the right woman—could be so good, so pure, and so rawly uninhibited all at the same time.
I shift my gaze to him, my heart thumping against my ribs.
“Touch me,” I whisper.
His eyes darken. For a moment, he doesn’t move, and despair flickers inside me. Then he begins to slide his hands over my shoulders. His strong, tan fingers are a striking contrast against my pale skin. He strokes down to my breasts and cups them in his palms, a sight so natural, so right, that my heart aches at the thought that he will never touch me like this again.
He rubs my nipples, teasing them into tight peaks and creating a swirl of heat in my veins. His touch is slow and deliberate, his hands sliding between my breasts, under them, then down to my hips and the curves of my waist. I could watch my husband touch me for hours, but then he edges his hand between my legs, and a streak of arousal courses through me.
He takes a step back. “Bed.”
“No, do it here first. I want to watch us.” I swallow hard. “Do it like you always have before. Please.”
His eyes fill with both heat and something else—that indefinable mixture of tenderness and anger that belongs only to him. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my yoga pants and tugs them down my legs along with my panties. His breath escapes on a groan as my bare ass is exposed, and I can almost feel the smoldering burn of his gaze on my skin.
I lean forward, arching my hips back. Dean tosses my pants aside and runs his hands over my bottom, squeezing and rubbing my cheeks in the way I love. He edges his knee between my thighs and eases them farther apart. I look at him in the mirror, my blood sparking at his evident lust—his glittering eyes, the flush cresting his cheekbones, the rise and fall of his chest beneath his T-shirt.
He slides his hands around to the front of my hips and pushes his groin up against me, the ridge of his erection pressing through his flannel pants. Heat rises inside me. I wiggle my hips a little, rubbing against his cock.
Dean breathes out a curse and moves one hand between my legs. He strokes his fingers over my clit. I part my legs wider, letting him in, wanting him there, on me, inside me. Urgency thrums between us as he lowers his head to kiss my shoulder while working one finger slowly into me.
“Dean…” I curl my fingers against the hard granite counter, my heart hammering.
He steps back only long enough to push his pants and boxers off. Desire coils inside me at the sight of his long, thick cock sticking straight out, the corded muscularity of his thighs, the ridges of his abdomen.
Excitement shivers through me. He moves closer, nudging his cock between my thighs. My breath scorches my chest.
“Tighten them,” he mutters, digging his fingers into my hips.
I squeeze my thighs. Arousal surges through me when he starts working his hips back and forth, sliding his cock right against the folds of my sex but not pushing inside me. Yet.
“God, Dean, that’s so hot,” I whisper, reaching down to touch the shiny tip as it appears intermittently between the damp vise of my thighs. “This is going to make me come.”
“Good.” He slides his hands to my breasts, the slick friction of our bodies driving my urgency higher. “Do it.”
I lock my gaze to his in the mirror, thrilled by the burning heat in his expression, his jaw clenched with self-restraint, his hands holding my breasts. My stiff nipples poke out between his fingers. I writhe against his cock, the smooth, rigid flesh feeling incredible on my sensitive folds. I reach down to open myself farther, rubbing my clit against his slick shaft. A shudder rocks through me.
“Come on, baby.” Dean tightens his grip on my breasts, his chest pressed against my back. “Let me feel it.”
“Oh…” A moan spills from me as the tension winds tighter and tighter.
I push backward, moving us both a couple of steps away from the counter so I can look in the mirror and see the delicious, dirty sight of my husband fucking his cock between my thighs.
He twists my nipples, sending a jolt of heat right to my core. Urgency coils inside me, hard and tight, that exquisite sensation of being poised right on the brink of something explosive. He thrusts