arms and pulled me back against his body. “Hey,” he whispered against my ear, and even though I was stiff and angry, it sent a hot shiver down my spine. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to sincerity.” I was still thinking about the implications of that, when he added, “My bullshit filter keeps kicking in.”

  “Then kick it out,” I grumbled into the quilt in front of me.

  “I can’t. I need it to survive.”

  Some of my anger faded and I relaxed against his arms. He sounded so despondent, I couldn’t help putting myself in his shoes—much as I didn’t want to—realizing there probably were no tender moments in his life. So how hard would it be to recognize one, especially when you were dazzled by an orgasm? Maybe it had scrambled his brain.

  “Did you like it?” I asked reluctantly. “The sex.”

  “Yes.”

  I could have been disappointed in that single word, except for the heartfelt way it had been delivered.

  “Don’t rate it,” I hurried to add. I didn’t want to know it was in his top ten, because then I’d start thinking about the other nine. Which—heads up—made me not all that different to him. It was just that my ex-files were out in the open, and his weren’t.

  “You don’t rate forest nymphs,” he said softly, then he took a deep breath as if he was scenting my hair. “Making love with them is in a class of its own.”

  “Making love,” I repeated, as if it meant something. But really, semantics. Sex. Fucking. Making love. Same thing. Except…it sounded nice to hear him say love, even in the context of a good hard fuck.

  “I think…” He was silent then and I turned in his arms, all my crankiness gone.

  “You think?”

  We lay snuggled together, facing each other, and he leant over and kissed my nose, but his hands were restless on my body, smoothing down my wild hair, gliding down my back to caress my ass, so close to my backdoor again that I squirmed in excitement.

  “I think,” he said again. “That I could stay here in heaven and not miss a second of the real world.”