Adore (Spiral of Bliss #4)

by Nina Lane

  Before I can question what that means, Dean reaches out to stroke his hand over my thigh.

  “What about you?” he asks. “Toddler meltdown aside, everything’s okay?”

  “Mmm.” I rest my head against the back of the sofa. “Busy, but fine. I have a gourmet dinner planned to welcome you home. Spice-rubbed Cornish game hens with a sherry jus. Lemon-mint braised artichoke hearts. Saffron rice pilaf. Raspberry-chocolate cake, if I can get it right. Mac and cheese, but that’s for the boy.”

  “Sounds incredible.”

  “I’ve been shopping for groceries every day this week.” I close my eyes, enjoying the sensation of his strong hand sliding up and down my thigh. “It’s going to be delicious. I just need to rest for a second, and then I’ll get the mise en place going.”

  “Bob!” Nicholas shouts.

  Dean responds, but I don’t pay attention to his words as much as the deep, soothing cadence of his voice. The house feels complete with him home again, his presence making the air warmer and richer.

  As much as I love the Butterfly House, which Dean and I restored and renovated together, it’s huge compared to the apartments we’d always lived in before. It’s easy to feel a little lost, especially when Nicholas and I are rattling around alone. We stick together pretty closely when Dean is gone—Nicholas sleeps in the bed with me, and we spend the rest of our time in the kitchen or sunroom.

  A sigh fills my chest, the anger and frustration of the day slipping into contentment with the knowledge that my husband is home and everything is as it should be, even if he did screw up my plans with his early arrival.

  “George noodle,” Nicholas remarks.

  I have no idea what he’s talking about, nor do I care at this point. I feel myself slipping into a doze and try to pull out of it, reminding myself that I need to clean the artichokes and stuff the game hens…

  *

  Dean’s body is a wall of heat and muscle against my back. I wake with a start, disoriented for a second before realizing that I’m lying in bed, my head nestled on my cloud-soft pillow. Darkness slants through the curtains. I dimly realize Dean must have carried me upstairs. Would have been more romantic if I’d been awake.

  Behind me, Dean mutters with annoyance at my shifting and settles his arm heavily around me, pulling me back against him. I’m still in my fleece shirt and yoga pants, but I can tell Dean is shirtless, wearing only his drawstring pajama pants.

  He’s also hard. His erection is pushing against my bottom. A spool of lust begins to unwind in my lower body as I absorb the sensation of his warm, muscled chest, his arm strong and tight around me, the pulsing stiffness of his cock. I wiggle a little experimentally, both surprised and delighted when my clit throbs in response.

  Since giving birth to Nicholas, my libido hasn’t been at all reliable, with more valleys than peaks. And as attracted as I am to Dean, after a long day working at the café, running errands, cleaning house, cooking, and taking care of a demanding toddler who often clings to me like a baby monkey… By ten at night, all I want to do is fall into bed to sleep. These days, I need as much sleep as I can get, knowing Nicholas is likely to wake me up at least once or twice, needing water or to be soothed back to sleep, which often takes an hour.

  But though things are always changing, especially with a toddler and our new work responsibilities, I am sharply aware I will always be Dean West’s wife, and I never want to lose any part of our intense bond.

  Which is exactly why I’d planned a romantic night to welcome him home. Maybe I can salvage part of the evening, at least.

  Dean moves his hand around to cup my breast, his fingers toying with my nipple under my shirt. He nuzzles his face against my hair and rumbles a noise of pleasure.

  There’s certainly never been anything wrong with his sex drive.

  I suddenly wonder what he’s done about it, considering the number of times I’ve either outright turned him down, or made a breathy promise of “later,” only to end up asleep before we could get started.

  A thought hits me. “The game hens!”

  “That’s not a hen.” Dean pushes his erection harder against my rear. “That’s a cock.”

  I laugh. “You don’t say. I meant I forgot to put the hens back in the fridge.”

  “Already done.”

  “Oh, good. Thanks.” I pause for a minute. “Hey, Dean?”

  “Hey, Liv.”

  “You haven’t been feeling… frustrated lately, have you?”

  “About what?” He presses his lips against the nape of my neck.

  “Sex.”

  “Does this feel frustrated?” He nudges his cock against my bottom again, his body tensing slightly with growing lust. “Damn, I love your ass.”

  “I mean, over the past couple of years,” I say as my skin starts to warm in response to him. “I know I haven’t been on board much.”

  “I’m not frustrated,” he assures me, snaking his other hand underneath me so he can fondle both of my breasts at the same time. “Though I do lust after you on an hourly basis.”

  “And what do you do when you’re lusting and I’m sleeping?”

  “I jerk off while thinking about you,” he murmurs against my ear.

  The admission fires me with an unexpected bolt of heat. I’ve always loved watching Dean masturbate—the easy, slow movement of his hand as he strokes himself to orgasm, the way his chest heaves with increasing breaths and his eyes glaze over with pleasure—but it occurs to me now I haven’t actually seen him do it in ages.

  I twist in his arms and turn to face him, my whole body folding against his. It’s so good having him back in our bed, right where he belongs. I gaze at his chocolate-brown eyes framed with thick lashes, the strong masculine planes of his face, his rumpled dark hair. The woodsy, eucalyptus scent of his shaving soap drifts from his skin.

  “You’ve stayed in practice,” I remark.

  “Had to. Traveling and being away from you doesn’t leave me any other option.”

  Guilt simmers inside me. Once upon a time, he and I would engage in hot talk over the phone when he was away. Now I can’t remember the last time I was up for that either.

  But the thought of him pleasuring himself here at home…

  “Do you do it in the shower?” I whisper, sliding my forefinger across his lower lip.

  “Sometimes. Or up in my tower office. Or in bed.”

  “In bed?” I repeat. “When are you ever in bed without me?”

  “I’m not.”

  I try to process that for a second. Dean raises an eyebrow, amusement flashing in his eyes. I gasp.

  “Dean West! Are you implying you’ve been masturbating in our bed while I’m sleeping?”

  “I’m not implying anything,” he replies.

  A riotous combination of shock and intrigue floods my chest. I push to one elbow and stare at him.

  “Really?” I breathe. “You jerk off while I’m lying asleep next to you?”

  “Uh huh.” He slides one hand under my shirt, his fingers trailing against my skin. “That turn you on?”

  “Um… I’m not sure.” My heartbeat starts to increase in pace. “How come I’ve never woken up?”

  “You sleep hard. And I’m quiet.”

  “You’re not quiet when we have sex. Or when I watch you masturbate.”

  “What can I say? I’m versatile.”

  “So… How often do you do it?”

  “Couple times a week, I guess.” He moves his hand up to my bra. “Why are you so curious?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just that my sex drive has been so weird since I had Nicholas, and you’ve obviously been deprived.”

  “I haven’t been deprived.”

  “If you’re jerking off beside your sleeping wife, you’ve been deprived.” Now I sound annoyed. I can’t even remember the last time I masturbated—not that I’ve ever had much reason to do so since I met Dean.

  “I jerk off beside my sleeping wife because I fucking love s
melling her hair and feeling her body against mine when I come,” Dean says.

  A new flame of shocked heat rips through me.

  “You smell my hair?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “That sounds vaguely perverted.”

  “I’m okay with that,” he remarks.

  If my pulsing clit is anything to judge by, so am I.

  I lean over him, drumming my fingers on his chest. “Why haven’t I ever noticed it when I change the sheets?”

  “First, because you don’t change the sheets,” Dean reminds me. “I do. And second, because I use a towel.”

  “Oh.” Despite my shock at this revelation, hot images flash crystal-clear through my head of Dean stretched out on his back, his bare, sculpted chest patterned with shadows and moonlight, his big cock sticking straight up as he wraps his hand around the base and strokes up to the tight head already glossy with moisture…

  I shiver and press my thighs together. I’m starting to throb.

  “So what…” I swallow to ease the dryness in my throat. “What do you fantasize about, then?”

  “You.”

  “Oh, please.” I roll my eyes and shift a little to rub my breasts against his chest. My nipples are straining against the constriction of my bra. I wish Dean had undressed me before carrying me up to bed. “You’re a man, Dean.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  Yes, he is. I ease my hand down to brush against the stiff bulge in his pants.

  “So men fantasize about all sorts of things,” I remind him, cupping his erection in my palm. “What about when you’re not in bed? When you’re in the shower or up in your office? You can’t smell my hair or grind up against me then. So what do you fantasize about?”

  “Usually you in different scenarios.”

  “Like what?”

  To my further intrigue, a slight flush crests his cheekbones.

  “Dean?” I squeeze his cock lightly. “Come on. I’ve told you about my fantasies, right?”

  “Mine aren’t nearly as vivid as yours,” he replies.

  “Remember that dream you once had in which I was a librarian?” I ask, smiling when his cock stiffens even more. “That was pretty hot.”

  “That was a dream, not a fantasy.”

  “A dream is an unconscious fantasy,” I remind him. “But I want to know what you fantasize about when you’re awake. Am I a nurse? A farmer’s daughter? A vestal virgin?”

  Dean shakes his head.

  I try to think. “Oh! Am I a dominatrix?”

  “Beauty, as much as I love the idea of you in leather, I’d never be up for that.” He slides his hand over my ass.

  I can’t really see it either—even in my imagination, sexual submission and Dean West are a total mismatch. Control is just one of the things that makes him who he is, and though it’s also the characteristic that has caused the most problems between us, I’ve accepted that it will always be part of him.

  “What do you fantasize about, then?” I ask.

  “How about you tell me?” he suggests. “You have some pretty imaginative, elaborate fantasies. Elves and pirate captains and all that, right?”

  Right. I used to have elaborate sexual fantasies. Now my most intense fantasies involve sleeping past five a.m., or eating an entire meal without getting up once, or having time to read a book whose plot doesn’t revolve around Arthur or the Berenstain Bears.

  Stay on track, Liv. No thinking of Brother and Sister Bear…

  “So?” Dean prompts, winding a lock of my hair around his finger.

  “Um, so I had this fantasy where you were… uh, a deliveryman,” I say, “and I was… a bored, lonely housewife and you were delivering some sex toys…”

  “Sounds more like a porn flick,” Dean remarks.

  “Yeah.” I sigh. “I guess I haven’t fantasized much lately.”

  “So instead of talking, why don’t we just get dirty?” he suggests, tugging at the hem of my shirt. “Take this off.”

  Though I’m not entirely ready to be done with this conversation, I’m getting hot, and my breasts are aching. I lift myself up to take off my shirt and unhook my bra, tossing both to the floor. Cooler air caresses my skin, and Dean’s breath hisses out in pleasure at the sight of my bare breasts, my nipples jutting out, hard as cherries.

  I shiver, desire rolling through me at the darkening heat in his eyes, the visible strain of his muscles.

  Yes.

  Oh, it feels good to be aroused, even if we haven’t done much of anything yet. Especially because we haven’t done much of anything yet.

  “C’mere,” Dean mutters roughly, grabbing my waist and hauling me toward him. He fastens his lips around my nipple and tugs, the light pull sending a current of heat right to my sex.

  I move over him to straddle his waist, bending forward so he has full access to my breasts. His body tenses as he palms and squeezes my breasts until waves of heat wash through me.

  “God, Dean.” I squirm on top of him, rubbing my clit against his torso. “I’m getting really hot.”

  He pushes his hips upward, nudging his cock against my ass. He grips the waistband of my pants, and I shift so he can tug them down my hips and slip his hand between my legs. He groans.

  “Ah, fuck, you’re wet already.” He yanks at my pants. “Get these off. Now.”

  I maneuver around to pull my pants off and ease down Dean’s body, pressing kisses to his gorgeous chest, down the line bisecting his abdomen, following the trail of hair leading right to the tantalizing hardness of his erection.

  I grasp his hips and press my mouth onto his cock, right over the cotton of his pants. Dean groans, fisting a hand into my hair. The heat of his shaft burns through the thin material, his thigh muscles tightening like corded wire. I pull his pants down just enough to release his cock, the beautiful, thick length almost gleaming in the dim light.

  I glance up at him through the veil of hair that has fallen over my face. He’s watching me, his dark eyes smoldering. He reaches down to squeeze my breast, pinching the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Use these,” he says huskily.

  A shiver rains through me. I get to my knees and cup my breasts. Dean grasps the base of his shaft. I position myself over him and press my breasts together to create a deep cleavage before sliding his cock between them.

  “Oh, God.” I inhale a sharp breath, my skin tingling at the sensation of his smooth, veined shaft against my damp skin. “Is that good?”

  “Hell, yeah.” He grits his teeth and pushes his hips upward, like he wants to thrust into my cleavage. “Fuck me with them.”

  I do. I squeeze my breasts together tighter and slide them up and down his stiff cock, the pathway eased by the combination of his fluids and my perspiration. My head fills with the scent of him, urgency tightening through my entire body. I’d almost forgotten how uninhibited and sexy I could be with him, how good pure, undiluted lust could feel.

  Mesmerized, I watch his thick erection push in and out of my pillowy cleavage. I twist my nipples, jolts of heat pouring through me. I pause and shift to take the head of his erection into my mouth. The salty, male taste of him floods my tongue. His body tautens beneath me, his hand tightening in my hair.

  I circle my tongue over the tip of his cock before easing him into my mouth inch by inch. His shaft is warm and pulsing. I press my tongue to the vein throbbing at the underside, then ease back and move my head up and down, fucking him with my mouth. His breath saws through the air, and I feel his muscles flexing.

  A groan shakes his chest. He grips the back of my neck as he pushes his cock gently into my mouth. I let my eyes drift closed and breathe, focusing on the sensation of my husband’s body, the smooth feel of his shaft, the quickening breaths signaling his increasing drive toward release. His fingers tighten briefly on my nape before he releases me and slides his hand down to rub my back in an almost soothing motion.

  “Come here,” he orders gruffly.

  I release
him, crawling back up the length of his body and splay over him, my thighs hugging his hips and my breasts crushed against his chest. Our lips meet in a hot, full kiss as he strokes his hands down my back to my rear end. In one movement, he turns me over, his body rigid with self-restraint.

  “Open,” he whispers against my lips.

  My breath catches. I spread my legs, letting him move between them. He gets to his knees and pushes my legs farther apart. I rake my gaze over him, the planes of his chest and thighs, the ridge of his erection, the burning gleam in his eyes. He slides his fingers into my cleft. The first touch is a delicious shock, his thumb circling my clit as he pushes two fingers into my opening.

  “Oh, God, Dean…” I clench my fists into the sheets, feeling as if I’m aroused for the first time ever.

  I’m vibrating with sensation—streams of blue and gold coursing through my veins, the press of Dean’s fingers stimulating my nerves, the heat-drenched air pressing against my skin. I push my hips back and forth, as all thought slides away into a warm, heady pool of sensation. All I know is this feels so good, so right, and it’s been much too long since we’ve indulged in such hot intimacy.

  “Fuck me,” I murmur, hooking my legs around his thighs. “I want to come with you inside me.”

  He needs no further invitation, pushing into me with one slow, easy surge. He groans. I gasp, my inner flesh stretching and tightening around his shaft. I grip the sheets tighter as he starts to thrust, his deep movements blazing heat over my nerves. I arch upward to meet his repeated plunges, our bodies pushing and pulling in a rhythm as powerful and natural as tides.

  Tension winds through my lower body. I slide my hand down to rub my clit, craving the intense explosion of pleasure I haven’t felt in weeks. Sometimes I can hardly remember not having to work to get into the moment, to push away all the worries, plans, and schedules cramming my head.

  There’s always something to think about, whether it’s the café staff schedule, profit and loss, what to make for dinner, Nicholas’s daycare payments, or… Oh, shit, I forgot to give the monthly payment to Christine last week, which means I need to double-check that there’s enough to cover—

  “Ah, good.” Dean, still thrusting into me like a well-oiled piston, braces his hands on either side of my head and lowers his mouth to mine. “Put your legs up… yeah, like that…”