by R.S. Grey
It’s such a startling sensation that I nearly pitch forward off the counter, but his hands are on my hips, holding me in place as he licks and teases and blows warm air on skin that is not touched nearly enough. I thought the delicate lace lingerie felt good, but Ian feels better. His tongue laps at the tips of my breasts, his mouth closes around each one, and I’ve never had an orgasm like this, but that’s why they say there’s a first time for everything.
He laughs when I tell him that, and then there is no more laughter, because his hand dips into the front of my panties and there’s so much wetness there, I’m nearly embarrassed. My cheeks burn. Before, I could have played this whole thing off with a few shrugs and cool smiles, but now there’s no lying. My body wants Ian and he knows exactly how much.
“Open for me a little,” he begs, and I oblige dutifully.
The outsides of my knees hit the cold counter and he takes the thin blue lace that covers me up and pulls it gently to the side. My hands are on his shoulders, and there’s no way I’m letting go now, especially when he emits a sexy groan and drags a teasing finger up and down my wetness. He’s taking things slow, staring down at me like he’s assessing a newly acquired piece of property. This is mine, and this is mine, and then he sinks his middle finger into me and oh yes, this is mine.
“Ian,” I whimper as he drags his finger out slowly then pumps it right back in.
“Years, Samantha—years.”
That’s all he says, but I get it. Years for me too, Ian.
I find his mouth and we kiss again, and there’s less frenzy now and more heat. We linger and lick as he pushes a second finger inside me.
He works me up with his hand, pumping and speeding up his seduction until my nails bite into his shoulders. There’s no rush, no spot left untouched.
Foreplay turns into a little more.
My thighs are shaking.
I’m holding my breath.
This poor bathroom is so fogged and hot they’ll have to demolish it when we’re done, but the angle is just right. The counter’s height means Ian is in the perfect position after he rolls on a condom. He asks me twice if I’m sure I don’t want to move to the bed, and I respond by pushing my knees apart just a teensy bit wider. My butt is right on the edge. My breasts ache to be touched and he doesn’t neglect them when he slides into me inch by inch. His mouth is there, sucking, and my mouth is on his neck, kissing and whispering words of encouragement.
I wince just barely as he settles himself deep inside me. I need time to adjust. I knew there would be some…accommodating to do.
“Sam? Are you with me?” he asks, brushing my hair away from my face and tilting me just enough so our lips can meet easily.
I nod and he drags out then slides back in. His hips roll and I clench to let him know I like it. A smirk unrolls on my lips at how blissfully amazing this feels.
“Hold on,” he warns. I grip his neck and suddenly, there’s no need for the bathroom sink—I’m barely touching it. He has ahold of my hips and he keeps me stationary as he thrusts in and drags back out, in and out, in and out, nice and slow. He does all the work, which leaves nothing to distract me from my building orgasm. Every time he pumps all the way in, he brushes against me in just the right spot. I tell him and he starts to go a little faster, pumping harder, holding tighter. I’m building, building, building, and this is it.
Yes. Yes. YES.
But then Ian sets me down. A protest forms and dies on my tongue as he turns me to face the mirror.
The mirror.
I’d completely forgotten all about it, but Ian hasn’t. He turns us and tells me to press up onto my tiptoes. It’s the only way he can align himself with me, and even then, he has to bend his knees. He takes my wrists and props my hands up on the counter without asking. His chest hits my back and I feel enveloped by his warmth right up until he stands back to his full height. I watch him in the mirror and this man isn’t the Ian I’m used to. I’m aware now of the details I used to try to ignore: the chiseled jaw, the sharp edge to his gaze. They’re parts of him that seemed a little too intimidating. Now they’re all I see. When he pumps into me for the first time at this new angle, I collapse forward onto the cold counter. He smiles and picks me back up, holding me more carefully so the next time, I stay standing.
“Is this too much?”
Of course it is. I’m being forced to watch what he’s doing to me. I’m looking at my flushed, heated skin; that black bowtie around my neck that smells like him; my wild, tangled hair; the crazed look in my eyes. There’s no escaping what he’s doing to me and maybe I won’t always want it this way, but right now I do.
“Not enough,” I beg, and Ian delivers.
He slides into me slowly and he’s deeper than before. He stays pressed there and our eyes lock in the mirror.
I’ve been naked for a while, but in the reflection, I’m stripped bare. Ian has his fist wrapped around my soul.
“I have to be careful with you.”
I shake my head then his hand hooks around my waist and he rubs soft, quick circles between my thighs. His other hand toys with my breast and those two combined sensations thrust me to the finish line quicker than I’d like. I want it, and yet, I want this to last forever. The cold granite bites into my hips. Ian’s thighs sear the backs of my legs. His hand grips my breast and he thrusts again, harder than ever before, and then again. He speeds up and I clench around him, reaching up to wrap one hand around his neck. His hips are rolling and grinding. He delivers another deep thrust and a swirl of his thumb, and my nails bite into his skin.
“I’m coming. I’m coming.”
It’s like I’m giving him an offering. Here, take it.
And he does. He pumps so hard, and he never stops rubbing circles. The lingering sensations from my first orgasm make me overly sensitive and needy. One moment, I don’t think I can take one more whisper of a touch there, and then suddenly I’m falling again. It’s harder and quicker than the first time, and Ian finally lets himself tip over the edge too. We come together and he thrusts deep inside of me, almost violently. His teeth bite gently into my shoulder and if there’s any broken skin, I hope it scars. It’ll be a little memento from our wedding night.
22
S A M
Ian lets me shower while he orders room service. When I’m done, I wrap myself up in a plush terrycloth robe and step out of the bathroom.
In the ten minutes I stood under that shower stream, I let the images of our lovemaking flash back through my mind. Ian is a fucking catch. Women should be throwing themselves at his feet, and now, somehow, he’s my whirlwind husband. I wonder if he regrets having the wedding before the wedding night. I wonder if I was even half as good as him, then I chuckle. I barely had enough brain power to process what he was doing to me, much less think of things to do to him.
I step out of the bathroom and see him sitting on the bed. He has his boxer briefs back on, but nothing else. His hair is disheveled from my hands. He’s on the phone finishing up the food order, but his eyes cut to me. I flush and he smiles, curls his finger, and mouths, Come here.
My feet carry me closer and he drags me down to sit on his lap with my back pressed against his chest. My head hits his shoulder and his hand trails up the front of my robe. I think he’s going to play fair, but then his hand slips beneath the lapel and his palm covers my breast. We just finished having sex and now suddenly I’m right back at the starting line. These are truly uncharted waters.
“Yeah, you can throw in an extra order of fries,” Ian says into the phone.
He sounds completely unaffected by what he’s doing to me right now. By comparison, I’m basically mewling like a cat.
“Sam, do you want anything for dessert?”
Sam can’t come to the phone right now. She’s dead.
“Sam?” he asks again, but it’s a whisper against the shell of my ear—a taunt.
I turn and take the phone out of his hand. “Chocolate milkshake. Room 419.
Thank you.”
Then I toss the phone toward its base without looking. It clatters to the floor and I leap onto Ian. He’s caught off guard, so for a few seconds, I have the upper hand. It’s glorious. He tips back onto the perfectly made bed and I straddle his hips. The tie around my robe comes loose and the two sides start to peel apart.
“Aren’t you hungry?” he asks, grinning and cradling my hips so he can rock up against me.
I see I’m not the only one treating tonight like a marathon.
“They’ll have to send paramedics when we’re done,” I say, stringing kisses down his neck.
He lifts his chin to allow me better access and now I am hungry—for knowledge. I’m going to memorize every inch of his body: the small groove beneath his collarbones, the inch-long scar along his left bicep, the exact dimensions of his chest measured by the width of my palms.
He groans and tries to roll over, but I throw my full weight against him. “Hold still, you.”
“You’re killing me here.”
“I just want to know who I married,” I say, in a daze, focused on the sharp contours of his abs.
“You know me,” he says wistfully.
“I thought I did,” I admit. “But that scene in the bathroom? That was some next-level lovemaking. I was not expecting that from you, Fletcher.”
He quirks a brow. From this angle, he’s so adorable I want to throttle him. “What’d you expect?”
“In my fantasies, it’s usually pretty vanilla, gentle and sweet—y’know, nice guy stuff.”
“You want gentle and sweet?” he asks while smirking.
I roll my eyes and lean forward to kiss him. His hands grip my ass and he tugs, tugs, tugs my robe up until I’m bare from the waist down. I should have put on some coveralls, or at the very least double-knotted my robe.
“I can be gentle and sweet,” he teases as his hand trails up the inside of my leg. His touch is feather light and soft when he reaches between my thighs. I’m already wet. I groan and my elbows collapse. He uses the opportunity to roll us over. I’m on my back and he shoves me higher on the bed. I’m smack dab in the middle when he stands and pushes those boxer briefs back to the ground.
I have two seconds to prepare myself before he presses my knees apart and dips his head between my thighs. There are levels to the seduction: first his breath hits me, warm and shocking. I buck off the bed but he pins my hips down with his arm. Second, his mouth is there, pressing a kiss to the most intimate part of me. I fist the bedspread and then finally, his tongue laps me up, nice and slow, up and down.
“We don’t…the food.”
That’s not even close to a full sentence, but Ian gets it. The food will be on its way up in no time and they can’t just roll it in while we go at it like we’re on the Discovery Channel.
“Yes, would you two like any ketchup? Maybe some flavored lubricant?”
Ian doesn’t start to rush. He takes his sweet time lapping me up. It’s a lesson, I think. He’s being the gentle and sweet version I wished for, and now I regret opening my stupid mouth because not only should he be rushing because my milkshake is on its way up, but also, I’m THIS close to having another orgasm and he knows it. The smug smile tells me so. He dangles me right in the middle of insanity. I can’t come like this. He’s going just a teensy bit too slow, dragging his feet and showing me just how tortuous “sweet and gentle” can be. I’m squirmy and needy, begging him to just let me…give me…have some damn mercy on my poor soul!
I’m seconds away from breaking out into tears of frustration, and then he stands up. I pry my eyes open. He’s gloating and wearing a panty-melting smirk.
Boy, is he enjoying this.
“Happy?” I ask, eyes narrowed in mock anger.
“I feel…nice. Like a nice guy,” he replies, repositioning my legs on the bed so he has room to settle himself between my thighs. He picks up my hips, positioning me at the exact right angle, and then he slides into me inch by inch.
I fist the sheets and my eyes pinch closed. My bottom lip is between my teeth so I don’t cry out loud enough to disturb our entire floor.
“So, is this how you envisioned it? Sweet and gentle?” he asks, leaning down and taking my hands in his. He drags them up and over my head and presses them into the bed. My eyes blink back open as he leans over me, putting me in his shadow. His hair hangs down on his forehead. His sharp features seem even more intimidating from this perspective. He pulls out and thrusts again and I groan because his full weight on top of me is intense and wonderful.
His face is right over mine. Our gazes are locked up until the moment he bends down and seers me with a sweet, seductive kiss. One hand takes control of both of my wrists and the other snakes down my body, hooking around my hips. He uses that hip as leverage, angling just a little to the left so he can really work himself in and out. He’s grinding into me now, keeping up a fast, insanity-inducing pace. His hips roll and I look down and I think I’m going to die.
My arms hook around his neck and I drag him flat against me. Nails press into skin. Words are murmured against his shoulder. His teeth bite down on the soft flesh of my earlobe and I’m shaking against him, forcing him to feel every wave of my orgasm as it shocks through me.
When he’s sure I’m finished, he sits back up and turns me over so I’m on my hands and knees. Now, there’s no more sweet and gentle. Ian is relentless. Pounding. Thrusting. Fucking. I’m slack-jawed, wide-eyed, and any number of other hyphenated adjectives. My arms give out and my cheek hits a pillow, but he holds on to my hips to keep me from collapsing altogether. Never once does he break pace. When I glance back, I see him staring down between us, watching what he’s doing to me, and whatever he’s seeing must send him over the edge, because he pulls out and grips his hard length and comes just like that, with my name on his lips.
He leans down to kiss me, tells me to lie still, and then comes back a few seconds later with a damp towel to clean me up.
I smirk like a greedy little cat as he does the heavy lifting. Once I’m good as new, he helps me sit up and reaches down to fix my robe.
Then I remember where we are, how fancy this place is. I glance around and yup, there’s a minibar filled with delicate nuts and chocolate truffles. The walls are covered in an intricate gold-leafed design.
“Ian, how much do you think this entire bed costs? Frame and all?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Why on earth are you thinking about that?”
“I’m wondering if we’d be able to afford to…”
“Buy it?”
He really has no idea what I’m hinting at.
“No, no—to replace it if we break it.”
His brows ratchet up to his hairline and then there’s a knock on the door. “Room service.”
YES. My milkshake! I shove Ian out of the way and run for the door. “Oh, and PS, I’m not sharing my dessert.”
“Even with your husband?” he asks, dipping into the bathroom to turn on the shower.
HUSBAND! My heart skips a beat. My stomach, however, does not.
“Cute.” I smile. “But no.”
23
S A M
Even though I have a few months left on my apartment lease, I move in with Ian that Sunday after we check out of the hotel. We left a large tip for the cleaning staff, but I still feel bad. For 48 hours, we consummated our marriage in that room. If there was a surface on which you can have sex, my butt was on it. Sorry, next occupants.
On the way to my apartment, nerves creep in and I suggest we could keep living separately.
“Why?”
Because I’m a lot to handle and I don’t want you to regret marrying me.
That’s the truth, but I water it down. “Just…I don’t know. In case you want to slow things down.”
“I don’t.”
“In case you get sick of me.”
“I won’t.”
Alrighty then.
Moving doesn’t take us long. Most eve
rything I own, Ian has a better version of. My pots and pans are antiques, and not in a good way. My bed creaks and is too small to fit us both comfortably. My bathroom rug is new, but it’s pink and floral. Ian gives me the choice whether to take it or leave it, and I smile because deep down, I know he would let me put it in his bathroom, but I spare him.
I bring over my clothes and Ian allots me half the space in his closet and dresser.
“I really don’t need that much room.”
“Why?”
I don’t know exactly how to phrase it, but it feels like I’m coming over for an extended sleepover. I want to make my presence here as negligible as possible, that way he won’t get annoyed and divorce me. I keep telling him I don’t need much space and I can just leave my toothbrush under the sink, but he puts it in the holder beside his and insists this is my house too now.
“Okay, then I want to sleep on the right side of the bed.”
He laughs and walks out of the room. “Not gonna happen.”
We’ll see about that.
I keep waiting for things to get more complicated, for us to hit the inevitable roadblock. For example, Ian could say, Oh, by the way, I secretly like to train birds and I keep a dozen foul-mouthed parrots in the garage. Or he could open the guest bedroom door to a mountain of trash and soiled adult diapers sliding out.