big enough for both of us to fit with relative comfort, though I want him on top of me. He braces his hands on either side of me, his body coming down on mine with a heavy, delicious weight that presses me into the cushions and envelops me in his hot, protective atmosphere.
I coil my arms around him as our lips meet in a deep kiss that is a prelude to fucking. Dean pushes his tongue in and out of my mouth, I suck on his lower lip, and we pull back and press forward again and again. His cock throbs insistently against my thigh, but I know my husband can—and will—wait as long as necessary to prolong the intense pleasure of kissing.
I run my hand down his damp torso, the sculpted ridges and planes I’ve memorized like a map. I trace his navel and dip a finger into the indentation, smiling when he twitches a little. It’s the one place where he’s ticklish. He grasps my wrist, bringing my hand to his mouth and pressing a kiss against my palm before edging between my legs.
I part my thighs, opening for him, everything inside me burning with heat as he eases his thick cock into me, stretching me, filling me.
“Oh, Dean.” I arch my back, wanting to drive myself down on his shaft. “Do it. Hurry, please.”
With a grunt, he pushes forward and starts to thrust, getting to his knees to deepen the penetration. We fall together, letting the blissful cascade wash over us both as our bodies join again and again. I keep my eyes open, watching every nuance of his face and body—the ripples of tension coursing just beneath his skin, the sheen of sweat glistening on his shoulders, the rigid set of his features and burn in his eyes.
I grip the edge of the sofa cushions, overwhelmed by the pure sensation of everything—his hair-roughened thighs abrading mine, the push of his cock into me, the sofa upholstery rubbing against my ass. His eyes burn so hot as he rakes his gaze over my naked body. Every powerful thrust jostles me back and forth, but never does he leave me completely.
I know my husband so well. I know the instant he makes that shift from self-control to the drive toward release. My breath scorches my lungs, a delicious fever winding through my body as I restrain my own urgency in favor of watching him.
“Ah, fuck, Liv…” His breathless curse washes over my skin.
“Do it on me,” I gasp, pushing to my elbows. “I want to watch.”
He tightens his grip on my upturned knees as he thrusts into me again and again before he stills, struggling for control as he pulls out of me. My heart pulses heavily. He takes hold of his slick cock and slides his hand up and down the shaft…fast…faster… His body tenses in the instant before he comes with a groan, his seed spurting out to pool on my belly.
I pull a hot breath into my lungs, sliding my hand down to rub him into my skin as he moves back to massage my clit.
“Come on, baby,” he whispers, bracing his other hand on the side of my head and pressing his mouth to mine.
I grip his arms, bucking up against the increasing pressure of his hand as urgency winds through me tighter and tighter, and he works me with such precision and skill that—
“Oh!” I cry out, bliss coursing through me as he flicks his thumb over my clit, simultaneously pushing his tongue into my mouth.
I clutch him tightly as the exquisite wave floods my body, igniting fires through my blood. I sink slowly against the sofa cushions and absorb the sensations.
Dean lowers himself on top of me, our lips still clinging together, his hand stroking over my head. My breasts crush against his chest. Damp tendrils of my hair cling to my shoulders and forehead.
My hair. My breasts.
I wind my arms around his shoulders. He presses his face to the side of my neck, his breath gradually slowing. I tighten my hold on him, fighting the deluge of fear that now lurks behind everything I do.
Even this.
I once thought our intimacy was the one place in the world where no monster could touch us.
I was wrong.
Chapter 13
Olivia
December 3
Now more than ever, I need the Wonderland Café. There are always customers to help, tea to serve, cupcakes to decorate, birthday parties to plan. I love the bustle of the breakfast and lunch rushes,