by Nina Lane
Shivers waterfall through me. I grasp the base of his shaft and slacken my throat muscles, letting him pump in and out. The salty taste of him floods my tongue, and before long his breath starts to intensify.
“Ah, fuck, Liv.”
The low murmur uncoils heat inside me. I move away from him to unfasten the bow holding the chemise together. The chiffon opens, exposing my breasts topped with stiff nipples and the curves of my belly and hips. Dean’s eyes darken as he gazes at my almost naked body, his eyes roaming hungrily over me.
“You are so damn sexy,” he murmurs, putting one knee on the bed and pushing me backward.
His lips come down on mine with surprising gentleness—especially considering that I can feel his pent-up lust ready to snap open. He strokes his tongue into my mouth, smooth and deep, his hands coming up to my breasts. I twitch underneath him, and when he starts playing with my nipples, electric sparks shoot through me.
I maneuver us both around and fall back against the pillows, gripping his arms to keep him close, our mouths sealed in a hot, wet kiss. With a gasp of pleasure, I wrap my legs around his thighs, my heart kicking into overdrive as his cock rubs against the stretched satin of my panties.
He slides a hand down my abdomen, his fingers twisting in the thin elastic string at my hips before moving around to my rear.
“Hmm.” His deep growl vibrates through me. “Not much here.”
“It’s a little small,” I admit, sliding my lips over his jaw to where his pulse is pounding at the hollow of his throat.
“Lemme see.” His voice is a gruff order as he pushes away from me, his eyes darkened to black with desire.
He sits back, making a circling gesture with his forefinger. I lick my lips, my heart hammering as I turn to show him the skimpy lace-and-satin back that barely covers my bottom.
“Damn.” The curse escapes Dean on a hiss as he covers my ass with both his hands, rubbing and squeezing. He moves his hand between my legs, probing at my damp cleft.
I gasp, arching my back. “Dean!”
“Jesus, you’re soaked down here.” He pushes a finger into my opening and strokes it back and forth.
I swear to God I’m already close to coming, and we’ve barely gotten started. A fog of lust and urgency descends over me. With a moan, I push my rear backward, seeking deeper penetration, my nerves tingling with pleasure.
I twist to look at Dean over my shoulder. He’s gazing at my lace-covered ass, one hand slowly stroking his big cock. The sight of him sends a firebolt straight into my blood. My clit throbs.
“Dean,” I moan, lowering my head onto the pillow and wiggling my ass.
He pulls the panties over my hips and ass, his cock nudging against my bare thigh. I experience an instant of self-consciousness—after all it’s not like we’ve been doing much of this lately—but then Dean slides his shaft right between my cheeks, and shock obliterates my embarrassment.
“Oh my God, Dean.”
He gives a muffled laugh and rubs his cock up and down the cleft of my bottom, slipping lower to my sex before sliding back up again. Flames crackle through me, and I can’t prevent a cry of need from escaping my throat. I grip the headboard with both hands as hot sensations sweep up the length of my spine.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” Dean mutters, pushing his finger slowly back and forth inside me. “Spread your legs wider for me, beauty.”
I fumble for another pillow to put beneath me and ease my legs apart. Dean’s finger slides out of me, the movement causing another wave of ripples to course through me. I’m quivering with anticipation and need, perspiration damping my skin, my tight, aching nipples rubbing against the pillow.
I shift, feeling his muscular legs pressing between mine, his broad hand coming down to rest on my lower back. The panties are still tangled around my thighs, the constriction an erotic contrast to the pressure of Dean’s cock nudging at my slit.
“Do it, please,” I gasp. “Oh, Dean, fuck me.”
With a grunt, he pushes forward, gripping my hips. I sink onto his shaft, crying out with pleasure when he fills me, his rigid flesh throbbing against my inner walls. I tighten my hands on the headboard and brace myself, my thighs tensing as he starts fucking me with slow, deep strokes that make my whole body quake with lust.
“Move your pretty ass,” he orders hoarsely, slipping one hand under me to rub my aching clit. “Come on, fuck yourself on me… that’s it…”
I groan, releasing the headboard and resting my cheek against the pillow as I start to thrust myself back onto his shaft. I squeeze my breasts, playing with my nipples, fiery currents shooting like stars through my blood.
Oh God, I could kneel here for hours, letting my husband stroke his cock in and out of me, my body jerking and swaying under him, his flat stomach hitting my ass with a sound like a spank. His fingers tighten on my hips, his breath rasping through the air as our bodies slam together again and again…
“Dean, I’m going to come.” I bite down hard on my lower lip as the spool of lust winds tighter and tighter, pulling me closer to the explosion of bliss I haven’t felt in longer than I care to remember.
But I want to come while looking at my husband, and he wants to watch, because he pulls out of me and eases me around to my back. His expression is rigid with lust and restraint, his eyes smoldering as he rakes his gaze over my sweaty, naked body.
He rubs his hands in circles over my midriff and hips, bending to press warm kisses over my breasts, down my abdomen to circle his tongue around my bellybutton. He slides his hands between my thighs to spread them apart again.
He enters me with one deep plunge, bracing his hands on either side of my head. His thick cock strokes every inner recess of my pussy. A stream of moans spill from my parted lips, my breath scorching my lungs, my whole being straining toward release.
My gaze locks with my husband’s in a fiery heat of urgency and need that belongs to us alone and that we haven’t shared in so long… too long…
“Oh, Dean, it’s going to happen,” I whisper thickly, sliding my hands around to grip his muscular back. “I can feel it… oh, yes…”
Born to be Wi-ild…
The song breaks through my fierce, spinning storm of heat and desire.
Born to be…
My cell phone buzzes on the nightstand. Archer’s ringtone. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to ignore it.
Dean’s breath is hot on my neck, his chest is rubbing against my breasts, his thick cock throbbing inside me… Oh, it’s incredible, powerful and hot, I’m going to come so hard and feel him shoot deep inside me…
The phone keeps ringing, the stupid song a mind-numbing screech of nails on a chalkboard. I don’t need to answer it. I trust Archer implicitly—Nicholas is safe, nothing is wrong…
No! Stop thinking about Archer and Nicholas.
I reach up to grab the headboard, focusing on Dean’s burning gaze, the sweat trickling over his temple, the rigid set of his jaw as he fucks me harder and faster…
Head out on the highway…
“Shit.” I shove him away and grab for the phone.
Dean groans and rolls off me, the sudden loss of his weight leaving me feeling bereft and raw with guilt. I fumble to accept the call, shoving my damp hair away from my face.
“Hello?” I gasp.
“Hey, Liv.”
“What?” I try to control my breathing, my racing pulse. “Is everything… everything all right?”
“Yeah, fine. You sound weird.”
“I’m…” I press a hand to my throat and close my eyes. My heart hammers. “I’m fine.”
“What does he want?” Dean growls, his chest heaving.
“Oh, shit,” Archer mutters. “Uh, sorry, Liv.”
“Never mind.” I close my eyes, not sure if I want to laugh or cry. “Why did you call?”
A bubble of pained laughter rises in my chest. “Sure. That would be great. Thanks.”
“Also, Nicholas just had spaghetti for dinner and asked for a chocolate ice cream, but I wanted to make sure it was okay with you first.”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
“Okay, thanks. Sorry to have bothered you. Really.”
“Not as sorry as I am,” I mutter.
I throw the phone on the nightstand and turn back to Dean, but the air between us has cooled and cracked again, the sharp edge of reality blunting my urgency. I know there’s no way we can get back to where we were now that chairs and chocolate ice cream have invaded my mind.
I flop onto the pillow, my body still aching with the ebbing tide of unfulfilled lust. Dean shoves up from the bed, his skin slick with sweat and his erection still half-hard, and goes into the bathroom.
Now it’s no longer an uncertainty. I definitely want to cry.
CHAPTER TWELVE
DEAN
SOMETHING HAS TO CHANGE. AND IN ways that have nothing to do with another job, no matter how impressive. Yeah, I can secure funding for a medieval site. I’m prominent enough to be a frontrunner for an international, diplomatic position. I can write reports, collaborate with scientists, navigate bureaucracy and politics.
I can get shit done. So why the hell haven’t I figured out how to revive my relationship with my wife?
I unlock the front door, my muscles still burning and chest heaving from a morning run. The exercise did nothing to ease the frustration that, thanks to last night, now feels like a volcano on the verge of erupting.
I call out a hello to Liv and Nicholas as I pass the kitchen, then head straight for the bathroom. After stripping out of my clothes, I turn on the shower and step under the spray. I lower my head into the hot water and shut my eyes.
I get that Liv is trying. I love her wildly for it. Just thinking about her in that silky little gown, her gorgeous breasts pushed into pillowy cleavage, her hips and thighs all soft and round… fuck.
My dick hardens. And though I’m sick of jerking off, I grab my shaft and stroke. Pressure builds in my groin. As usual, the images flash through my brain with no effort whatsoever—Liv spread out in front of me, her pussy open and glistening, her breath coming in short, little gasps.
“Oh, God, Dean… hurry, please…”
She’s all ripe lust and heat, her tight nipples begging to be sucked, her pale thighs tense with strain. My blood surges. I tighten my grip on my dick and stroke faster, picturing myself sinking into my wife, her legs winding around my hips, her breath puffing against my neck. I can feel her closing around me, like wet, tight silk, gripping my cock, pulling me into her…
“Would you like a piece of pie, sir?”
The image shifts, and then she’s wearing a little pink waitress outfit with the buttons unfastened low enough to reveal the curves of her tits. She turns and hikes the skirt up over her hips, showing me her perfect ass as she bends over the counter and spreads her legs. She gives me a hot look over her shoulder, her eyes glazed with lust, her long hair spilling over her back.
Without a word, I grab a fistful of her hair and position myself at her slit, driving into her so hard and fast she lets out a shriek of surprised pleasure. Urgency fills the air. Her ass smacks against my stomach, the wet, slapping sound of fucking filling my ears as I plunge into her again and again… so hot, so fucking good…
“Ah!” A groan rumbles from my chest as I come, shooting all over my hand.
The shower spray beats onto my lowered head and neck as I catch my breath, lust still throbbing in my veins because of course my goddamned hand is no substitute for my wife.
I grab the soap and spread lather over my chest. I’ll try again to get Liv to come away with me, though it probably still won’t work out with her schedule. At least, her schedule has always been her excuse for declining. I suspect it’s also because she’s worried about being away from Nicholas, but she won’t admit it.
Maybe I need to get on board with her fantasy thing, if it’ll help her focus. But no way am I going to tell her about pie and a pink waitress outfit.
Even though she’d be insanely cute in one.
Hmm…
I shut off the water and grab a towel.
Think, West. Figure it out, or you’ll be rubbing your dick so much you’ll summon a fucking genie.
I’m surprised I haven’t already.
A snort of laughter escapes me. Apparently I could use a genie to help get my sex life back. I wouldn’t even need three wishes—just one would do. I get dressed in a gray suit and knot my tie while looking in the mirror. Unsurprisingly, my expression is tense and rigid.
I’m not an asshole. At least, I haven’t been before now, I don’t think. I’ve always tried to give Liv whatever she wants, whatever she needs. I waited months for her to be ready for me when we were first dating, and damned if I wouldn’t have waited longer. I’d have waited as long as it took. Olivia Rose Winter was a woman you’d wait an eternity for. And then you’d sit back and wait even longer.
When she told me to go to Altopascio after the miscarriage, because she knew I had to stay away from King’s or risk my career, I went. I’d hated being away from her for months, but I’d done it. Like now, I’d spent most of my nights jerking off like a teenager, waiting to get back to her. Same thing after Nicholas was born, though I’d been expecting that. I waited it out again, knowing it would take awhile.
While we’ve had brief resurgences of great sex, this drought has now lasted longer than a while. And while I would gladly become a monk in exchange for keeping my family safe and happy… well, my family is safe and happy.
And I’m no monk.
My cell buzzes with a text from Liv. Coffee’s ready.
I text back: Be right there.
I pull on my suit jacket and shoes, then walk up the spiral staircase to my tower office to get my briefcase.
Sometimes I miss our little two-bedroom apartment on Avalon Street. Proud as I am of the work we’ve done on the Butterfly House, it’s a damn big place. When we’re not in the same room, Liv usually calls or texts me from the kitchen or living room so she doesn’t have to leave Nicholas alone or climb the stairs to the tower.
On Avalon Street, I used to be able to hear her rattling around the kitchen, humming, or I’d walk out of my office to find her reading in a chair by the French doors or watering plants on the balcony.
I used to be able to come up behind her, wrap my arms around her, bury my face in her long hair. Slide my hands between the folds of her robe and fondle her gorgeous breasts…
I stop the direction of that thought or I’ll end up in the shower again.
After setting my briefcase on the foyer table, I go into the kitchen. Nicholas is at the table in his booster seat, eating cereal and a banana.
“Daddy!” He gives me a wave, his round-cheeked face breaking into a smile.
“Morning, buddy.” I stop to ruffle his hair. “Sleep well?”
He nods and holds up a piece of cereal. “Cheerio.”
“Yum.” I let him put the Cheerio in my mouth, which makes him laugh before he goes back to chewing on the banana.
I return to the kitchen, where Liv is at the stove cooking scrambled eggs. She’s wearing her old padded robe, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She turns to smile at me, though her eyes are wary.
“Morning.” I press a kiss to her cheek, inhaling her sweet, vanilla scent that goes straight to my blood.
“Morning,” she murmurs, lifting a hand to the side of my neck. “Sorry about last night. Again.”
“Me too.”
<
br /> After Archer’s phone call, he’d brought Nicholas back home, and then our evening shifted into our usual routine revolving around dinner, picture books, and bedtime. Any faint hope I’d had about finishing what Liv and I had started disappeared when I came back from putting Nicholas to bed and found Liv asleep on the sofa.
I rub my cheek against the top of her head. I know my wife. She’d been jacked up hard last night too. I’d felt her body straining and pulsing, the heat of her clenching around me so damn tight…
I step away and look at her. She blinks. Amazing how she can still sometimes look so innocent.
“What?” she asks.
I glance back at Nicholas, who is dropping Cheerios onto the floor. I take Liv’s arm and tug her into the living room, away from Nicholas’s line of sight.
“Dean, what… oh!”
A shocked gasp catches in her throat as I push her up against the wall and plant my hands on either side of her head, penning her into the cage of my arms. I bring my mouth down on hers—hard and fast. She moans, her lips parting, her hands coming up to clutch the lapels of my jacket. A tremble rocks through her.
I reach for the belt of her robe and yank it open, lifting my head to gaze down at her plain pink nightgown. Her nipples are dark circles against the thin cotton. My cock starts to stiffen again. I grab a fistful of her nightgown and pull it up to expose her hips. She gasps again, twisting toward the kitchen.
“Dean, we can’t…”
I push my hand between her legs, edging one finger under her panties. Heat bolts through me. She’s wet, still aroused from yesterday.
Liv curls her hand around my wrist, her breath coming faster. “What are you… oh…”
Her eyes glaze with need as she thrusts her hips toward my hand, like she wants me to fuck her with my finger.
Of course she does. Before I fuck her with my cock.
I circle my thumb around her clit, ignoring the lust burning through me. When I feel her start to strain harder, her grip tightening on my wrist, I pull my hand away and tug her nightgown back over her hips.