favorite mutual activities, except this time I’m content to let him touch me rather than do it myself.
The lubricant is a warming kind, and he slides his fingers easily over my sex and down into my opening. The sensation of my husband’s touch combined with the sight of him stroking his erection heats the very air around us.
I watch the movement of his hand, the damp head of his cock appearing intermittently in the closed circle of his fist, the way he pushes his hips forward and tightens his grip on his shaft.
He’s watching me too, his gaze on the juncture of my spread legs. I think he could probably finish himself off right now—coming on my body the way we both enjoy—but instead he stops stroking himself and reaches to push my nightgown up farther.
Anxiety needles through me again, but I lift my arms and let him pull the gown over my head and off. His reaction to the sight of my naked body is as hot as it has always been. He breathes out a murmur of appreciation and cups my breasts in his hands, flicking his thumbs over my stiff nipples.
I wiggle a little, almost surprised by the tingles flowing through me from the stimulation—I’d come to the conclusion that it would be awhile before sensation returned to my left breast at least, but I have definite feeling there.
Dean lowers his head. My breath catches as he presses his lips against the scar at the side of my breast, the indentation left by the surgery. That area is still numb, so I don’t feel the pressure of his lips—but watching him kiss me there as he plays with my other nipple, feeling his hands touching me in the erotic way he knows I love…I begin to sink into a sensual haze.
I slide my hand down to his erection and wrap my fingers around the smooth shaft.
“Dean.” I arch my hips toward him in invitation.
He stills, lifting himself on one hand. “You’re sure?”
“Yes. Yes.”
I try not to think that usually by now he’d have me in a frenzy of aching need. Right now all I want is for us to make love the way we used to, and without any end in sight. I want us just to be.
He moves away from me for a moment to get a condom from the nightstand—even though neither of us has had lovemaking on our minds, we’ve obeyed the doctor’s orders to have supplemental birth control on hand.
Dean rolls the condom onto his shaft. I maneuver so I can get my legs around his waist and reach pull him down toward me. Our lips meet as he slides the head of his cock around my folds, the pressure both gentle and unyielding.
I force myself not to tense when he starts to push inside me—even with the lubricant, he feels almost impossibly big against my tender flesh. I curl my fingers into his back and lift my knees to open my body wider.
He stops again, resting his hands on either side of my head. His breath is fast, a shadow of concern flaring behind the desire in his eyes.
“Okay?” he asks.
I nod, suppressing a flicker of frustration at his concern. I shift my hips to encourage him to go deeper. Sensation pulses through me, intensified by the throb of his cock inside me, the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress.
He pushes into me farther, but self-restraint coils like wire through him. His chest glistens with sweat and his jaw is clenched.
My frustration deepens. I reach up and grab his face with both hands, forcing him to look at me.
“Dean, do it,” I whisper. “I’m not going to break. I’m still yours. I always will be.”
He pauses, his gaze searching my face. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“The only way you can hurt me right now is by treating me as if I’m fragile. Please don’t. I want this. I want you.”
I sense the shift in him, the moment when his need locks with mine, and we’re both suddenly desperate to reclaim what has always belonged to us. I move back on the bed, fisting the covers as he gets to his knees and thrusts deeply inside me.
A cry chokes my throat as sensations flare outward, streaming fire through my veins. I arch my body toward him as he pulls back and surges in again, creating that delicious friction that fills me with heat.
“Yes,” I gasp, raking my hand down